She Wasn’t That Hot – But Had Nice Titles…

Ashing out my smoke, outside - I spit on the table by accident. That kinda sucks, but these things happen. 60, the outside, sometimes inside cat, jumps on my thigh. Claws. Fucking ouch. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Me OW!, indeed. One of the things that sucks about these summer nights has nothing to do with Danny or Sandy, it has everything to do with how quickly one's beer goes warm. For those of us who are wusses, and can't stomach the likes of Guinness, various stouts, and lagers, etc...it don't make fo' no fast beer drinkin'.

Today will be shuffled off and filed away, never to be seen for years. Uncovered by historians, librarians, heads of estates, or aliens studying what the hell happened years and years from now. The editors will glance it over, and chuck it - thinking that it slows down the narrative pace. I'm cool with that. I understand. No hard feelings - just make sure that you don't let them use my image in a Coors Light or Vacuum cleaner commercial. That's just plain wrong.

Kitty on my back right now. Not a monkey, thank god. I guess I do have some monkeys; they must be invisible, though. And I guess that they're not too heavy, and I guess that they don't smell too bad, because usually I can't tell that they're even there. I can deal with invisible monkeys on my back, little kitties are the coolest - I just wish that they’d remain small. But, then...our parents probably said the same of us when we were small, didn't they? And where would we be if we were still five years old?

Taking dumps in sand boxes, eating kibble, and meowing too loudly, ergh?

Oh, wait...some of us still do that...

What's Wrong?...

I’m just tired…is one of the biggest, lying statements ever used.
Pay attention next time that somebody busts that out as a response,
and realize that it’s quick and easy, used a lot, and means absolutely nothing, right?
They're just tired. Nothing's wrong, yeah? Bullshit. It means something.
It means that you’re not really telling the truth. Pay attention. I do it all the time……

Pussy...

Was under the car in the driveway. My girlfriend found him. Now he is in the bathroom. Little pussy is meowing loudly once every two seconds. Pussy is cute, but pussy is driving me nuts. Pussy will have to be bathed and picked of fleas tomorrow. Then pussy can roam about the house freely. Does anybody want some cute, furry, young pussy?

Texas Hold Em'...

So, I'm getting ready to bet the farm. Lose it all. Get drunk. Get poor-er.
I only have twenty bucks to lose, though, So, I guess it can't be that bad.
Wire me some money or something, yo. I'll buy you a steak dinner.

Protocol Droid...

Don't you hate listening to music that reminds you of old stuff, and memories best left to be tossed away or forgotten? There are certain data tapes in our robot minds that should've been permanently wiped clean. Ugh. Beep Dee Doop Doop!

Avengers Assemble!...

" This is the plan, guys! we're going to party like crazy on a limited budget. We're going to rip the throats out of this town this weekend. I want all of you to remember nothing. Who's with me? "

- But, Captain America - why would we want to do that? We're a super hero team. None of us even drink - well, except for The Wasp, but she's just a ho anyway.

" Shut it, Ant-Man. You've got the short man complex, obviously. It must be hard variating between penis sizes. Everybody else? Ignore Ant-Man. What about you, Hulk? Any problems with our plans for the weekend? "

- HULK SMASHED!!!

" Very good, Hulk. "

The Fish Of The Day Is Copper River Salmon. That's Broiled, With A Lemon And Butter Sauce, It Comes With Fettuccini Alfredo, And Sautéed Vegetables On The Side...

Man, Ummm...all day, I told myself to think up of something to write and was really serious about it. After work I replaced all of the locks on the back door. Everything was wrong. Nothing fit, so I had to make it fit. There were a lot of wood chips left on the floor.

What are you doing for the weekend? I might be on a yacht. If that doesn't work, I'll be at my gal's sister's house having fun, lighting off little kids fireworks, and thinking about partying on a yacht. If I'm not at her sister’s house, I'll be at my house, thinking about partying on a yacht. I have a perfect place to watch the local fireworks. You can drink beers from my neighbor’s balcony and climb on my roof, too. You can fall off if you want, also. That's free.

What's weird, though - is that I live across from a park and that people start staking out spots in the morning to see the show. So, if you're a friend of mine then you're shit out of luck for a parking spot and you'll be carrying your beers a long-ass way to my house, because on July 4th you got two things going for you when trying to find a spot...JACK and SHIT - and JACK left town. Anyway, it gets kind of freaky when you realize that there are a couple of hundred people across the street, basically staring at your house until the fireworks start. I made sure to shut the blinds last year. Nobody wants to see me hitting on your wife while wearing a lampshade on my head. What I just said was so fucking stupid, it was really, rally stupid. And I just said, " rally ". Oh, and I'm not really smitten with Reese Witherspoon - I think she's cool and all, and I thought that she kicked ass in " Freeway " the movie, but...I really want to do bad things to her. She seems like such a genuinely nice person that I want to ruin her and make her an evil person. Sorry.

So, the people under the stairs - I mean, across from my street on July 4th are cool to look at when you're on my roof. I usually turn around and look at their faces. It's scary. I should charge them to use my bathroom. I should sell cans of crappy beer wrapped in paper sacks. I wish I had a dog that fetched. I'd chuck a stick right in the middle of the crowd and laugh. I could be like William Wallace and soak the grass in oil the night before, and then when everybody's all settled - I'd shoot flaming arrows into the ground. Yes.

Damn, I still have nothing to write about...

Lick my butt, please...

Shortest. Post. Ever...

Perfect for stoners.

From Warren Ellis' Wonderful 'Die Puny Humans'...


To Be In England, In The Summertime


Even in summer, the English sky's the colour of a dead body left out in the cold. Grey light, grey buildings, grey people, grey lives.

The expensive new car on the corner was supposed to be silver, but it's just grey. The man in the grey suit writhes against the grey fabric of the driver's seat and pounds the wheel with little grey fists. Human fingers lay between his feet, leaking over the little grey plastic mat under the pedals. He starts to cry, lips twisting back from little grey teeth with fingermeat stuck between them.

There's a girl who's almost beautiful, standing by the roadsign watching, wreathed in grey cigarette smoke. She leaves cheap lipstick on the filter, watches the man in the car with dead eyes. When she inclines her head to get a better look, her chin disappears and she looks like a child's painting. Her kid's about three feet away, eating dogshit.

The girl's mother is in the pub, taking a call on a stolen mobile phone. No, this is 'is mum. I took 'is mobile off 'im. No, I ain't seen 'im in three month, since 'e came round my 'ouse with that bitch. I punched 'er in the face and 'it 'im with a frying pan, and they don't come round no more. You got DVD players? I'll 'ave eight. I said I'll 'ave fukkin eight. You come round with 'em.

The bloke with the DVD players needs the money. His car was stolen and the police won't give it back, because it was found with a junkie driving it and a crack pipe and soiled baby clothes in the back seat. It's material evidence in the mimed "fight" against the thousand crack addicts in town, forcing Yale locks and kicking out cat doors in the search for goods to feed two-hundred-pound-a-day habits. Everyone says they should be in hospital, but everyone knows they're safer on the street, because the hospital is rotting in its foundations. The plasterboard the new wing was put up with is festering on its hinges, and disease breeds in the wall cavities. The nurses ruthlessly jerk off the old men in the cancer wards to make them sleep through the night, and palm bottles of Vicodin on the way out the door in the morning. A little soma-holiday for people who reasonably expected to be working in medicine and helping people.

Blank stares at the ground as they walk home down blank streets, past the mothers doing the school run in the grey morning light. Remembering how they used to walk to school with their friends, laughing and joking and inventing whole new ways to look at their bright little worlds. Despising themselves and everything around them for being afraid to let their children walk anywhere alone. Any one of these people could be a paedophile, a child killer, some kind of sex monster that will steal their baby off the streets and do something unimaginable to them. She remembers walking home from school through the woods, making magic out of strange tree stumps and odd rocks and ancient clearings, dark copses and paths never taken, and wants to cry, because her child will never have that in this grey world she stupidly birthed them into.

These are all true stories.

To be in England, in the summertime.

-- Warren Ellis
warrene@aol.com

Frank Castle, Tony Stark, And Jubilee...

My girlfriend almost gave away a bag full of my toys to the retard truck - I mean, the truck that comes by and picks up things for the retarded home. It was a big plastic bag full of extra and old toys that I keep in the garage that I have no room for. Nerd. It wasn't her fault, but it still scared the shit out of me. Wives and mothers who clean out garages and attics are the enemy of childhood keepsakes and nostalgia. I still miss my Garbage Pail Kids, Muscle Wrestler Things, and Transformers, bastards.