My Xanadu...

No particular reason, but if I lived in Australia, I'd save all of my money and buy the whole damn island. Got that right, Bub. Australia seems nice. They have wonderful exports. Nicole Kidman. Naomi Watts. That one book...what was it called? Cold Beer and Crocodiles, or something like that. Koalas are cute. And they hate Rabbits. They eat chocolate Bilbys instead for Easter. Don't ask me to explain what a Bilby is, I don't have the time, it's late.

But this is what I want...all of Australia. Nothing else. I'll keep on producing the occasional hot actress, I won't ruin the environment, I'll keep out of world politics, I'll just use the government funds for building a force field and for making toys. Yeah, It'll be the real island of misfit toys. I'll grow a beard, because somehow, I don't think It'd be right for me to be a nutcase who owns an island without having the obligatory, long, white beard.

Oh, and drunk Koalas. And cybernetic Kangaroos controlled by Chimpanzees that sit in their pouches.

Fosters. Australian for beer, mate.

Thank you.

My Bozzie Award...

I forgot to tell you that I won the...

"EXCUSE ME WHILE I POO
DID YOU KNOW POO BACKWARDS IS OOP?
OOP, I GOTTA POO
MY MOTHER JUST ATE MY DOG
'SCUSE ME WHILE I SMOKE AND POO
AND GOOK BACKWARDS IS KOOG
AND HALF A GOOK IS GO OR OK
EXCUSE ME WHILE I GO OK" Award yesterday...

Bow before me...

Soft With An Eyeball Invading Undertone...

Besides the Academy Awards, The Bozzies, and the war in Iraq. It's been a really boring day. But just leave it to one of western thinking to list a bunch of things happening in the world and to tell you how boring the day was. It's like saying how much you hate your car after taking an awesome roadtrip. Did that make sense? If it doesn't that's okay, because my little sister says I am officially a Godfather now...

Harry Cash Malone. That makes him co-captain of the next Malone wave. Milo Malone is hanging somewhere in Brooklyn. Him and his little four year old self. I can't wait until the inevitable family reunion where the next generation of Malone's comes up to me as I'm smoking in the backyard and asks me what the hell happened? Why are all of these old people so weird?

I'll tell him I have no clue, but I'm sure glad he's here...

Then we'll go play...

That's it.

Can I Open My Eyes Yet?...

The Bozzies are here....

?...

I have nothing to say right now.

Wondering Again...

Who in a fight?
The Swiss Army or The Salvation Army or Swiss Family Robinson?

Just Wondering...

Who would win in a bare-knuckle fist fight:
Rumsfield or Powell, or Mr. Howell, for that matter...

Have A Good Weekend, You Jerks...

I want the mob to contact me.
I'll work for them. I need money.
Maybe I should show them this,
then they'll hire me, huh?

p.s. The Bozzies will be presented at 9pm est Sunday night March 23, 2003!!!
Then after his awards ceremony, we'll hit the gay bars.

The Gombe National Preserve In Tanzania...

Fiona Apple loves Lemony Snicket. Where the hell's she been lately, by the way? David Blaine broke her heart. He must have done a magic trick and made it disappear, I guess. Never trust a magic user, I say. Ask any wood elf. My foot gets all purple when it's cold. Then i have to hike it up on permanent Rockette duty or like Jenna Jameson. The I bring it back down and then it gets all purple again. It's never-ending cycle folks. It's like Sisyphus on a Schwinn. Is that two n's on Schwinn? Am I related to em'? Hmmm...might have to check that out, yo.

I like magic tricks, didja know that? Of course you don't. Uh oh. Madonna's playing now. Get into the groove. Very eighties. It reminds me of riding my bike and singing this song. Better than being a young boy and singing "Like A Virgin" as you're pedaling past Michael Jackson's front gates. And on whose blog did they say that they liked Mike and that he should just live in Vegas permanently? He could make a crapload of moolah performing in Vegas. He'd fit right in, and if freaks like Liza, Celine, and Siegfried and Roy can do Vegas duty and make a living - Mike can too. Maybe he'd get in less trouble. Maybe he'd start dangling "Blanket" off of the Startosphere, though. I hope you all are following my ramblings, cuz if you ain't - then catch up before you get too far behind.

I'll be right back. Hold on. I'm back. I had to go chase a Possum away. How he got into the house, I don't know. Just kidding, I just had to go chase this monkey on my back away. A cigarette later, and he's gone. That was easy. Uh oh...y' hear that? No. Over there. In the trees. No that tall one. He's lookin' at me. Okay, let's continue - but if he starts flinging poo - I'm outta here.

I think that my little sister's personal boycott of Fat Free Milk is over. She got offended because I called my mother a bad name. I need to learn how to speak more Vietnamese. I only know, like, three things, and how to say "horny old goat". That's it, folks. I must've looked pretty gooky today, beacuse all I did for a good portion of the day was sleep. Then when I woke up, my eyes looked normal again. My father is the whitest guy in the universe. Quite the handsome man, though for a guy of 65 years. I wonder how he's doin'? Probably gearing up for another fishing tournament. I remember when I was young and my parent's were still together, how when we'd go on fishing trips, after we'd get home, my mother would spread out some newspapers on the kitchen floor and slide the cooler full of live fish next to her, grab her big ol' hatchet thingy and start fish head choppin'. I'd look on in amazement as she hacked away. Fish bodies would be flopping everywhere. Then she'd take the knife and scale it, gut it, save the eggs, if they had any, and sometimes save some of the heads if she wanted to make a soup later. Can you imagine being a four or five year old kid and wondering what smelled so good simmering on the stove top, lifting the lid off of the pot and finding fish heads looking up at you? I'd sometimes sip at the broth, but never touched the heads. That was my mom's deal. Picking at a fish head. That was all her. She was a great cook. Mexican food too. But sometimes, certain dishes got too much for my father and he'd round up all of the kids and take us to Carl's Jr. or Pizza Hut.

Do you guy's remember when Pizza Hut used to be a family restaurant? They had tables, booths, waitresses, and a bar. Video games and jukeboxes too. God, I loved going there. Now? Feh! Yukky poo. I used to work at a Pizza Buffett-type-Shaky's kinda restaurant owned by a family of Christian freaks. And I could cook up the best Mojo potatoes around, let me tell ya. But I'm not too proud of that, because I was living in the bosses RV behind the store. It was leaky, cold and pretty scary. I'd peer at the Mexicans digging through the dumpsters at night, looking for cardboard to recycle. They should've killed me and sold my kidneys on the black market.

When I have more money, I'm thinking of making a batch of Fat Free Milk t-shirts, my neighbor has a printing company, so I'll be able to swing them pretty cheap, I think. I also want to buy Fatfreemilk.com when all of my debt calms down. That would make me very happy. As a fooking clam.

I think I'm going to lay off of watching the news tomorrow. It's kind of avoidable, though. But, I'm going to try. It's just another big "Monkey War". Desmond Morris' hairless monkeys fighting over the same old things. Territory, resources, and bananas. What? Well, I bet we've fought over bananas somewhere, sometime.

Okay, you god damn simpleton simians. I've got to go and hang at another monkey's tree for a bit. Take care of yourself and try not to sleep too much.

Hoot! Hoot!

Mr. Rourke...

Okay, who has tattoos? I don't have any. Never really got around to the grand masterpiece that I wanted. A guy I work with just got these prison-looking anchor tats on his forearms. Dude...c'mon, gay? Yes. Very. I have a couple of pierced nipples, though. I put peanut butter on them and let my dog, "Skippy" lick it off.

So where are your tattoos, you heathens? When'd you get them and what the hell are they. And all the girls with tattoos of butterflies or an asian symbol on the small of their back, need not reply. You buttholes.

Da' plane, boss...da' plane...