Samson...

I got a haircut today.
I always hated haircuts when I was a little kid.
My father would get pissed at me and demand that I got a crew cut because my hair grows at an alarming rate.
If I was a member of the X-Men, my mutant power would be uncanny hair growth.

I'd be known as bushy crotch boy.

Fist Full Of Boom Stick...

I have an art gallery showing on Saturday night. How that I happened, I don't know. I don't paint much. One painting every six months, maybe. And I give them all away. But my friends are all talented, and Ryan asked if I had anything, so, I'll have four things at the show. If you're around Pomona, email me and let me know. Keep your knives at home. Thermo nuclear detonators are okay. I’ll be the drunk guy shrugging my shoulders.

I need to call my brother back. I really lag at calling people back. It's remarkable that people still talk to me. You might as well put a message in a bottle and throw it into the sea. You'd get a quicker response that way, mate.

I met a guy who works on a cable show too. I need to call him. Maybe I can write skits or act in his productions. I washed my car today. I went to the comic book store and picked up some free X-Men and Batman stuff for the Mexican worker's kids at my job. I found nothing for myself, fuckers. I rented Catch Me If You Can, The Ring, and The Legend Of Ron Jeremy. I had a lot of fines at the video store, but the guy knocked off sixteen dollars. Why, I don't know. People do stuff like that for me sometimes. Even the kids at the library knock off my fines. Maybe I have a slight mutant power? Maybe people pity me? Last week when I saw X-Men, one of the kids carried my cokes all of the way to my seat. Maybe I'm a good talker. Shit, I would hope that I had a better way with words than with writing. Otherwise? Mr. Hemingway? Please pass the shotgun.

Oh. About my brother. He's 32 and lives in Kentucky, but is going to move soon this summer to Phoenix. He's like a bigger version of me, but with bushy eyebrows. I don't think that you could ever have a brother more different than you. But we both appreciate fart humor and like beer. I forgive him for being the ultimate asshole that he was when I was growing up. He's cool now. You mellow out when you're balding. So, if my brother moves closer to California, this means that I'll at least be able to see one member of my family, right?

My younger sister wants me to visit Austin in early July. I hope that I can, I miss her a lot. In times past, we were inseparable. But she had to move to Texas with my father when she was still in high school. I think that we both suffered for not being around each other. I raised her and she's always been the only girl who I kept in the back of my mind while doing something wacky and crazy. While she was here, she was the only person that kept me from dangling off of a cliff or racing down some freeway. I've had to learn to be a more responsible person without the benefit of her being here, and she has too. I feel that we've missed out on a lot, but the core connection is still around. We still have a horrible sense of humor, and appreciate a good fart joke here and there. Do you see what my family was like growing up, folks?

Damn, I can't concentrate. I think that we're all going to watch the Laker game at my house tomorrow. Maybe I can give you a play by play. Not of the game, but of my freaky friends fiendish actions. Maybe there will be a couple of guest posts. Maybe not. Maybe they'll all get me drunk and take me to the comic book store instead. Maybe? Maybe I'll get a call on that new job? And then I'll be a semi-wealthy guy and get back on track and then I can pay for all of you to come to a BBQ at my house.

I hope you like strippers.

I Want You To Curse Me As Hard As You Can...

Curse club, baby.
Tell me off.
Because, we all deserve to be put down sometimes, I think.

And if your imagination fails you, try to work through the alphabet, or just see how many words this commenting system will take.

P.S. I humped your mom. Yes, I did.

Hi, My Name Is Carol N...

COKE 12PK
Bud LT 12 PK
VALET DEGREE
RICE A RONI
CHZ IT CHDR
ARRWHD 15/24
1.48 lb @ 1.59 / lb MINNEOLAS
KRSPY SLTINE
CHORE BOY
TWININGS TEA
SALT & PEPPER
RA TRSH BAGS
PWRADE MATRX
YO CRUNCH
VLASIC DILLS
YO CRUNCH
J.D. BISCUIT
PACK CIGS

TAX 1.95
BALANCE 62.25
CASH 62.25
CHANGE 0.00

05/13/03 10:27 pm

$ 2.31 Toward Wine Club
$ 10.32 Toward FINDING NEMO
$ 17.90 Toward Pet Club

Speechless…

Hey, that’s good. Joe might have set me up a new interview with his job. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Kevynn the waiter/bartender is fun and all, but this job was only supposed to last a couple of months. Not two and something years. But, I don’t regret it. I was a desperate, laid-off, dot com guy. Funny, huh? Isn’t everybody a laid-off dot comer? All of them have jobs or are dead, though. I smile and talk, and look smart in my big, fat tie and wrinkled, white shirt. I ask you how to make your drinks and sit down at the tables with the old men. People ask me how my weekend was. I tell them stories, they laugh. They tip. I follow them to their car, and say, “ Hulk Smash!” and then tip their car over. I wake up in an alley with nothing on but a pair of shredded, purple pants. Nuff’ said.

I don’t know what the hell’s been going on with me recently, but ever since I came back from my two month hiatus, my sense of discombobulation has increased. My fingers don’t respond to me as well as before. There’s a bad connection. My sleeping habits have gotten worse, I think about things to write, projects to tackle, things to start, and my arms fill with concrete. The fire from my brain starts to slow down. Eventually it congeals and solidifies. Making me walk around like an ape. Apes can’t talk; so then people can’t understand me. People can’t understand me, so then I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I get mad. When I get mad, I get violent. When I get violent, I throw things. When I throw things, my bad aim comes into effect. Old ladies walking their poodles get hit in the ears. They can’t hear me apologize. Nobody is happy.

No, really. I need that old, mad, flavor. The premium gas. The bomp dee bomp. The ramma lamma ding dong. I need to lop off my arm and replace it with a chainsaw. Rip up this keyboard. I need to stop typing like an old woman.

Or, at least, to get an old woman to do my typing.

Lucky Lager Had The Right Idea...

And don't you think that it would be cool if they posted comic strips on the sides of beer cans, Bazooka Joe style? Or maybe like they used to on the thermos things from our childhood lunch boxes? It give some people other things to do other than watch soft core porn and baseball. And you know that by the time the majority of people got the joke, because everybody knows, if you're drinking a tallboy of Budlight in a can, then you're a slow idiot like me - It'd be time to crack open a new one. Or pee. Or to shoot a rabbit from your front porch or something.

Pardner.

Kurt Wagner...

I'm sorry, but somebody just did a google search on fake nightcrawler teeth and wound up on my site. Nightcrawler from the new X-Men movie, not nightcrawlers - the fishing bait. Anyway, kid? Fake nightcrawler teeth? You should have bought some on Halloween for about a couple of bucks. They were right by the Werewolf and Vampire make up.

Oscar...

It is astounding how much trash and dirty dishes a two-person household can produce. If I had kids, it would be worse? Sometimes I think that this place is a factory and that I'm the janitor, and just that nobody's told me yet. Where's my benefits, damnit.

April Greiman?...

Damn, I forgot. A friend of mine gave me twenty bucks to write a paper for her advertising and graphic design class. The dork doesn't even know when it's due. So, I might have to tackle that pronto, Tonto. I used to do a small amount of this in high school. I'd write a paper or monologue for lazy people. I'd get five bucks or a six pack of beer. Even after high school, I use to work with a dumb kid, who had a lot of money or a big allowance or something. He'd pay me a crapload to write his papers for him I didn't feel any guilt with this guy, because he really didn't give a crap about anything other than smoking pot and racing cars. After he graduated, I heard that the kid spent a lot of time in and out of jail. Dummy. But then, he might be doing better than me now, who knows?

Now, I don't feel like writing a paper. I'm either really dumb...or I need to up my asking price, doody-fresh.

Building A Robot...

I just erased my post by accident. Bastards. I just worked almost fourteen hours. Tomorrow, I will do nothing at all. I will try my hardest. I swear. I will pay a bill, and call the dentist back, but that's it. I want to sleep. I will wake up, eat, and then go back to bed. I will Drink beer and roll up my girlfriends change when I am asleep also. I'm serious. I will not answer the phone. I will check my comments. I will dot my eyes and cross my tease. Ha. What? I don't know. That was stupid, yo. I want to do absolutely nothing. I will die for a day and cease to exist. I will hire a Puerto Rican midget to handle all of my affairs tomorrow.

I will love you forever. I will be dreaming about throwing things at your crotch. Thank you.