Marshall Mathers…

I think that I just commited a major sin. I just chucked a bunch of leftover M&M’s down the sink. It’s not as bad as when I stuffed that dying crawdad down the garbage disposal and then turned it on. It was a mercy killing. I liberated him from work the week before. Which is worse? The M&M's weren't dying, but they were getting old.

A Wolf At The Door…

Recently, Amy Choppa and I were talking about favorite books of childhood...

Super Fudge.
Sheila The Great.
Beezus And Romona.
The Chronicles Of Narnia.
Henry And Ribsy.
The White Mountains.
Have you ever heard of anything called The Great Brain?
Encyclopedia Brown.
A Cricket In Times Square.
The Great Mouse Caper.
Where The Red Fern Grows.
The Bridge To Taribithia.
Dragons Blood.
The Trolley Car Family.
Swiss Family Robinson.
Runaway Ralph And The Mouse And The Motorcycle.
Otherwise Known As Sheila The Great.
Are You There God, It's Me Margaret?
Hustler.

Anyway, one of my favorite books of all time was The Brothers Lionheart, by Astrid Lindgren. She was the gal who wrote all of the Pippi Longstocking books. All of those were good, but this one was completely different. It was about two brothers, and one of them died, and it was about fantasy worlds in different dimensions and all of that. It's out of print. I tried to order it for years. One of the libraries in the neighboring cities had a copy when I was in high school, but I never could bear the guilt of denying the one kid out of the thousand that might pick it up, the chance to read it. I must've read that book at least six times in between the ages of seven and ten.

I just found a copy of it online. And now I'm going to read it. Hell yeah. But I'm scared. You know how it is. Stuff sometimes doesn't fare well versus the nostalgic power in your head. But, oh well...It doesn't matter. I'm going to transport myself back in time. To reading books in the big, ol' house where I grew up in. To this big, ol' house that I'm currently growing up in. Just now, I have a beer nearby instead of glass of Kool-Aid.

Rabbit In Your Headlights...

I love fucking salads. Not to have intercourse with, I mean that I love eating salads.
I've got pepperoni, pickles, and parmesan cheese in it, yo.
I will eat this beautiful salad as I watch The Big Lebowski.
Jealous? Yes. This is my post about salad.

Thank you.

2 + 2 = 5 . . .

Sometimes I leave my home, take money out of the bank, and then go to the bar.
Sometimes, I leave the bar, deposit money in the bank...and then go home.

We Suck Young Blood...

I think my fucking head is going to blow up. It's simmering low, but getting warmer. Psssshhhhhhh...you hear that? Tiny, little Don Ho bubbles comin' to get me. I have to call April and tell her that I can't go see Finding Pixar Fish with Colin, the four-year-old boy wonder. He came over on Thursday with his dad/my friend, Jamal - who isn't black but looks exactly like Jason Lee. Jason Lee who isn't Chinese. Thank god, or else I'd have to boycott his existence for using slave labor to make my Star Wars toys and for practically wiping out the Tibetan culture. Four-year-old Colin came over with Jamal, and we shot the shit. I gave Colin a Wolverine Pez. That's how nerdy I am. I just have shit like that laying around. Good for kids. Bad for twenty-seven-year olds. My girlfriend left London. Where is she now? I just checked, she's in Paris. Paris sounds like a planet's name. It is like a planet, isn't it? I wouldn't know. I've traveled all over the U.S., but never been outside of the country. Well, Mexico. But that doesn't count. Mexico never counts. Mexico is hell on Earth. Chiclets are heaven. Mexico is hell on Earth.

I'm tired of working. I need to call my lil' sis back. I'm going to Austin. In July or something. Texas sucks. But at least it has Austin. And my sister's pets. She has two cats named He-Man and She-Ra. Two dogs named Miles Davis and Marvin Gaye. Yup. Joe's probably watching Adaptation right now, the bastard. People are having parties tonight. I don't feel like going. I'm lonely in this big ol' house all by myself. I feel like a mouse. Eeep.

I have too much food in the fridge. I hate to waste food. Is that why I'm thin? I'd just rather not have to deal with the guilt, so I just forego the whole experience? No, today I picked up some extra leftovers from the restaurant in hopes of seeing the schizophrenic, homeless guy, so that I could give him something else other than the usual cigarettes that I give him. I wandered around with food in my hands. Guess what? Yup. Wherethefuckishe? Damnit. I wish I could give him something useful, but what's really useful? A phone card? Then he'd talk to God, and I don't want anybody doing that shit. Leave him alone if he exists. I bet God's homeless too. God was probably rich once, but now he's wandering around and yelling at potted plants and star clusters.

I've got some clothes to give God, if I ever see him; I've got all of the food. I've got smokes, movies, and comic books. And internet access. Shit, I've got my own website. Maybe he'd want to say a few things. I know he's a better writer than me. But you don't have to be a God to be that.

I wonder if he ever says, "Me Damnit!".

I wonder...if this boat will ever stop floating...

God, I mean...Good bye...

Uggg...

Friggin' naps.
Always making me feel all Pilsbury.
Since when did I start taking naps, anyway?
It's all your fault, you shit balls...

Did You Know That Elvis Presley Had A Twin Brother?...

No, not it wasn't me. I'm not that old. Geez. I'm...how old am I? I'm 27, I think. I often forget how old I am. No, but serious, Elvis' twin brother's name was Jesse Garon Presley. He was born stillborn and they buried him in a shoebox. How crazy is that? Pretty fortunate that he died, because wouldn't you hate to be Elvis's brother? But, then maybe The Big "E" wouldn't have been a huge rock and roll, hunka, hunka, burning honky if he had to deal with an identical twin. I think that all identical twins are screwed up in some way. Who the hell would want a carbon copy of themselves stealing your shit, hogging up your space, and competing for oxygen? Not me, it was hard enough growing up with an older bro and a younger sis. I bet that somehow, it was all Colonel Parker's fault. Like, he had a pact with the devil and that he'd been shadowing Elvis' mom for years, waiting for her to pop out her twin set of little hicks. He knew of The Prophecy Of The Coming Of The Big "E", and was just waiting to whisk him away, and train him, so that he could have him perform evil deeds in order to dominate the world. Or something to that effect.

Fuck Colonel Tom Parker. He was a rat bastard.
And poor, little Jesse.

No fried banana sandwiches for him...

Oh, Now I Can Post...

Now that everybody's on their way home.
Word of advice: Only listen to classical music or opera when stuck in a traffic jam.
Everything else will just drive you bonkers.

I have a question...why do older men breathe through their nose?
It seems at least one time everyday, I encounter a man in a store who breathes loudly through his nose.
Like he's trying to suck nutrients from the air with it.

I'm just curious. It's kind of gross.
From now on, I'm gonna start carrying jelly beans in my pockets,
and I'll toss em' towards the heavy breathers face, then they'll get sucked up,
the man, will choke - and I'll be happy.

Thank You...

*?@#$!!!...

Do they even show cartoons on regular TV anymore? They don't play in the morning, it's all news shows. I can never find any on after work. Do kids actually go out and play after school now? It seems like they have to. They replaced after school cartoons with epsodes of COPS! I just watched a guy run out of a building after lighting himself on fire. Now there are a bunch of toothless, mid-western drunks getting arrested. No Robotech. No Batman. Not even fucking Pokemon.

The more and more mainstream media companies merge, the less diversity we're going to see.

So, I'll just turn it off. Take that, channel 11.

Well, after this is over...

Hello?...

So, my girlfriend left on Monday for Europe. Right now she's in Jolly Ol' London drinking tea. Yeah, right. She's drunk, I know it. She's a bad drunk too. Not like me, I mean she doesn't throw herself out of cars and let other people punch them in the face, but she's a lightweight. She gets all smiley and sleepy, and she talks a lot. I'd rather throw myself out of a car again. I miss her. It's too quiet. I'm not used to this anymore. Crazy, eh?

Time to call up some strippers...