The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses over the Hills...

I didn't want to wake up, but I had to. Last night was one of those nights where everybody drinks too much and makes plans for the next day. What we don't realize is that most won't remember, and the ones that do won't find anybody to go to breakfast, lunch, or dinner with because the other person is probably sleeping. Don't exchange phone numbers with a newfound friend because it'll just be cleaned out of the wallet in a month. Realize that you'll be eating fast food before you go to bed. You won't even remember it until you see the empty wrappers in the trash. I laughed a lot last night. Ha Ha Ha. I did. Really.

I didn't want to wake up, but I did. I went to the batting cages. Everybody else flaked out except for Joe. Not Joe Mama. My back is sore. When I hit em? Great. When I don't? My back gets all twisted like spaghetti. I have bad knees, okay? They've been bugging me bad for the last coupla years. You should see me walk up steps when nobody's looking. That's what skateboarding will do to ya' kids, look out. So, one ball I hit, smacked me in the knee. My left knee, thankfully. My right knee's the worst. I didn't want to hit anymore because I was in so much pain. Later, I did the same exact fucking thing. Instead of quitting, we logically went to the fast pitch cages.

We played Laser Tag. Me, Joe, two moms, and 23 kids. I got in a fight with one who was bugging the hell out of me. I took his wallet. I played video games. I ate pizza. I went outside to smoke. I sat on a rock. Little blackbirds were pecking at the lawn in front of me. Maybe forty of them. They got closer. And closer. And closer, until they were about five feet away from me. I sat still. My cigarette was developing a grandma ash of mass proportions. A young girl started to look at me. Was it the close proximity of the birds or my natural, boyish charm? Was I a Bird Whisperer? I played more video games. I saw god. No. I went to the video store. I got nothing. I think that is sad. I went home to take a shower. I didn't. I talked to one of my older brothers. I need to go to Baltimore when his baby is born next month. I'm the Marlon Brando of his kid. Wait, I'm the fat-once-brilliant-actor of his kid?

Joe and I were waiting for Chris so that we could go to dinner. I was smoking in the backyard. No birds. Too cold. No worms? I don't know. I heard a crunch. I could tell it was a car against car crunch. Let's stop this "car on car" crime. I heard glass tinkling. I ran to where I heard the noise originate from. It was coming from where my car was parked. The hit and run, drunken-or-just-plain-stupid driver hit the car parked behind mine. Joe and I talked to the irate owner who told us that he fargin felt like cussing, and the cop. I hoped he didn't see my expired registration. I thanked the god(s). We ate food.

I came home. Watched smatterings of the Grammys. Why aren't they giving out awards to grandmothers? Read. Tried to type. Waited. Watched the end of ALI. Uhhh...fine, I guess. It's no When We Were Kings, though. There is a fat cat asleep by me. She is on her back. She is disgusting. One arm is in the air. One is curled down like she's saying, "Aww Shucks!". I think she ate all of the birds that I hung out with today.

I'm glad I woke up.
Now I need to go to sleep...

Smells Like Teen Spirit...

First concert. I was sixteen, I think. Kyuss, White Zombie, Danzig. Why? I was into Danzig. That's it. Halloween night. Lied to my father. Told him I was staying at Tony's house. Costumes. Freaks. Joel lost a whole eighth of pot and we spent the first half hour looking for it. Why? I don't know. I never liked it. I had an older brother, so I know what I'm talking about. We started a mosh pit. We floated Mike across the crowd, and then lost him. We didn't see him until the last part of the concert. I lost my earring and my mask in the space of the first mosh-minute. There were bonfires. I saw long-haired freak's hair go up in flames. A big guy that was standing and watching right by me nudged me and gave me his pipe. I smoked it. Why? I don't know. I got stoned. I hated getting stoned. I lost track of time. I saw a guy with a bloody eye in the bathroom yell what a great time he was having. There were zombies, witches, vampires, and idiots. It was fun.

My next concert was at the Orange County Fair.

I saw The Everley Brothers.

Even scarier.

The Wheels On The Bus...

Time is passing, things are changing. After work I played with my girlfriend's sister's daughter in the park. Does that make sense? If my girlfriend and I were married, which we will be when I'm 87, Rosie would be my neice. She'll start to hate me later on, but she thinks I'm pretty cool now. We point out animals in my books. I pay attention to her. She's the only girl I hug and kiss besides my girlfriend, and I don't have to figure out bills with her, so it's a perfect arrangement. After I got off of work today, my girlfriend asked if I would take Rosie to the " P.A.R.K?". I agreed so that my girlfriend and her sister could talk about family/girl stuff in peace. We went to the park by my house. I had to carry her in my arms all the way there. That was the agreement. If I had it my way, I probably would've let Rosie drive me there. Not my kid. Not my rules. If I had it my way, I'd instruct Rosie to act like she was a midget and ask adult questions to the adults. I'd give her a cel phone and dress her up in a jogging suit. I'd tell her to scream into the phone and ask people, "What the fuck you lookin' at?" when they were staring. I'd tell her to say, " Haven't you ever seen a midget with sloooow speech before?"

The park was empty when we got there. We climbed on everything. We slid down the slides. I made the mistake of teaching her how to play, "Store" in one of the play houses. I would give her wood chips as money and she would give me hamburgers. Consumerism, anyone? I'm glad I didn't call the play house, "McDonalds". Then I would've had to pretend to puke all over the place. Rosie never grew tired of the game, I was sick of putting my hands in all of the woodchips. I kept on thinking about what drunk teenagers do at parks late at night. I tried to tell her that we should go on the slides again. See? Kids aren't bored doing the same thing over and over again. I am. That makes me the kid, I think. Then I thought that if I told her that I was going to play on the slide instead of asking her, I'd get my way. It worked.

The playground started to get filled with small little kids. About eight little things and four mothers that I knew for a fact were younger than me. I live close to a home for troubled, young, pregnant mothers. That explains the kids. One little dude with dreadlocks started to follow me around and wanted to do all of the things that I was doing. Nobody seemed to be watching him. He'd just squeek at me, but I was afraid of lifting him up on things and getting funny looks from the mamas. I had my kid, though. That was my defense. Little dreadlock boy started to follow us everywhere and so I helped lift him on a platform and tried to not make Rosie jealous and make it seem that it was perfectly natural that I was devoting half my time to her and a complete stranger. Little dreadlock boy started to eat the woodchips after sticking his mouth down into the ground. I was afraid of him choking, so I looked around and saw nobody paying attention once again. So, I did the only thing that I could. I stuck my fingers in somebody's baby's mouth and started to pull out the wood chip slivers. I was waiting for the scream from a mother. " What the hell are you doing with my baby?". I was picking fucking wood out of saliva, okay? I shouldv'e thrown some chips in his diapers for fun. That would've really tripped them out later.

Babies were everywhere. When I was helping Rosie climb up a rope ladder. A little thing about the size from my foot to my knee came running up to me as I was climbing. She had a big smile on her face. I had an abject look of terror on mine. I blocked her to stop her from falling about four feet to the ground. I saw some of the mother's start to pay more attention then.

I felt like a father, a little bit. I was standing around watching Rosie with eagle eyes. One of the teenage girls/sitters was shadowing one of the munchkins around. I had a smile on my face and my eyes were darting around, looking for any potential obstacle or danger. Isn't it funny that parents in parks never really look at each other? They can't. One glance away means a busted kid head. I don't know who said what, it was something about one of the slides. I said some thing like, " Yeah, she really likes those." The mom said, "Oh yeah, mine too!" Ummmm....I'm standin' here in my bluejeans, scary black skull t-shirt, wristbands, and scary hair. I don't really fit, okay?

But I guess I do. Because I could be a father now. And I've always dressed however I wanted to at the moment. My uniform is pretty basic. Black shirts when warm. Collared long sleeves when cold. Hair always dumb. Me father now? No. You taking care of mine when I have em'? Oh yeah.

I'll teach my kid how to spellcheck too.


Poop head.

Another Reason Why I'm A Bad Boyfriend...

Watching the last episode of The Bachelorette.
My girlfriend turns to me, teary-eyed, and says, "Are you crying too?"

"Uh, no. I was picking my nose."

Richie Rich And Almost Famous...

I am now working on becoming rich and famous. Rich in what? Famous for what? No, you ass - I just wan't to be rich and famous. Not J-Lo rich and famous. Not F. Scott rich and famous. Not George C. Scott rich and famous. Not Scotland Yard. Not The Yardbirds. Not Charlie Parker. Not Trey Parker. Not Parker Bros. Not The Brothers McMullen. Not a mullet. Not Macauley Culkin. Not Coldplay. Not At Play In The Fields Of The Lord. Not Traci Lords. Not Lord Vader. Not Vapo Rub. Not, " Ay, there's the rub!". Not The Three Men In The Tub. Not Crockett. Not Davey Jones. Not Grace Jones. Not George Burns. Not cigar Burns. Not Smithers. Not Alan Smithee. Not Morrisey. Not The Lizard King. Not John Densmore's tinitus. Not Titus, The Faithful Padlock. Not Paddington Bear. Not Aslan. Not Pennywise. Not He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. Not Admiral Thrawn. Not Elijah Snow. Not The Fourth Man. Not Aimee Mann. Not a man. Not a woman. Not Peter Parker. Not Johnathan Harker. Not Parker Posey. Not a fat head named Rosie. Not Zoloft. Not Phillip Morris. Not Kerouac. Not Palahniuk. Not Orson Scott Card. Not Harry Osborn. Not Warren Ellis. Not a crook. Not tired yet. Not smart, eh? Not enough time in the day. Not too html savvy. Not responsible. Not normal. Not a bad guy to know. Not taking anything for granted. Not a healthy liver. Not a good guy to stick in Vegas. Not into TV. Not taking out the trash. Not done with the screenplays. Not sure what that noise was coming from the turtle tank. Not sure why I think gothic girls are attractive. Not at all gothic myself. Not to touch the earth, not to touch the sun. I had the day off today but I had to cover for a guy whose brother died. I'm not kidding. I am not the god of hellfire. I once met a person who was attacked by a Vampire. I like Werewolves. I hate all Werewolf movies. I like all Spiderman comics. Please send me some. Not Werewolves. I need to go smoke now, can you hold on a sec? Why, thank you. You're the greatest, Bubba....I attract ghosts in almost every house that I live in. I once wrote a drunk email to Sarah B. and don't remember what I said. I recently wrote a letter of complaint to AT&T. I like action figures. I like Gary Oldman. I like the Dalai Lama. I hate China. I like Radiohead. I like Beer and nothing else. I am romantic. I am agoraphobic. I like the beach but hate open water. I like dogs but only have cats. My hair is growing back. I like to poo. I tried to get tickets to see Coldplay at The Hollywood Bowl but they sold out in the first seven minutes. I'd like to tell everybody that got them to suck it. I am listening to Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond. I like to sing, and do almost always. I play bass guitar but not as much as I should. Good times never seemed so good. I like Bruce Campbell. I'd like to link to everything that I've talked about. I like eggrolls. I hate mexican food. I hate mexicans and love eggs. Not really. I need to get new car insurance. Larry stopped by tonight. He looks like Snoop Doggy Dog. I once saw Charlie Sheen and Anthony Keidis in the same hour. I have one brown eye and one light brown eye. I am afraid. I've got a bad feeling about this. I want to see Popeye, the movie. I don't miss Shelly Duvall one bit. I think Jennifer Garner is cute but shouldn't work out anymore. I don't watch wrestling. I lke to read. I don't like to read about wrestling. Ernest Hemingway blew his head off with a shotgun. I had a good Valentine's Day. There is still mistletoe hanging above the front door. I am not going to spellcheck this. I like you. I need a digital camera. I need to be adopted please. I live in California. I need to drop off my eight rolls of film tomorrow. I need to pay the cable bill. I need to go to the comic book store. I need to go now.

I need to be rich and famous.

Hop to it, punk.

Jesus Worked Out...

My friend Baxter says that Jesus had a swimmer's body. Then did he play water polo? I don't think that there's a chance in hell that Jesus swam. He obviously didn't like water. Have you seen him? Not lately, I meant in pictures. He looks kind of dirty. Some of that weird soap that I just bought would've done him good. Jesus needed a good razor and a gay hairdresser friend.

See, now look at Buddha. Nice. Clean.

I bet Buddha smelled good.

Who Put The Boop In The Boop-Dee-Boop-Dee-Boop?...

And who put the Jesus in my soap? Okay, get ready...I bought some steaks and green beans for dinner, right? I also needed some more soap to wash my stinky butt with. So I went to the healthy hippie section where I get my Toms Of Maine toothpaste from and picked up "Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps All-One Hemp Vera Baby-Mild Pure-Castille Soap. serious. That's what it's called. Figured it was worth a shot and better than all the usual perfumey crud I usually buy that drives my skin nuts. I opened it up in the shower and started to read the label...

Cruelty free, not animal tested, post-consumer recycled paper, blah blah.

And then I started to read the inside of the wrapper. Notable quotes from the Moral ABC? What the hell? Edison? Booker T. Washington? Mohammed? Confucius? And Bronner? Who the hell is that? And how come most of them were god-ish quotes? That sucked! And of course, the soap sucked. It felt like I was rubbing somebodys heel against my arm. What did I just say?

Screw the Jesus soap. I've been had. I feel dirty now.

*Update* Well, maybe not. I don't know.
You've got to read this article. It's crazy.

Apathetic Nnyvek...

Oh. I get it.
Once, I stop caring about the comments section -
it starts to work again. I see now.
Well, I also don't care about money

...eh?

Nothing happened.

As If It Being Fucking Monday Wasn't Enough...

I bring you this...and I apologize in advance.

p.s. AND I am very close to ditching stupid-ass-never-working Haloscan because my comments never work. What the hell am I paying them for? Oh wait, I get it for free. Well, who cares? They can suck it. All a bunch of bastards, they are.

Transvestite. Schmanzmestite. Comic Book. Nothing Else Of Importance...

I like Planetary and Eddie Izzard.

Not at the same time.

Thank you.