Tuesday, December 30, 2003



Earthlings...

Howdy.






All My Friends Need Blue Star Ointment...



I'm kind of disappointed with their schedules. The rare times that I stop by their houses, they're either not home or are doing things that can't include me like laundry, dates, and masturbation. Sometimes all of those things combined. I hate it. I'm on strike. Today was my day off. I stopped by one friend's house to borrow that copy of Lost In Translation that she has because she's a SAG hag. She wasn't home. I stopped by two friend's houses, but one was going to go return things from Xmas and then go grab a hamburger. The other was waiting for a girl to come over. Nobody wanted to play poker with me. I mean, c'mon - it's like, free money I'm giving you because I suck at it!Two people I called didn't answer. Now, I know that everybody might potentially hate me. You all just let me know if that's the case. I'll go live on that leper island or that freak show town in Florida or in the Ewok Village on Endor.

Every single time that I want to do something - nobody's around. But guess what happens when I'm working a lot or busy as hell or trying to think about writing.? Hee. Think. Everybody sucks. I'm done with all of you. Yeah, you too. Everybody needs to work according to my schedule. Now. Work it out. You need to be available when I want you to. I'll buy you all Palm Pilots or support you when you quit your jobs. If I'm not in the mood to hang out - you all just need to crawl in your cryogenic tube and chill. I'll call you when I'm ready. Be ready to play poker and to listen to me talk about Fat Free Milk, Paris Hilton, and Comic Books.

Thank you.

Now go away.

I'm thinking about writing.







While My Pen Gently Weeps...

Headphones. Got some for Christmas. Now I need to crawl down underneath the table and plug them in...good. Done. I'm using a lot of periods lately. I must be on my period. Or this is my period period, maybe. Because this is all art now, isn't it? No. It's not. But that's good. Eees Okay, Seenyore.

You know, with these headphones on - I can't hear my girlfriend. She kind of wakes up sometimes in a panic and screams. She's like my retarded cancer patient. Ooohhh, maybe he shouldn't say that because that's cruel to the mentally disabled and maybe he's jinxing himself and now she'll get cancer. Suck it. I know what I'm doing - otherwise, Great-And-Powerful Jeebus would've struck me down with lightning or had a plague of locusts burst forth from my butt a long time ago.

I used to write to music a lot, a long time ago, but that was before shared living with another who studies hard. So I usually write when alone or during snippets of conversation. I can't blare the music like I used to, it disturbs the birds - so these headphones are cool with me. I asked for them. I got them. I will now enjoy fucked-up, loud music. I will now enter that zone again...now all that I need is a blindfold, and I'm set.




Monday, December 29, 2003



Funky Pants...

And it's cold. And My fingers are numb. And Tony and Tom just got done singing a song about pants when I was over at Tony's house after work and I can't get it out of my head. And Tony spilt beer all over his bed. And yes, it was a long night. And I am glad that all of my friends come to the bar because if they didn't - then I wouldn't make any money. And is it wrong to take money from them? No.

And it's time for bed.
And for you to go to work.
And that's all folks.





Monday, December 22, 2003



Stepped In...

Dog poo at work. Came home to a cat poo house.
Cleaned the turtle poo filter in the tank.

Poo.




Thursday, December 18, 2003



Dear Paris Hilton...



I’ve never written to you before – but since Christmas is coming - I better get this letter in soon so that it can get to you in time. I hope I’m not too late, but even if this doesn’t, I know that somehow, somebody will read this and put it into your hands. First, I just wanted to tell you that I think that your new show is great. I don’t even watch TV shows on a regular basis. I didn’t even see that second part of the new Battlestar Galactica thing that I thought was pretty good. It’s hard for me to remember to change my pants. Let alone set up a schedule for TV programs – but I have for you, Paris. Oh god(s), yes, I have. I have watched every single episode of your TV show. I haven’t done that since Saturday morning cartoons used to be sort of okay. I think right about when Batman Beyond and Freakazoid left – that was the final nail in the coffin. I was holding on for a long time, Paris – but the networks ruined it. I wish that your daddy was the king of cartoons instead of the king of hotels – that would make me want to meet you even more.

Paris, don’t listen to everybody else. Block them out. You’re great. Serious. I think you and me should hang out. If you ever came over to where I lived, I’d show you a good time. I don’t like to golf, so you’re safe – but I do like comic books. I don’t talk about them much in public because nobody else likes them anyway, and I learned early on not to talk too much about totally geeky stuff because that won’t get you laid. Talk about books and poetry and pain and paper cuts. That makes you mysterious. The chicks eat it up. Talk about poets and small kitties. I don’t like sewing. I don’t like football. Hey, isn’t it funny, I just grabbed a couple of comic books to read while I smoked in the backyard and I thought that it wouldn’t be enough, but I only got through the first couple of pages of the Robin comic before I started getting distracted, and by that time my cigarette was over. Funny, huh? Hee haw, said the chuckalicious donkey.

Paris, don’t listen to me. Everything that you just read was crap. I think your show is the best show that I’ve ever seen because it strikes me funny and sad on a million different levels, I feel like a tool for watching it – it’s just like The Iraq War Coverage. Tool. Home Depot. That’s what we’ve become. So, now that it’s late – I’ve turned it off, but it’s too late to “kick up the jams� because my gal needs her sleep for more finals tomorrow, so I’ll be the cucumber. Refrigerated cool. Hoth cool. Like a Wampa meal. I’m gonna listen to The Capricorns, NIN, Sonic Youth, The Beach Boys, and Atari Teenage Riot at a respectable volume. I’ll keep it down to a dull roar. All praise Aslan.

Paris, listen…you’re super hot in that waify, model way. Just like I am. People like brooms. We’re useful…and kind of cute if you use us enough. Paris, it’s okay if you can’t hold a job and don’t understand the concept of money. I can’t. Nobody can. It’s all relative. I won’t clean my room for you, though. Deal with it. I’ve got other stuff to do. Oh, and please remind me that I have to make sure to collect my seventy bucks for writing for that Aerospace company and collect the fifty bucks for the real estate newsletter that I turned in on Monday. That’ll help later on in the month when I’m trying to come up with rent. I have to get a move on and also do a considerable amount of work on that cartoony scripty thing because that guy’s waiting for it and he said that the end of January would be fine. That gives me about a month to complete seven episodic scripts, running at about 23 minutes long…that’s more then a feature length film. Balance this with working, writing on Fat Free Milk, fighting off rats, friends and comic book reading, and I’m pooped. Oh, and by the way, Paris – can you believe that Marvel Comics is still going through all of their submitted material? Wow, I was, like one of the first people to catch that they were accepting new writer submissions. Six months. They said…that was…like…six months ago, I think…

Oh. And hey, Paris? I’d like to come for a visit. I can party like a rock star and won’t embarrass you. I’d fit in. I wouldn’t hang all over you or anything, and I like to dance. If you want to go make out with somebody else on the dance floor – I’d be cool with that because, I have a girlfriend and all. I’ll just talk to the cocktail lady about Fatfreemilk and about comic books. I can ask her questions about drinks, cuz’ the more that I know – the better I’ll be. Actually, like I could give a rat’s ass. I’m a pretty damn good bartender. You should stop by. Just don’t bring your friend, Nichole/Nicole. She seems okay, a little smarter than you – but unless she’s gonna sing some of her father’s songs - than I don’t care.

Christmas is almost here, Ms. Paris Hilton…what are you wishing for this year? Me? Really? Awww…honey, that’s so nice of you to say…but we wouldn’t last. I have my crazy-ass moments, but I’m getting old. I’ll out-drink and out-fight you one half of the week – but the other half, I need quiet. I need to write The Great American Novel. I need to conjure up a new generation’s-worth of Holdens. This type of crap takes time. This is anti-social stuff. Just ask Salinger. Ask The Dust, said John Fante. I’m totally okay with you going off and doing whatever you want – just remember that…I’m always invited…

For Christmas this year, I want…

A bow and arrow set.

A big barrel of toothpicks and glue. Serious. When I was in first grade, we did a project like this and we were all encouraged to build as big of a tower as we wanted. I loved it, and have wanted to do it again ever since – but toothpicks are too expensive and I don’t understand how we got to have so many, but this was the eighties and everything was different then anyway.

More comic books – but only the good shite. Anything Spiderman is fine with me.

A Cuisinart thing to help me cook.

Porno by Irvine Welsh.

PS2.

A New Laptop so that I can write this drivel from bars.

One of those huge carpeted tower things for my kitties to sleep in, but then terrorists might knock em’ down – so fogetit.

A travel ticket to New Zealand, Amsterdam, Japan, Australia, Alta Loma, Cincinnati, Austin, Narnia, Naboo, Krynn, and Ender’s Battle School…

Thank you, Paris.
I love you.
Be good.






Fat Free Milk, fatfreemilk, fatfreemilk.com, fat-free-milk, and Fatty Arbuckle...

Tonight, I am bigger than Neve Campbell and the daughter of Tommy Hilfiger's teeth combined.

I rule.





Wednesday, December 17, 2003



For you. For Christmas...



I am giving out email presents.
Presents made of nonsense, but better than nothing, right?
This means that I will write a bunch of gibberish to you on, or close to XMAS.
Give me your email address, NOW - before I erase this post later.

Or forget about it when I wake up.







Today...

Is go-to-the-comic-book-store-day...

(for me, at least)

Nerd!





Monday, December 15, 2003



I Hate Money...

Let's go back to bartering chickens and shiny beads.
But then I'd probably hate chickens and shiny beads too then, huh?




Sunday, December 14, 2003



This Is What It Feels Like To Finally Get To A Writing Assignment That's Due On Monday That You Wont Be Able To Spend Time On On Sunday Because You'll Be Serving Drinks To Drunks But Hell What'ya Going To Do You're Starting A Vodka Redbull And That's Okay Because You Need To Get The Crap Done And To Make Yourself Feel Like The Freak That You Are Because When You're At Your Highest Peak Of Insanity The Rest Of The Robots Are In Hibernation But It Doesn't Matter Because There's Anti-Matter And That's As Cool As Magma And It All Boils Down To My Tendency To Put Of Deadlines And My Inabilty To Actually Put My Nose To The Writng Whore Grindstone But It's Better To Have A Nose Than No Nose Micheal Jackson Said And Right About Now Me And Skeletor Feel Like This...



Shake it like a Polaroid picture, sleepy...





Saturday, December 13, 2003



Best Present That You Can Give Me...



Is a whole lot of nothing - so that I can do a lot.




Thursday, December 11, 2003



Bantha Poo Doo...

Time slows when one is waiting to go out to have a drink and the girlfriend is talking to her mother on the phone...




Wednesday, December 10, 2003



Write A Story About This For Me While I Try To Finish Some Other Crap That Is Due Tomorrow................................................................................






Monday, December 08, 2003



It Makes Me Sad To See The Last Post On The Bottom Of This Page Go Away To The Archives...

Because then maybe nobody will read it, you all know what a chore it is to actually get in somebody's archives and start reading things...yeah...so hard. Don't answer that phone, man...don't because you had things to say...oh yeah...I've realized what's been missing in my life lately...FUCK THE GoDDAMN PHONE...okay and now I'm back and my girlfriend got all offended because I was pretty curt with her and told her that she interrupted my writing and my horrible spelling but I only answered the phone because I thought that it might be an emergency or something, which it never is, and that's the reason why I don't answer the phone, and all of my friends know this, and look at what you get now - a piece of crap, but that's okay because there's a lot of crap out there, and sometimes it's okay to do your part and contribute, y' know? So, anyway, I was going to say something like, Oh yeah, I miss READING. Like I used to. Like, all the time. Like, totally, fer sure...I got three new books at the library even though, I have tons to get to at home, but I got them anyway, one is the new Nick Hornby book, which I can't wait to read, and I've liked all that I've read of his, but didn't really like that one about the guy who was into soccer or something like that but High Fidelity and About A Boy kicked my ass and I just realized that they made both of those into movies, and now you're probably thinking about your opinions on both of those movies and I don't really care about your opinions on movies or Hugh Grant or other actors, it's like how when I say that I liked Stephen King's IT, and then you tell me how the TV movie sucked. Well, you suck for giving me your opinion on a TV movie based on a work by Stephen King and I suck for telling that you suck and I suck for leaving out commas and hyphens. I dont know why I stopped. Oh, yeah I do - it's because I'm lazy, that's why. The other book that I was reading before I started writing this was A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I read most of this before, and liked it, and almost finished it - but for some reason stopped. Maybe I was too busy or too young to really appreciate it, and I've already started to like it better than before. Books and people are like that sometimes. And I picked up The Grapes Of Wrath by Steinbeck - which I've never read. Surprising, because I've liked and read a lot of his shite, but was, once again, too lazy to tackle it...If it was titiled The Grapes Of Khan and was written by the guy who played Mr. Rourke on Fantasy Island, I bet even more people would read the book - especially nerdy, overweight, white guys in their early 40's...Oh, and I was going to say that I wasn't going to write here until I have reread the first 100 pages of Egger's book AND finished the Real Estate group newsletter that I'm getting paid to write. That's due on Thursday. It's going to suck. Hackhackhack says the coughing real estate newsletter writing whore. Christmas is coming, though and everybody spreads their legs a little farther in December...

No Spell Check...






Never Leave The Fireplace Flue Open...



That's all I have to say.
Many thanks to my friend, Ijaz, my two cats, and my girlfriend for their assistance.
Yes, the fucking critter was spared.
Yes, it creeped me out.
Yes we had fun.
Yes, it's late.
Yes, I will have nightmares.



Thursday, December 04, 2003



Spaceman Spiff...



Y' know - it's great that I have the friends that I do. They're all weirdos - but I am too, and that's why it works so well. I have, like, a million and five of the best people in my exclusive little club. That's enough. So, don't apply - you won't get in. We don't want to exhaust the resources that we have. We have spent years diggin up, stockpiling, and hoarding all of precious ha ha's and good times. Go find your own, Bub.

I like that I can call Tony in a second while he's at work and tell him that my washer's broken and maybe can I do laundry - even though, I already got a roll of quarters and knew that he'd say yes. It's nice that I already have a key and could let myself in there any ol' time I felt like it, but if you have the opportunity, one should ask anyway, there's always the possible naked girl doing naked things to my naked friends in their house factor. Most of my friends are single. How did I become the GUY IN A RELATIONSHIP anyway? Last time I checked I was the single guy doing whatever and whomever I wanted? Now I'm buying dish soap and bedsheets? But I love it. The relationship - not buying a bunch of crap.

But, see...maybe I should explain...my friends are great...they're my support system, like an endoskeleton of sorts. I exist on this symbiosis-type thing that we've always had going...and have been for awhile. Everything is sweet, slimy jelly. They understand me as much as they can and vice-versa. It's like having a dog.

What am I saying? Oh yeah, I have a key because Tony AND Chris, both friends - live together. We used to theorize who would be the first two to be roommates when we were in high school. But I guess I ruined that whole deal by getting kicked out nine days after I graduated...so they live together. That meant that when I was done traveling around like the homeless lout that I was, that I had one of the only places we could kick back at. It sure beat wandering around grocery stores, public parks, and sitting for hours at McDonald's sharing one extra large coke arguing over who had to get the refill. So, when I wasn't home they could use their key. This applied to the five other places that I would live in until they finally did move out and get their own places. Having a key to their place was a given, even though I rarely use it. Sometimes when I'm running around, doing errands and stuff, important stuff like going to the toy store or buying comic books - I'll stop by their house, and will have to use my key because they're still asleep. I'll sit down and read a magazine, wake them up, or just write an obscene message on their chalkboard and just leave.

One time I came home from a three day camping trip and found a Koosh Ball on my coffee table. This wasn't mine. I was sure of it. One remembers if they own a silly toy made of rubberbands or not. They were there the night before doing ecstasy. Oh. I was only angry because there was a gay-ass toy in my house. That was it. I remember another time that I came back from a trip in San Jose and found four of them kicking back smoking pot on my porch. Okay. No problem, Hippies. I've had about six friends stay at my place too. For free, when they needed to or got in fights with their parents. Cool. I was poor. Still am, but was poorER.

What's the point of this whole diatribe? No point. I'm doing laundry tonight. Drive me home when I call, okay? Cuz' I'll be drunk as a skunk. Hopefully I'll have puked on their couch or broken something...






Weird Smells Aside...

It's nice to be home...





Wednesday, December 03, 2003



Ichabod Crane, Nearly Headless Nick, And Victims Of Vlad...



Usually I'm just filling in space here, I know that a lot of it might not make sense. It's like Blog roadkill, or verbal poopy in a baby's diaper. Sometimes I might write something that'll grab you. Sometimes I think that this is the ultimate time sucker. Yeah, and that's true - why wasn't Tom Cruise's name in the credits for his cameo in Young Guns? And does it make me even lamer than before that I'm working my night around The Paris Hilton show thing again? By the way, she has no butt. Not that I think having a big ass is great. I hate when people say that about me, maybe I shouldn't say that about Paris. I mean, like what?...do you want me to have a fat ass then? Yeah, that'd look great. A thin guy with a really fat ass. But Paris' behind looked like a tent stake shoved into a pair of thousand dollar jeans. Not cool. She should stick to wearing skirts, homie.

Meet me at The Batcave, Robin...






Fat Free Word Association Game In The Comments #1...

Okay, you sick bastards...
Here we go.
Go now.







Plucking Chickens...

So, does it make me super duper gay if I rushed home after work to watch The Simple Life with Paris Hilton and that other girl? Maybe it just makes me a complete tool. Then I watched Celebrity Poker on Bravo which was okay, I guess, and then I watched The Real World Reunion thing on MTV. This means no writing, but as far as horrible TV goes - this was it. I feel guilty. But you can eat your chocolate, and I can eat my brain away...

So there.




Monday, December 01, 2003



I Feel Like One Million Hugo Weavings...All Sneezing At The Same Time...



Next person that doesn't cover up their mouth when they cough will get punched in the face by me. It's hard to wrestle people to the ground over the last 40 dollar DVD player with a 20 dollar mail-in rebate when you're down with the flu. No, I haven't been bargain shopping. I'm just kidding. The last thing that I want to do is to go bargain hunting with the rest of the slow-marching, fat lemmings. You can have all of that stuff. I don't want it. I'll stay at home and watch my Netflix movies instead.

This morning when I was in my post-bartending midday zombie state, I tried to watch Blues Clues so that I could maybe catch a glimpse of Mr. Salt, Mrs. Pepper, and Paprika - but Dora The Explorer was on before. It's got to be the worst cartoon I've ever seen/heard. Yeah, I get it - she's probably great for bilingual kids or hispanic kids trying to pick up English, vice-versa or whatever - but this was some annoying shit. Even more annoying when one is falling back asleep. It was like listening to a high-pitched exorcism. Not cute. It was televised death. It was like a picture of cartoon poo on the screen that shoots out painful lightning bolts to your temples.

So, I didn't make it to Blues Clues and switched it to infomercials instead.






I Could...

Write about everything that I've been doing lately, but I'm too lazy.
So is your left eye.

Goodnight.




Sunday, November 30, 2003

Saturday, November 29, 2003

Tuesday, November 25, 2003




After The Grocery Store...

Interesting that I"ll buy vegetarian chicken nuggets because regular chicken nuggets gross me out.
Interesting that I have no problem whatsoever with the pork rinds that were already in my basket.







A Pig Is An Animal With Food On His Face...



My eyes are burnin' gods holy hell fire and no amount of itching is gonna help them, I think.
Argh. It's like somebody dumps chili powder in them while I'm asleep.
I blame the cats. Yeah, you.




Monday, November 24, 2003



The Postal Service Nothing Better Lyrics...

Will someone please call a surgeon who can crack my ribs
and repair this broken heart that you're deserting for better company?
I can't accept that it's over: I will block the door
like a goalie tending the net in the third quarter
of a tied-game of rivalry

So just say how to make it right
and I swear I'll do my best to comply

Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
than making you my bride and slowly growing old together

I feel I must interject here, you're getting carried away,
feeling sorry for youself with these revisions and gaps in history.
So let me help you remember. I've made charts
and graphs that should finally make it clear.
I've prepared a lecture on why I have to leave

So please back away and let me go
I can't my darling I love you so. oh ohhhh

Tell me am I right to think that there could be nothing better
than making you my bride and slowly growing old together
don't you feed me lines about some idealistic future
your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures

I admit that I have made mistakes
and I swear I'll never wrong you again
you've got a lure I can't deny,
but you've had your chance so say goodbye,
say goodbye






I, Robot...



So tired...

Bzzt!......





Saturday, November 22, 2003



28 Days Later...



Me - Honey, if I got turned into a zombie...would you kill me?

Her - Yeah...

Me - You would?

Her - Yeah...

Me - But if you didn't...we could be zombies together...

Her - Oh...okay then...I wouldn't.




Friday, November 21, 2003



Ape Drape, The Great Escape, And The Master Race...



The Cartoon Pig and I went out tonight to make fun of people. We were that bored - but I forgot a notebook, and it was too dark in the bar to see anybody anyway. So we ended up leaving. Ended up at a couple of friend's houses. Got horrible late night food. Put in a movie. Now I am typing this. Work tomorrow. Then after that...maybe we'll go out and make fun of people. Get bored. Maybe I'll forgot my notebook and end up leaving. And after a couple of friend's houses, we'll get horrible late night food. Then we'll put in a movie and I'll type something like this. Then have to work the next day.

fini.




Thursday, November 20, 2003



Hi. I'm An Idiot...



Not because I mentioned sperm in my last post and said a stupid joke which wasn't really much of a joke anyway, but because back in the day - way back in 2002, I learned how to post images on Fat Free Milk through the help of a friend. I thought that it was pretty cool. I posted a couple of lame ass pictures. I wrote some more posts after that, but put off putting in more pics because I was lazy. Then I forgot how to do it. Typical me.

So now. Me. Mr. Dumbass, was just sitting here ready to waste more time, I forget what I was about to do, maybe it was because I read about this on Blogger.com earlier. But, that couldn't have been it because they specifically had a section on how to upload images, but I thought that I wouldn't understand it or that it didn't apply to me. I've had the option to upload images the whole time. Built into this little taskbar thingy right over there. Yeah, over there. I've clicked on it by accident, even a couple of times.

So...uh...yeah.

So. Get ready for a crapload of pictures that I've had saved or that I swiped from your site.

So. I'm dumb.






I Was Sperm Once...

But I was a way cooler sperm than you ever were...





Tuesday, November 18, 2003



When Butterfly Flutters Become Hurricanes...

Getting older. Time is doing it's job, and working a lot of overtime. Saw my old high school principal at the bank. Back then, he was the Lex Luthor to my Superman. Now he looked...really small, and just like any other older guy. What hatred we had for each other, was now reduced to a couple of curious glances. Recognition? I don't know. Really doesn't matter much anymore anyhow. I could give a crap, it's been so long.

Saw an old friend today who came into my work. She was the whole girl next door/Winnie Cooper thing to my Kevin Arnold Wonder Years. She came in with her mother and her new baby. I started telling her about other friends of ours that we knew from high school that have had kids too. I was kind of shocked by just how many names started to spill out of me when we started to talk about who was having what. Geez, it seems like I'm in the minority when it comes to marriage and being a parent. It's strange to see somebody, that for you, represented a whole period of your life. I'm not saying I was all googly-boogly eyes over her when we were talking, it was very nice - but what I meant was that looking now at somebody that you used to see almost all of the time so long ago makes you feel strange. Like a ghost just wisped up to you and tousled your hair. Afterward, you end up trying to fix it back like it was before, but your increasing bald spots make it harder.

Everything is moving too fast. It always has. Back then - I was aware enough to notice it, but somewhere down the line, I stopped recording how fast it was actually traveling. Am I being left behind? Am I putting it off? Or does time exist for everyone else...but just not for me?

Somebody needs a nap.




Monday, November 17, 2003



Crawling King Snake...

Plumbers here. But he's waiting for another plumber. This sucks. Who should I blame? Whose fault is this? Professor Plum did it. In the lavatory. With a lead pipe. Speaking of filth, I saw the Paris Hilton Sex Tape. She had glow in the dark eyes because the thing was shot with some kind of night camera. There were no midgets in the movie. She's an excellent actress. I give her an A-. The musical score sucked. Ummm...that's about it. Think of all of the hits I'll get now because of mentioning plumber so many times. Links will be provided for the Paris Hilton Video for $8.61. Thank you.






One Spilt Of Champagne And One Coke...

Hung out with this guy and
this guy at the bar tonight.
Came home to plumbing problems.
And that was my Sunday.
Be jealous.





Friday, November 14, 2003



Smelly...

In here. It smells like ass. My girlfriend gets pot from her sister that reminds me of swamp water or socks. So now I've sprayed the whole house with air freshener and it smells like cherry blossom swamp water sock ass.




Wednesday, November 12, 2003



These Ain't Bullets. Yo...

It's hailing deep in Watts and Compton tonight. People are stuck up to their waists in water at Jay-Z, DMX, 50 Cent - I mean, LAX. I just got back from the hardware store to get stuff for the leaky sink that I didn't fix last night because I was playing hooky from responsibilities, and would rather fall asleep in front of the keyboard. As I was driving to the hardware store, I saw lightning storms in front of me. As I was driving back, there was lightning in front of me too. I felt stuck in the middle. Maybe I'd get hit? Maybe not. Maybe it would be cool, though. I think that I'd survive. I don't know why. I just feel like I'm freaky enough to survive something like that. Shark attack? No. Panda? No. People attack? Done that. But with my luck, yes, I'd survive getting hit by lightning, but I'd need thousands of dollars-worth of more dental work because of my fried fillings. Maybe the heat would melt my Zippo to my thigh, and then I'd have to crawl to the emergency room at the hospital, and then I'd be stuck with more bills.

That'd be my luck.

Southern California may be leaking tonight, but at least my sink isn't anymore...and that's all good.




Tuesday, November 11, 2003



Bees Are Not Toys...

No, I'm not going to write a post, cartoon script, screenplay or novel. I will not feed the homeless or shelter the hungry. I will not read a comic or a book. I will not give my girlfriend a foot message. I will not watch a movie. I will not watch Viva La Bam. I will not put up those shelves or fix the leaky bathroom faucet. I will not water the cats or feed the plants. I will not change around my links or fix my blog to make it look better. I am going to do nothing but play my Star Wars Video game. I will drink some beers. I am wasting my life. I like that. Thank you.







Randy Macho Man Idiot Savant...

I love it when that Mensa group comes into my work. I can spot one a mile away. Bad taste in clothes, disoriented looking, dorky, etc. I love the guy that was looking at the bathroom sign and then asked me where the bathroom was, but the one that made my day was the Mensa lady who came in wearing a full Star Trek costume. That was one of the best things that I've ever seen. I'm hoping for a Klingon next.

I love you Mensa Star Trek lady.




Monday, November 10, 2003



Finance Charges...

Deserve to die. Finance charges have no rights. We should stick them in convalescent homes. Tag them. Not let them vote. I want to castrate finance charges. I want to lynch finance charges. Fuck you, finance charges. I hate you. Rot in heck.

Oh, and you too, Overdraft fees...






Neverland, Narnia, And Naboo...

Today. I watched too much tv. Was recovering from a weekend of debauchery. I couldn't move. Couldn't help it. Sunday tv is my equivalent to your gulity chocolate pleasure or kiddie porn. Did absolutely nothing at work. I thought that full moons meant that people went crazy and drank a lot. Apparently not. I had, like, ten people the whole night. Absolutely no Werewolves too. Bastards. I read the paper. I left. Am home now. Fini.




Friday, November 07, 2003



California Wildfire In My Pants...

News Update:

After working 60+hours this week, I am getting ready to go out and get drunk like a homo skunk.
And pleez check out my picture at Monique's site.
Oh. Wait. Is the picture blurred now? Haaa ha ha. I asked her kindly to do that, because I'm a punk. I felt uncomfortable having my picture around. I've got an image to uphold, you know. I can't let embarrasing material of me float around on the internet, can I? Paris Hilton has her sex tape. I have my Halloween party picture.







Thursday, November 06, 2003



Karanji Seeds...

I really am serious about buying that island, you know. What island? C'mon. Shut up. Play along. Just me. Maybe you too. Maybe not. It depends on how cool and useful you are. Do you smell? Joo got skills? Would you bring cool stuff? Squeamish? Attractive? Because no ugly people are allowed on my island, sorry. No, seriously. No ugly people. You have to be beautiful on the inside AND beautiful on the outside also. Sorry, it's just the way my island works because I've got the rest of my life to live on it - you better be the prettiest wallpaper I've ever seen, and the most pleasant background noise. I would prefer that you wouldn't look better than me, though. It's my island. I don't want to be intimidated by you. I want you to just sit there and shut up and do what I say. It'd be cool if you had knives for hands too. And a book dispenser built into your forehead. I want Swiss Family Robinson without the family, and Robinson Crusoe without the religion. You would need to listen to me a lot, because I would be the master and you would have to follow everything that I said with a cultish fervor, fanaticism and fever. You would have to be able to ignore things like that last sentence that I wrote. You would, at least have to know, if not everything about The Empire Strikes Back - a little. And if you didn't - then you'd have to be able to be good at acting interested. Sounds good. It's a deal. Kevynn Island. Malone Beach. Something like that. I need a Paypal button...