When I Had Long Hair...

People used to say I looked like that guy Nuno from that crappy band, Extreme. Damn. Or that I looked like Lou Diamond Phillips or that I just plain looked like shit.

Now I get Harry Potter all the time or a skinny Clark Kent.

Better than people telling you that you look like Ellen Degeneres, I guess...

What A BeeYatch...

No, not Michael Jackson or his spider nemesis. So, my girlfriend just came home from visiting about eight stores to look for kitchen stool satan seat covers or something. Nothing in her hands. I asked her how the affair she's having is going. She asked me how my other girlfriend is. She's fine. Forget about that, check out what she just told me.

I guess my girlfriend and a woman were both looking at the same cream seat covers except that there was only one pack of three left. Four come in a pack. Somebody must have taken one out to look at it, like people do in stores sometimes. My girlfriend found the stray one from the pack a little later and...HID IT.

Yeah, tucked it away somewhere. Later she ends up seeing the lady in the store again and they have a long conversation about seat-thingys and tells my girlfriend that she can have the last pack if she wants because she can't find the other one. Then my girlfriend went outside to the pay phone to ask her mother some question about something and then ended up going home because the girl on the pay phone next to her was screaming fuck you and restraining order into the phone repeatedly and at top volume.

My girlfriend left.

Someone's getting coal in their karma stocking this Christmas...

Yeowwwww!...

If I ever meet the spider that bit Michael Jackson, I'll give it a sugar cube and shake its...hands.

That's gonna be the name of my new band...Michael Jackson Spider Bite.

Something To Remember...

Even if the double shot of tequila is free --
You Dont Have To Drink It.....

I Love The Damn, Fuckin' Library...

Oh, and thrift stores too. After work I bought a crapload of cheap books, but I won't tell you what most of them were because you'll laugh at me. Hey, they were only a quarter each...I also got a couple of books at the library. Prey by Micheal Chrichton and the Nanny Diaries by some crap head. I rented two movies also...Portrait Of A Lady with Nicole Kidman and...Zero Effect with Ben Stiller. I got two comic books also. See, I'm spoiled...my library has comic books.

I also saw your mom.

She says hi, and to send more money.

She needs new shoes.

Word...

Writing, like all forms of expression, can be a pain in the Mons Pubis. The first story I remember writing was when I was five, I think. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree while my father tried to be sneaky and take pictures of me. I have that picture around here somewhere. Beatles mop top hair, khaki pants, skinny as hell. Writing a story about a giant, red robot named Maxmillian. I read it to my shitty-ass older brother later that night and he accused me of stealing the idea from the movie Black Hole. I denied it. I lied, but who cares?

Writing kind of sucks. Once the sick urge infects you, there's no getting rid of it-you're always going to feel like you should be doing it. You'll feel guilty for not doing it or for wasting ideas, and if you're like me, you'll go through intense, sporadics periods of productivity and then slog through a desert of uncreative poo.

Like now. I'm in the desert. That's okay, though. I don't care as much as I used to. I can't sit in a tiny rented room and write twenty to thirty pages full of shit anymore. I try to focus on the quality not the quantity, I tell myself now. That's bullshit, I think. I just don't write as much. I'm not as angst-ridden, I'm more patient and more willing to write when I can, and accept the day as a success if I just wrote anything. That's why writing all of this crud is good. If I'm not going to tackle the big Kevynn Malone projects then at least I can still tackle something when I'm being a lazy punk. It's like getting sacked in a football game and then hitting the waterboy over the head as you make your way to the bench to recuperate.

My spelling sucks. Syntax horrible. I have Frankenstein punctuation. Actually, If Yoda was a writer-I'd be him. Writing, of yours...good-it is not...yesssss? Why does Yoda sound like a snake? I don't know. I've ditched all of my schooling. My earlier literary influences didn't help much either. Mr. Kerouac-No-Punctuation-Don't Stop. Bukowski's poetry. Morrison poetry. Allen Ginsberg-Miasmic-Mess-Of-Form. Hustler reader responses. Ah, but I've done all right considering. I've done some good stuff. I like my ideas and what I've done with them. I'll never be the best writer in the world and who would want to be? I'm content to excrete my own shit and fertilize my life the only way I know how...slowly and with relish. Grimacing and feeling pleasure at the same time...

I'll be rich and famous one day. Everyone else can erase my mistakes. I'll just keep on creating them. After puking my guts out and visiting my harem, of course. And if I ever run out of ideas, I'll just write about Star Wars...

Bye.

Awww, Saara...Just Send Me A Check...

For THIS. All payments accepted.

Thank you.

Now What The Hell Was That All About?...

Checking this before work and I couldn't get it to load.
My web site would come up as the archives for Que Sera Sera.
Not that bad, I guess. At least it was linking to something good.
It could've been embarrasing and linked to my midget porn picture link.

Nothing against midgets and porn...

Small Friggin' World...

Video Store. See Michelle and some guy. She ran up and scared me as I was perusing the childrens videos. I had a Hamtaro-something-or-other thing in my hand. No, not in my butt-thank you, Mr. Gere. Where the hell did the Richard Gere hamster/butt thing start anyway. How, I mean? Damn, that rumor's old-but is there validity to every rumor? It has to start somewhere, right? He was probably shopping for a pet and an employee probably dropped one down his pants by accident. I don't know. Saw Amanda and Mark. I didn't think it was her. I started to run up to her and scare her but then put on my brakes and stopped in the middle of the new releases because I had second thoughts. I back-pedaled and started to cough her name out really loud. It was her. I put a Grease DVD in her hand and told her to buy it. After the video store Dawne and I went to the grocery store to pick up Beer (me), cigarettes (me), and aluminum foil (us). As we were leaving we saw Amy. Made fun of each other. She said I smelled like tuna. What the hell? Do I? Tell me. Do I smell like tuna? As we were leaving I spotted Amy's car and fucked with her windshield wipers, like I always do. I love my annoying humor. Too bad nobody else does. Went home, Mark (another one) and Nadia came over and gave me glasses from Spaghetti Factory. We watched a bunch of horrible, old movies that I made. They left. Amy called and left a message saying that she knew that I would see her car and fuck with her windshield wipers. Yup. That was the last couple of hours.

So now, what should I watch?

Reign Of Fire or Attack Of The ClonesAttack Of The Clones?

Tell me now or I'll kick you in the crotch...

Platypus, Cookie-puss, and Sisyphus...

Sunday is for sleeping, but trying to get up early.
Ummm...probably not writing, even though I want to.
I have to call April and have her come over so that I can rub her pregnent belly. I want to whisper dirty things into her navel.
Not turn on the t.v. unless it's Star Wars related.
Not turn on this computer unless it's really late.
Feed my cat.
Fuel my fire.
Quench my desire.
There's no band practice cuz' Ryan's in France-the bastard.
I'll need to pick up an L.A. Times.
Pick up some lollipops to give to random children.
I need to let it loose.
Lay low.
Aim high.
Eat pie in the sky.
Skate.
Wear something other than black.
Pretend I'm black.
Pretend I'm white.
Waste the day.
Get wasted.
Create waste as a consumer or fecal-wise.
Listen to music.
Play music.
Play in the park.
Play with myself.
Play Bocce ball.
Play dumb.
Play dead.
Playfully tweak your nipple.

Thank You.

Lick me til' your tongue hurts. I'd appreciate it...