Friday, January 31, 2003
Before I Write This, I Need To Smoke...
Obssesive Compulsive Disorder and eating habits when combined are always fun. Somebody at work told me about a friend of his that only ate shapeable food from the cafeteria. Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, etc. He would shape it into a perfect square and then scoop up a corner. He wouldn't eat another bite until he had reshaped it again into a perfect square. My friend Tony only eats hamburgers and sandwiches in a circular fashion. He'll eat around the edges until he's left with the middle and then he'll pop it into his mouth, the fairy. My girlfriend eats absolutely nothing on the bone, including my penis. I always have to say "Winston Churchill was a big fatty!" before taking a swig of beer. I say that about a milllion times a day. Really, I don't know if I have an OCD attached to an eating habit. I will never eat anything if I can't drink something with it. It's absolutely impossible for me. I won't do it. Maybe that counts.
I used to have a couple Obsessive Compulsive habits when I was young. I would constantly count things in my head. Chairs in a room, telephone poles...sluts in my bedroom. I had to force myself to stop when I got older. Especially with the sluts. I used to play that game in which if I didn't do something like make a basket, I would supposedly die. Or that someone near and dear to me would die if I didn't do something correctly. I've died about a million times.
I want a real OCD, but I would like to pick my own. Obsessive money making compulsion. Sleeping with loose movie starlet disorder. What about a pick pocketing OCD? Something helpful...
All I've got is this writing thing.
Not as fun.
Thursday, January 30, 2003
What Does This Say About Me?...
I like this. I hope it never goes away. God, the animation is horrible, but it's sweet isn't it? If it had private parts, I would hump it. I need to option this story idea and make it into a movie.
There's no hope for me, is there?
Wednesday, January 29, 2003
I am lacking a gay friend in my life. (No, I'm not looking for a gay partner, smart-ass.) And my friend, Chris doesn't count either. He's just confused and has a bedroom that looks like a gay man decorated it. So, I am now accepting applications for a gay friend. My new gay friend can be a girl or a guy. If my new gay friend is a girl, she has to be hot and let me watch her nocturnal activities. Short hair is okay. Motorcycles are okay, just as long as you have an additional helmet for me. I get to use your hair products and nail polish. You can only bench press ten more pounds than me. (That doesn't make any sense...my cat eats more than I can bench press.) If my new gay friend is a guy. It's okay to hold my hand, but only inside Disneyland. You must purchase me a sweater or two every month. I will only watch gay porn with you if it is funny gay porn. You must pay for the majority of my drinks and meals, because you'll have a better job than me. I get to use your hair products and nail polish.
Applications are now being accepted for this once-in-a-lifetime position...
Gay position? Oh, mannnn....
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
Everyone Hates A Clown, So Why Don't You, Bitch?...
There's two ways that you can go with clowns: They either scare the crap out of you, or you fucking hate them. I'm not really scared of clowns; I just don't ever want to meet a fat one. For some reason, the thought of a portly clown with a five o' clock shadow makes me feel all John Wayne Gacy. Believe it or not, the other half of society absolutely hates them. Let's stop this clean face on grease paint crime!
I've had a good number of strange-ass jobs in my youth, or my more youthful youth-i-ness, I should say. I think I've said it before. I've been a professional puppeteer, pizza cook, manager of a drycleaners (need a spot out of your silk shirt? You just let me know, punk.), I've written for magazines, cartoons, and papers for your high-schooler for beer money, etc. But the worst short-winded job that I've ever had, besides my two-day telemarketer job, was as a clown. You got it...a fucking clown. What was I thinking? Where was this going to take me? Did I think that eventually I'd get clown salary and clown benefits? Take winter vacations with other clowns on really big skis? I wasn't even a drunk birthday party entertainer clown...I was a shabby-ass-street-corner-sign-waving-come-to-these-new-apartments-clown. You know that series of famous black velvet clown paintings? I was sadder than those clowns.
Hold up...Jeopardy's on...
Oh my god! The President's talking instead. Damn! But wait...he's talking about mutilations, razor blade what’s? Acid?.....is he talking about drugs?...no...I'd rather have Alex Trebec quiz me about this twenty years from now than hear George Bush talk right now..." We will lead a coalition to disarm him..."
He's not talking about clowns is he?
Anyway...there I was on the first day, feeling very embarrassed but much more desperate for money. The manager of the apartment complex actually gave me the make up and some stupid balloons that hade the name of the apartment complex on them. I thought that getting the balloons printed and having me hold them in addition to the sign was completely stupid, and who could see the name of the apartment complex on the balloons as they drove by? I didn't hold the balloons. I couldn't. I had to hold the stupid arrow sign with two hands, so I tried to tie them to a skinny tree branch. One got loose automatically and a car honked. I didn't know if they we're honking at the clown with the crappy make up job and the baggy jeans on, or if they were trying to tell me that my balloon was getting away. I thought that was even stupider. I could tell that it got away. I was the one on the street corner. Only one good thing came out of the balloons. I tried to give one to a little Mexican kid who was walking with his mother, but the kid wouldn't come near me, so I had to give it to his mom. I said thanks to her as she walked away. She didn't say anything. I didn't know if she understood me or not. I didn't think that there was that much to understand. I was trying to give her brat a piece of floating rubber. I said, " thanks!" to her too, as they walked away. That pissed me off to no end. I hate when I thank people for no reason. Especially when I'm the one who should be thanked, y'dig?
The first hour was probably the worst. I didn't want to dance around, so I just kind of rocked back and forth. One out of every fifteen cars would honk. I tried to wave back, but the arrow sign would then tip down, so I stopped doing that and just kind of gave a nod that I knew the speeding cars wouldn't see.
The first "Fuck You!" that came my way surprised me. I looked around. I thought it was probably some kids. I didn't really catch a glimpse. I don't know how much time passed until somebody told me that I "Sucked!” Somebody threw change at me. It missed me and hit the curb. I was bummed, but not bummed enough not to look to see if there were any quarters in there - which there weren't. During that day I got two flip offs and one or two more "Fuck You's!" The whole day was one big, long depressing blur after that. After the car that said, "Fuck You, You Fucking Clown!", I left. I waited for the car to pass me by further because I didn't want them to see me leave. I left the balloons on the weak-ass tree because I didn't want to carry them. By that time anyway, they would've been too heavy for me to carry. All I did was drop off the stupid sign at the manager’s office that smelled like cigarettes. There was nobody inside. I checked. If there was, I was just going to drop it off around the corner anyway. I washed everything off of my face by the pool area bathroom, paranoid that the manager was going to see me. I walked home and I think I remember not being very happy, writing a couple poems about people, and drinking a lot. I could be wrong, but I think that's what I did afterward...
You know what's worse than a clown?
Monday, January 27, 2003
You Don't Know Me, Fool...You Disown Me...Cool.
As I was waiting at a light and listening to the bad reception on my broken car stereo, I noticed " No War! " tagged on the old movie theatre that nobody's ever done anything with. I don't know how long it's been there. Maybe it was old and I just didn't notice it. I had to give whoever that did it, "props" for climbing up as high as they did, and was glad to see something other than the usual, illegible, penis-posturing, gang bullshit that people usually spray all over the place. At least it meant something to somebody.
Now, If I could only catch some girls burning their bras at school...I will be a happy, smelly hippie.
Sunday, January 26, 2003
I Hope The Dodgers Win Today...
Okay, let's get all of this football shite over with. The only reason I'm excited about today is because we're having a private work party. You would think that a work party would be something that I would avoid, unless I worked at Porno Village, or a comic book store or something, but today's going to be cool. Open bar! Time to waste! Free food! Aww, who cares about the food, but it's still going to be kind of cool. Did I say free booze?
I don't even know who's playing. The Raiders and somebody...
I hope that the team with the prettiest uniform wins...and that every couch jock in the world breaks their fucking legs...
Saturday, January 25, 2003
Typed last night by Tom...
specially priced. . . formatted to fit your television....straight from our minds to your rods and cones, flipped around, and printed on your mondula oblongata. . .auto-shaded, shaped up, MSG free, fantastical, supernatural, steroidless, pulpless, and printless. . . blunted slut princess, ciao baby! . . in through the back door, quietly, watching you while you sleep, faking feline friendliness. . . energy's armor and synergy's shield, Pat Benatar said that "Love is a Battlefield.".... put this on your piece of bread and eat it up, quit that shit eating grin, damnit, stop smiling..... Sinatra's sitting in my easy chair, smoking, sipping scotch, singing Latin in my ear. . .losing my equilibrium. . .now playing everywhere. . . while supplies last. . . call now. . .the milk's spoiled.
Friday, January 24, 2003
Bubba Ho Tep...
C'mon, people...you drive me nuts. What's the hurry? I drive the speed limit or a little bit above it. Maybe it's some of the asian blood in me. Maybe it's the Irish in me too. That means that I drive slow to the pubs. No, I'm a pretty patient guy when I drive. I'm not in any hurry - and If I am? Than it's probably my own damn fault that I'm late. I have people riding my ass every day. What do you have to do that's so important that you have to pass me? I've seen people clutch on to my car's arse like a greedy monkey and pass me by in a ferocious roar of SUV triumph, only to see me waving at them at the stoplight. Where are you going that's so damn important that you have to make an ass of yourself? Taco bell on fire? Are they running out of Chalupas? Something on television that can't wait to catch? What's so fucking important? Baby choking at home? Dog humping your diamond earrings?
Chill, freaks. You have a stereo in your car, use it. Sing along to opera and make up your own words. Look around at everybody at the stoplights. They're kind of scary, but funny. You know what's worse than missing a green light or being stuck at a red one? Alot of things. The world didn't end. It'll just be there sixty seconds later. Take it easy, you pent up ape-y things. There will always be banannas. You don't need to be the first one to grab them. Monkeys before you. Monkeys after you. Always.
Your car is not cool or unique. Ther are tens of millions of the things out there just like yours. Your bumper sticker sucks. I don't care what you're saying. Your music is not helping. You don't look any cooler. I don't think that you have your shit together because if you did, I'd be staring at your limo driver instaed of you. The bigger your car, the more I'm going to question what type of person you are. The more you talk on your phone, the more I'm going to avoid you. You're all fucking crazy. I don't understand. don't expect to, and never fucking did...and that's okay because I don't think I'm supposed to.
Ambulance drivers are cool, though. So is Micheal J. Fox in a Delorean.
I drive a four door Toyota Camry. All black, with tinted windows. I have a license plate holder from a friend's skateboard shop. I have a bunch of trash inside and my stereo is broken. That's my car. Who cares. Your daughter is bound and gagged in the trunk. She needs help.
Happy weekend. Good night, Bubba.
There's nobody to blame but myself...
No...wait. Somebody has to pay. I was ready to write after work. I came home late. About Ten p.m. I was just beginning to write a story but watched The Bourne Identity. The only reason that I got the movie is because my girlfriend thinks Matt Damon's cute. So, instead of writing, I watched the movie instead. I hate most action movies, all spy movies and all thriller movies because they generally suck. The only good thing about the majority of them is that they make me feel like a good screenwriter and they give me hope.
The beginning of the movie was actually kind of cool. What happened after that was a horror that even Stephen King can't accurately portray on paper. So now it's late. I'm starting to shake off my grogginess. It's two in the morning. I'd like to thank the makers of the movie for making this happen. They should have an awards show where average people stand up on stage and thank the makers of certain movies for wasting their money and time...
And I was going to write about clowns and shit too.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
Back In The Day...
I once knew a girl named Amanda, who was nicer to me than I ever deserved. She was the type of girl who was the complete opposite of me, but never flinched when exposed to my old, barbaric habits and never once questioned me about why I acted like a complete freakazoid. Once, after some random instance of insanity that I forget, I invited her over the next night and assured her that we would spend a quiet night at my house, with no distractions, random lunatics or flying monkeys. I think we were watching tv on the couch when my roommate came home. She couldn't get her key to open the door, so I hopped up and stood in front of the door. It had glass window panes in it. I started to tease my roommate about not being able to get inside and thought it would be funny to hit one of the panes of glass with my forehead. My head went through. I heard the crash, and in mini-seconds cursed myself because I knew that I was going to have to replace the window because of my spur-of-the-moment stupidity. I drew my head back and started to laugh, but stopped when I saw the look of horror on my roommates face. Her mouth was doing the silent "O" thing. I was still laughing as I wiped my hand across my face and saw blood on my palm. I wiped it off on my shirt and put my hand to my face again and stopped laughing when I saw more blood there than before. Fortunately, my other roommate, Joe, had a mom who was a nurse. While she was putting stitches across the bridge of my nose and I was drinking beers, Amanda stood in the background, laughing nervously.
Two weeks later Amanda arrived at six a.m. in the morning to drop me off at the airport. I was flying to Texas to visit my sister. After knocking repeatedly on the boarded-up front door she found it unlocked and let herself in. She found me in the living room, sleeping with sunglasses on, and in a lawnchair. I had a 40 oz. of beer in my lap and burned out candles in a ring around me. Taped to my chest was a note written by my roommates that said, "remember to wake up at six!".
Now I don't know where she is. I lost touch with her. She was an entertainment lawyer last time I talked to her. After putting up with eccentric brats like me, she probably figured she might as well make some money with her high patience threshold.
I've learned alot since then.
Don't forget your key.
Glass can be thin.
Roommates are lazy help at best.
And some patient girls have got horrible taste in men, but mad job skills, bitch.
How is it legal that somebody can sneeze and then bless themself? How can you bless yourself? I even have a problem with people blessing other people when they sneeze. Why? I should give you my blessing because dust got in your nose? Why doesn't anyone bless me when I fart then? And if I crapped my pants, shouldn't I receive some "Hail-Mary's" or something?
The only person who should be able to bless themself after a sneeze is the Pope.
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
You've Got A Talent For Causing Pain, Hey!...
Dear reader, by the time you read this, I'll be gone. I took the dog and I'm moving to Chicago. No. It's much worse. I'm not leaving you...I have to go to the dentist. Aww, fuck a biscuit. Why? I have purposely been putting this off for awhile. I haven't gone since October? And I don't want to go...Help me, please.
Let's make this short. There are bastards like you that have never had a cavity. I have always brushed my teeth, at least once a day, but usually twice. Three times a day sometimes...and even though my teeth are straight and not bad-looking at all...the fucking things always need work. I haven't gone to the dentist since October because I went for three solid months before that. Mucho money that I don't have, Bubba. Two root canals, fillings, cute dental assistants knocking me out with Nitrous Oxide, and me waking up with teeth marks on my inner thighs...It's horrible!
I cancelled this appointment too many times and I have to go tomorrow. Create an emergency for me. Pull some "Fight Club" shite and knock out my teeth. If we ever get romantic with each other, I can just gum-love you. That's not too bad, is it? They said that the visit will only be about an hour, but I know better. I count on three or four. I'll betcha. The person who comes the closest to the total amount of time I'll spend in the dentist chair gets a surprise in the mail from me. Serious. Nobody I know, though. So suck it. I wonder if I could get a x-ray print out of my mouth? My dentist has all of that hi-tech crud. I hope they don't use that laser thing that makes smoke come out of my mouth. I might have band practice too, afterwards. If my dentist had a monkey that held my hand and read me Spider Man comics out loud, I would feel alot better about tomorrow/today.
I curse anybody with strong teeth.
I'm going to stick a voodoo pin in your anus...
Wish me godspeed.
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Hoist Up The Nuthin'...
I don't have much to say right now. That doesn't necessarily mean that I won't be a talky bastard later, but as for now, my mind is wandering at too rapid a rate to get much down on the screen. Except now that I think of it, I didn't have much of a problem writing this, did I?...It may not be that good, but it's something, punk.
I just downloaded my three favorite Beach Boy songs of all Kevynn-time. Sloop John, In My Room, and Don't Worry Baby. Surfer Girl's good too, I forgot about that.
You know, I think I might be getting old…I was watching clips of The Price Is Right on the internet ( No, I don't know why I was doing it or how I got on the site, whatever it was, and I have no explanation for my actions, okay? ) and I saw a segment where the contestant gets to bid on three different things that they might win. They showed a motor scooter, an aquarium, and a dinette set, and I thought to myself...actually thought to myself, "Hey, now that's pretty cool."
What the hell is happening to me, Bubba?
Well, I feel so broke up...I wanna go home...
See? Like, I just thought that that was going to be an okay ending for this post. It was a sucky post, but to make it worse I tried to end it with a quote from Sloop John B by the Beach Boys? No, not the Beasties, but the Beach...
This is the worst trip...I've ever been on...
Monday, January 20, 2003
In Protest Of Protests...
After work on Saturday, I stepped out onto the street and immediatly heard the sound of females screaming. I checked to see if my fly was open, but it wasn't. Nobody was around, so I forgot about it. A couple minutes later though, I found out where the screaming was coming from. Three young, skinny girls in shorts we're holding up signs on a street corner. Yes, I was disappointed that they didn't say "Honk If You're Horny" or "Free Sex". The signs said "Honk For Peace". So I thought that was okay. I'm down with pieces of poo, A Seperate Peace, pieces of chicken, buying a piece from your local arms dealer, and the good-intentioned, but imaginary "Peace" of the hippie variety. And i'm down with girls who dig peace too. Just as long as they don't smell like that pouchoulie-smelly-dirt-perfume-crap, or have more hair under their arms and down their pants than I do on my head. Oh wait...I shaved my head...whatever. Oh, and they can't slip me bad acid.
Anyway, so when I drove by I raised my hand out of the window and waved, but then remembered that I was supposed to honk for peace, but then I was driving one-handed and trying to look at the girls at the same time, so I just honked with my forearm.
And that's it, punk-ass.
Have a good day at work, and remember to send me half of your earnings for booze.
Sunday, January 19, 2003
Thursday, January 16, 2003
I had a bunch of ideas - but they're all gone now...
If I actually focused, I could probably write something...
Ummmm...I plan on staying up really late tonight. I don't know what I really wan't to do. I'm too tired to do anything serious. I am now going to turn up Weezer a bit. Hold on......Geez, when did my stomach start looking like this? I've got a little pouch. It's the beginning of a baby bowling ball. Time to start talking again to my old friend "Sit-up's". I'm not fat. I don't think I ever will be. I gain about a half pound a year. Actually, that's a lie. I thought I was gaining a little bit of weight, but the whole half pound I gain usually goes away in a month or so. I am 135 lbs. and 5'11 and a half feet tall. Picture it. Yeah. I wish I could show you so that you don't think that I look like a spaghetti strand. I have a scanner but never bothered to find out how it works. But then all you would get is pictures of my penis anyway. And you don't want that - Shoot, I don't know - maybe you do.
I am skinny because I have Vietnamese blood in me. My father met my mother in Vietnam. I only look like I have a little gook in me before noon. After that I open my eyes a little wider and let the sunlight in them. I don't look Ornamental at all, I don't know what happened, I guess it's my father's strong Irish genes. I grew up eating Green Rice. No, it was dog. Do you know what my first three pet's names were?
Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner.
I'm also skinny because I eat whatever the hell I want to. Steaks. Candy. Chips. Vegetables and alot of salads. I have a horrible diet and a spooky-ass-fast metabolism. That helps. I'm not even active anymore. I used to skateboard for about twelve years, and now I don't. I can, but all of my skating friends are gone. There's only Ian, and he lives in Long Beach now. Yeah, L.B.C., bitch. Home of Snoop Dog, Sublime, and uh...The Queen Mary.
I never sleep and stay up till dawn. That's another reason why I'm thin. I've always had insomnia. There's too many things that I want to do anyway. I'm lucky if I get anything done. My bursts of productivity are usually sporadic at best nowadays. If i'm forced to do something due to a deadline or a gun barrel pointed at my head, then I kick ass.
And I have 37 tape worms last time I counted.
No. Not really.
No, I was joking - I really do have tape worms, but only 36.
Naw, I'm joking again. I don't have any. Yes I do. No I don't. Tape worm in my head? 8-track? DVD in my pants?
I'm stupid. No wonder I can't get into Natalie Portman's pants.
And do you think Molly Sims looks like a horse? That's what my friends say. I don't. I think she's kinda hotsy-totsy.
Does Molly Sims play The Sims?
Is that like me playing the Malone's?
Time for me to shut it.
I apologize. Hate me, please.
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
So I woke up today to a baby in the house...
It kind of threw me for a loop. I thought, "did I drink that much last night?" "Does my girlfriend have super ovaries?" "Do I have artificially intelligent mobile sperm?" I found out that my girlfriend's sister was dropping off her tyke for the day. Oh. I must say, that the little punk is totally cute. So, first thing I did was go on a walk with her while my girlfriend took a shower, but then when I got back my girlfriend refused to speak with me after she saw the leash around the baby's neck. What was I supposed to do, carry her? So then we decided to take it to the movies because there's no better way to enjoy cinema than with a young baby, right? About twenty-five minutes into Gangs Of New York though, we had to leave. I guess some people don't have any patience and their ears are way too sensitive, because a group of Scorcese geeks grabbed the screaming thing from my hands, ran out to the lobby, doused it in a vat of fake popcorn butter, and then kicked it out into the street. Bastards.
We decided to get something to eat after our horrible movie experience. While we were making reservations at a fancy-schmancy outdoor patio-type restaurant over here, I wanted to get a paper - but my hands were full with the little, wriggling thing. I got in trouble again. How was I supposed to know that the panhandler that I gave the baby to thought I was being generous? I guess babies go for alot on the Black Market. So we finally tracked the panhandler down. It was feeding our stolen baby some roasted rat, so I guess we didn't need to feed it. I had to trade my shoes to get it back. Great. There's fifty bucks down the drain....
We finally got home. Got in trouble again after my girlfriend caught me cutting hair and taking skin samples from the baby. I thought that If I could somehow learn the formula of and how to bottle Baby Smell, I could make a million dollars. So now the thing looks like an albino Mr. T with eczema.
Whatever. I'm done. Stupid babies.
Okay. I Have to go and chop off my penis.
See? Instead of me writing something right now, like I should have a long time ago - I can just post this and have you tell me how your day is going in the COMMENTS instead. Then, after I wake up and do some meaningless crud, I can write stuff that'll make you shit your pants due to it either being terribly exciting or terribly-so-fucking-boring-that-your-whole-body-just-lost-all-control-and-what's-a-case-of-the-smelly-pants-anyway?-I-can-just-blame-Kevynn-for-the-whole-situation-and-send-him-the-bill-so-who-cares?
Monday, January 13, 2003
I have this problem. No, it's not the set of male/female sex organs that I've mentioned before. Just kidding. Dude, like I would mention it to you! I wouldn't be writing.I'd be humping myself - what d' ya think I am? Stupid? You know what? Now that I think of it - having a set of both male and female sex organs might be a tad difficult to afford. You would have to buy douche and condoms. A true gentleman cares about his vaginal hygiene. Condoms would be a necessity so as not to get one's own self preggers. And if you were a true hermaphrodite and had an uncanny piano playing ability, would that mean that you fluently played three organs? It would be a stretch not only in the pants, but in the wallet, like I said because you would have to spring for dinner for yourself, and drive a fancy car so that you could get into your own pants. Masturbation might prove to be a decisive battleground. What to do, how to, and with what? Looking into purchasing those electric shocky-pad-thingies that they use on dead people in the emergency rooms might be a wise investment, if you just stuck it down your pants and turned it on and off, maybe that'd do the trick. Check Ebay. I don't know.
See what happens? I fell asleep, by accident. I hate sleep. I was going to write about an old friend from high school.
Now I'm going to get even more weird web hits. In this post alone I've mentioned:
Combine that with Fat Free Milk, and I'm going to have quite the interesting assortment of google searches cum tomorrow.
Mother would be proud.
Sunday, January 12, 2003
One Of These Days...
I want to buy a bunch of Duraflame firelogs and light them all, and spell out something to a passing plane. I dont know what. But I want to do it.
And I won't make the same mistake that Gilligan made in the episode when the castaways used Mr. Howell's brandy to light some palm tree trunks on fire. For some reason, astronauts were orbiting low, the Professor figured out that they would be seen, so they spelled out SOS. Gilligan did something stupid and messed it up so that it spelled out SOL - which was the name of one of the passing astronauts.
I could be lazy and just spell out a bad word. But then Gilligan might mess that up too, and the passing plane would wonder why I spelled out "Fork You".
I've Got A Bad Feeling About This...
You ever have one of those days when you just dont feel so fresh inside? That's why I use...just kidding. No, this isn't about douche. It may be the written equivalent of douche, I don't know. No. I was going to to say that's it's dark now. Daytime is done. I didn't do much. Little things. Nothing special. But you ever have one of those days that make you feel a little uneasy? Like you've forgotten something important? That something is wrong or that something bad might happen? It makes me feel weird, yo.
And these feelings can't be associated with poo, because I just did that - and my sense of foreboding is still here.
Friday, January 10, 2003
Aliens Don't Need Jamie Escalante To Teach Their Children Calculus...
If intelligent life exists somewhere else in the universe, have they visited Earth?
Some say they have repeatedly in the past. Some say they are monitoring us presently.
Some say they live among us. Some say they secretly run the world. Some say they want our world for themselves.
Are we being studied?
And if we are, why haven't they made their presence known in a more direct manner?
If people believe in omnipotent, all-seeing, all-creating gods, and devils with cloven feet and pitchforks - why not believe in skinny, big-eyed aliens playing on planet Earth?
Why aren't aliens knocking on our door with pamphlets containing something other than Mormon literature? Why aren't beings from another world spamming me? Where are my extraterrestrial pop up ads?
If aliens exist, why aren't they fucking the shit up?
Because everybody knows that you shouldn't knock on the glass. You shouldn't stick your fingers in the water too much - especially without washing them. It's better for the fish if you just sit back and look at them.
Because you feel a little guilty riling up the ant hill.
Because you never know what you're going to catch playing with stray animals.
Because if you pay too much attention to them, they'll follow you home.
Because if you play with them too much, the mother will smell you on them and then abandon them.
Because nobody likes to break up a dog fight.
Thursday, January 09, 2003
My writing has been ultimate-sucky-poo-poo lately. Even more so than usual, I mean.
I promise to do better. I swear. No, really. I mean it. I really do. I've just been busy.
My New Years Resolution is to not feed you bloggy-crap.
And to say, Penis. Tits. Fuck. Young. Old. Sucking. Mothers. Free. Iraq. Mac. Apple. MSN. Star Wars. Brittney Spears. Joe Millionaire. Download. Porn. Movies. Micheal Jackson. and. Anal.
In order to get more web hits.
I don't remember how I found this, but it's interesting for a short bit. Apparently this guy hooked up various lights and knickknacks around his house to the internet. Too bad he didn't take it to the extreme. I'd like to see a house that was controlled by random freaks on the internet more. Imagine how annoying it would be to go to the bathroom if some freak in Kansas kept on turning the light off on you. Or if you had to wade through a sea of dildos hanging from the ceiling -everybody else has those too, right? - You know, those dildos hanging from the ceiling that give out electric shocks? What? I don't know. I'd like to see somebody's computers and tv's turned on at full volume in the middle of the night. How about controlling somebody's thermostat? How about I shut up because this was a stupid post and go ahead already and check out the guy sitting in front of his computer, turn his lights on and off, be entertained for 57 seconds and then go back to looking at porn.
Remember to send me the good stuff.
Wednesday, January 08, 2003
Tuesday, January 07, 2003
I was talking about my girlfriend's reactions to the movie Wild At Heart. I talked about Sailor Ripley smashing that guys head at the beginning. My girlfriend said, "oh!" I talked about the soundtrack and how good it is and how I always loan out crap to people and they never give it back. My memory is horrible, so I tend to forget. So I said that I gave up trying to share things with friends. Let them focus on their overcooked McDonalds hamburgers and pregnancy test results instead. I told you that I went to the grocery store after work and that I've noticed that I spend most of my money on liquids. Cleaning products, liquid detergents, bleach, beer, cigarettes don't count even if it is expensive-lung cancer-air-stuff. Beer? I'll stop buying it when you stop watching J-LO movies, beating your children, and smoking your crack.
And...i forget what else I was talking about before blogger made my previous post disappear. (I have a horrible memory, remember?)
So...got any old receipts from your last grocery store visit?
Or what did you buy last time you were there?
No. Porn doesn't count Fucktard.
Shong Story Lort...
After, I had about fifteen minutes until friends arrived for our spur-of-the-moment-dinner-thingy.
We played UNO.
We talked to my robot.
(he's included in my LINKS section, y'know.)
Then our friends left.
Then WE ate...
and then told you about...
I said talked about...
Then I said...
After, I had about fifteen minutes until friends arrived for our spur-of-the-moment-dinner-thingy.
And then I told you about how...
We played UNO.
We talked to my robot.
(he's included in my LINKS section, y'know.)
Then our friends left.
Then WE ate...
and I drank...
Sunday, January 05, 2003
How do you say "head" in German? Forget it. I don't want to know how to speak German anyway. I'll never go there, and the only German people that I've ever known were friends of my neighbors. They wanted to take my cat home with them.
Today, I was taking out the trash. I was walking to the backyard and one of my neighbors was walking down his steps. I said hi and scared the shit out of him. That's normal because I walk like a ninja and can be quite stealthy, but he had to stop and compose himself afterwards. I guess the night before his roommate had to call the cops because a couple of white-trash transients were hanging out in front of the Hollywood video threatening two little black girls, calling them Jigaboo and telling them that they had a gun. So the cops came, etc. I guess he saw the same white-trash car across the street today, so they were both talking about it, then one of my neighbors goes outside and sees me with my newly shaven head. Mr. Speed Freak Lookin' Skinhead. Giving him a heart attack.
Do skinheads smoke Marlboro light 100's?
I think not.
Go away, Hitler - there's no Germany here...
Saturday, January 04, 2003
Thursday, January 02, 2003
I don't live out in the sticks. I don't live in a small city either,
but damn-we have some big, fuckin' racoons here.
They must live in the monstrous palm tree that I've got by the side of my house. There's four of them. All are about the size of a medium-size dog. I'm not kidding. Last night they woke me up four times because they were playing on the roof. After the last time, I went outside to scare them away. There were two of them. They flicked their cigarette butts at me so I went back inside.
I'm scared they're gonna mug me and take all of my shiny objects.
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
Wake Up, Donnie...
I suck. I have eleven HBO channels.
It was cheap though, so shut it.
Anyway, certain movies are always on.
Some are sort of recent, like the first Harry Potter, Sexy Beast, etc.
But this morning they had Donnie Darko on. I've seen it once before and liked it alot.
But, check this out? I like the movie, okay? Strange that I've never seen HBO play the movie before on any of its million channels. Why New Years Day out of all days? And guess what they followed it up with? BOOTY CALL! Hmmm...so does this mean that somebody up in Content or programming thought this up?
- Okay. All of America will have a hang over, so we'll put on a good movie while no one can see it.
- Yeah, that sounds great. And then after it's done, we'll put on something with Bell Belamey.
HBO, explain your choices please.
It Looks Pretty Good, So Far...
Standing in the middle of a blocked-off street in front of a bar last night. Fireworks going off. Looking at how bright the whole shindig was. Wondering if something was going to catch fire. Looking at the cops. Wanting to wish them a Happy New Year, but thinking that might make their night worse and that they might think that I was being weird.Tons of bozos at a bar across the street making fools of themselves. The whole celebratory New Years thing is stupid. Amateur drinkers not-counting down in unison and blowing horns because 365 days have passed. My girlfriend wishing everybody a Happy New Year on her cel phone until I told her to turn it off. A couple of young boys on roller blades sped by really fast. They had on glowing head bands and backpacks. The taller one tried to duck under a police barricade and fell on his ass and broke the whole barrcicade, The cops stood there looking at him while the bar across the street laughed like a bunch of monkeys. I could see it happening and was so glad that it did. I could smell a riot coming on, so I made my girlfriend go back inside. We then wasted more money on drinks.
After all of the bars, friends went to Tony and Chris' place. It was winding down. Various folk and my girlfriend asleep in various spots around the apartment. I was playing video games with Joe. I got up. Went to the bathroom, and then came back out with no hair and a shaved head that looks like a monkey's ass.
Then we went to Denny's.
Like I said, It looks pretty good so far.