Hail To The Thief...

Listening to a burned copy of the new Radiohead album. Good stuff. I think I got drunk last night. Joe came over and we played video games and drank furiously. By the time he left, I was feeling a bit loopy. I think that my long day of work added to the effects of the alcohol. I tried to watch the first dvd from the Back To The Future box set, and apparently fell asleep because I woke up at fo' in the mornin' in my clothes and halfway on the bed. When the alarm woke me up, I felt like a bear had stomped on my tongue and shit in my mouth. I tried to get it together at work, but no amount of caffeine could save this poor child. All of my words were slithering out at a snails pace, and my gimpy leg was worse than usual. After work, I went to the library and paid my obligatory fines. I got a couple of reference materials for my girlfriend's school project, checked out a couple of comic books. David Boring by Daniel Clowes, and Murder Mysteries by Neil Gaiman. I got a Dragonlance book, the new Harry Potter dvd, and that White Oleander/Michelle Pfeiffer movie on vhs. Yes, we have all of that at my library. I'm spoiled, I know. All I got from there was kid Kevynn stuff. I feel no guilt about this. Crime and Punishment can wait, Doestyevsky-however-you-spell-your-name. Then went home and felt like poo. I read some comic book crap, then helped make dinner for my gal's friend's birthday. Then they left to go drink, and I stayed on this damn computer pretty much the whole time in between sessions of laundry. Now the girls are home, eating, smoking bowls, and asking me questions while I try to type this. It was a boring story, but probably is worse because of it. She asked if I wanted to hear about their night and for the third time I just told them no. People never get it. Drunk or not. Don't disturb people when they're trying to write. It’s like fucking with the insane, tripping a man when he's down, poking the wasp’s nest with a stick, tripping a legless man. Please don't talk. If I could find a good cave with high-speed internet access, I'd be there in a second, Bubbalicious.

You ever notice how two girls, drunk, and giggling, can make a house sound like it's being invaded by elephants? I give them twenty minutes and then they're going to pass out. Then I'll fart on their heads. Maybe that'll be my next AudioBlog.

Thank you, and goodnight. Bastards.

Fido...

I wish Blogger had an option right next to edit your blog that said edit your dog.
Then if your poodle took a shit on the rug, Blooger'd take care of it.

Hold Me...

Oh, did I have some bad dreams last night.

Quatro Ojos...

If you could get rid of one grooming habit what would it be? I don't really have an answer, I just thought of it when I was staring at my weird face in the mirror in the bathroom. Does anybody else do that? I'm not vain or anything, but I can't stop looking at myself. Flesh and blood can be fascinating. Sometimes I think I look cool. Sometimes I think that I look like I'm dying, and sometimes I just study myself. Notice stuff that I didn't notice before, look at my teeth, make faces. I was listening to a bird chirp, also. I was thinking bad thoughts towards the bird. Why the hell does he have to be up right now? Couldn't he have waited for a little bit? Does he have to remind me that it's getting late, does he have to remind me to go to bed and try to sleep, and not be able to, and finally fall asleep two hours from now, even though I went to bed on purpose so that I could fall asleep? And why try to go to sleep when you know that you wont be able to? And what the hell was that noise just a minute ago? And, no - I don't do drugs. This is just the way I am. Thank you. Where the hell did this day go? Why did I spend so much time on these three sites? Looking forward to tomorrow can sometimes be a scary thing. New days always have the possibility of biting you in the ass, so why can't I stretch this one out? I guess we could all just lie to ourselves and say that we're experiencing one big day in our lifetime, just cut up by occasional bouts of silent, dark, commercials that vary in length and are best viewed when the eyes are closed...

Man, oh man. Now that time is short – I could just go on forever…

Looking For A Good Home...

I am placing myself up for adoption.
If you are interested, please tell me what you have to offer.
All perverted comments from males will make me shiver and then be ignored.
If you have any questions, please re-read my blog thing.

Thank you daddy and mommy dearest...

Whatcanigetcha?...

I bartend on Sunday nights now. I've done it before, but always in the day. I had a guy fall off of his barstool already. I saw him do it when I was outside smoking. I didn't even know that him and his friends were drunk when they came in. I just thought that he was naturally a loud and friendly guy. I can't ever tell when people are fucked up. Drugs, booze, or whatever. I think everybody is weird. I'm pretty naive too. I'm one of those guys that never know when a person is strung out on something. I live in a happy dodo land where nobody does drugs. I can't tell. I always act like I'm on crack, and I've never even seen the stuff. Oh, wait...that's a lie. I was in a Denny's on Sunset once and a man stood up on one of the toilets and asked me if I'd like some. I declined. Flushed. Zipped. Got out of there. No Chris Rock, New Jack City for me.

I think I did okay. Nobody died. I didn't have to get all ninja on anybody's ass. I engaged in a lot of meaningless conversation. I guess Sunday nights will be the new hang out for my friends. They're all good tippers too. Bad drunks, but good tippers .I'm a good drunk and a good tipper. I'm really good at tipping over drunks too.

Some girl grabbed me and started dancing with me. I felt kind of foolish though because of my gimpy leg. I smoked a lot. My girlfriend came in for a drink and I messed hers up. I guess I'm an okay bartender, though. I'd rather have me behind the bar than someone else. I'm nice. I smile a lot. I laugh at your jokes. I pour strong drinks. I want to make you poor. Give me your money so that I can put my twelve children through college. Give me your money so that I can go to college twelve times. Or give me your money so that I can spend twelve hours a day making collages. Or just spending my time brushing with Colgate.

Best part of today? I'm talking to another drunk guy outside, and a small black kid came up and asked us if we wanted to buy some candy. The drunk guy asked him how much and the kid told him five dollars. The drunk guy said that he couldn't have sugar. But being drunk was? Anyway, the kid then said that he could take donations and the drunk guy gave him ten bucks. Then the kid asked the drunk guy if he'd like any candy and the drunk guy said no. The kid's face lit up, he said goodbye, and then started to dance down the street. Dancing. Really. Kind of shuffling and skipping along. I should have bought all of his candy, so that he didn't have to walk around asking fat, drunk, humans if they wanted any...

AND I should have bought him a drink for one of those Kit Kat's...

Confession Can Be Quick...

I used to hump my bedpost when I was a kid.
I also used to hump the basketball pole in the front yard.

That's it.

Question Club...

Ask me a question as hard as you can.
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Stick Em' Up, Bugsy...

When I was young, I used to get in trouble a lot. I'd do wacky crap for no reason. Tear my clothes off, break something, name it - I did it. So punishment was a daily occurence. When my mother was around, punishment was different. If i was bad, I had to hold my hand out and get whacked with a...chopstick. No foolin'. And if I was badder, I had to stick both off my hands against the wall. I couldn't turn my head, or talk. If I was lucky, I got the side of the wall that had the calender nearby, and you could kind of discreetly sneak glances at it for entertainment, this lasted for hours sometimes. That's why I can't keep my mind still nowadays. My overactive imagination was a childhood survival mechanism. Now, if I was badder-er, I got the belt. Right on my ass. This was my fathers territory. He wore big belt buckles. He was a Texan. They all have big belt buckles. He always said it hurt him more than it did me. Uh huh. Yeah, whatever you say, pops. You've got the belt. You know what was scarier than his belt buckle? His face. It'd get all red and splotchy, and spit would start flying out of his mouth. He looked like a cartoon. I'd imagine steam coming out of his ears and a whistle blowing like in the cartoons...

See? Like I told you...

Survival mechanism.

Doris The Thinkasauras...

You know, it's pretty sad when you have to go brush your teeth for inspiration. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't have started to brush them if I wanted to smoke, so now I can't - and I thought that it kind of sucks that I have to go to sleep. I guess I don't have to, but I'm trying to be good and at least have my body in bed by 2 a.m. I mean, what else can I do? A lot of stuff, I know, but people start getting up three hours from now and the sun comes up, birds start playing the guitar, etc. When that shit is happening and you're still up, it gives you an icky feeling, like you've been bad.

The other thing that I was thinking about was how cool it would be if there were two worlds, or at least like, two societal schedules. Kind of like if you had two seperate lunch periods in high school. I want the world to start according to my internal alarm clock. I want to be productive along with everybody else. If it's dawn, and I think that a beer would hit the spot, I want to see you at the bar. I know Vegas is like this 24/7, but that doesn't count. That's a special place - like Disneyland. I want the world to be my own personal Denny's. Where I can get what I want at anytime of the day, and where all strange behaviour goes unnoticed.

That's it, I think. Lick it.