30 Days Of Night...

After poker last night, we all ended up at a strip club. I'd never been to this one before. My girlfriend had gone before with my friends, the bastards. They all went without me one night when I had to work. The place was pretty big. We drank. Saw some boobs. Girlfriend gave me crap because I gave money to the angry, Gothic stripper. I only gave her money because she danced to Ministry. My girlfriend liked the girl with the glasses, but we couldn't find her afterwards. She was probably giving a lap dance to a fat, balding man.

I think that strip clubs would be a lot more interesting if the girls were covered in Prime Rib and the audience threw hungry tigers up on the stage instead of cash.

Now that - would make me horny.

Ranch Dressing...



Had a dream about pizza last night, and first thing that I wake up this morning, my girlfriend asks if I want to get a pizza. So, I said okay. I had no choice. The gods want me to eat a pizza - then I'll do, damnit! So, the pizza guy's coming now. Because I'm loyal. I pay attention to my mind. This came straight from the dream police and I turned it into reality. Yes. Really. I mean it. I'm stupid. I'm going to go eat my pizza now. I'm not even hungry, though. I'm going to eat my pizza and watch The Last Temptation Of Christ.

A Cat...

Peed inside my car.

( not while I was driving it. )

It smells.

Might As Well...

Write.
Right.
Now.
Because.
This.
May.
Be.
The.
Only.
Chance.
I'll.
Get.

I Am Roberta Sparrow's Unwashed Hair...



And it's kind of weird when I'm checking my hits for the day on Fat Free Milk and I see my name typed into Yahoo or Google or something like that. Or when the site is like, number eight or ten when my last name is typed in. That's what I want, right? Make MALONE into a household name? Hmmm...No, maybe not. People scare the bejeezus out of me. I just want to be left alone and to die quietly. Fuck fame.

But, what if my almost - seventy year old father decides to do some gynecological - I mean, some genealogical investigating on the WWW? And up pops Fat Free Leche? All full of poo and F words? What if somebody finds me that I want to avoid? No, I don’t have any enemies – and YES, I am paranoid. My old friend Adam just found me after we both lost touch with each other. Guess how he found me? Google. My name’s easy to find. It’s number friggin’ one on there. But, that’s good, right? Man, I’m confused.

And what about this happy crap? Why would anybody type in my funky spelled first name and ankle? Come on. That’s just weird. Who was that? Why? See, I told you I’m paranoid. I guess I should stop typing my own name in posts if I’m gonna get all funny about people typing in my name on search engines. See, I need money. That’s it. Mass quantities of cash help ease my curious and sick mind. I accept all donations. I need to be an actor. I sure as hell can’t be an athlete unless people sponsor beer drinking and comic book reading. You just let me know, Bubba.

Kevynn Malone. OUT.

Doh.

I Love...

Plumbing problems and hot days.
Oh, wait - no, I don't.

Tom Vu...



Yeah. So, yes I was on a 80 Ft. Yacht on Saturday. It was NICE. Played Texas Hold Em' on a poker table while cruising Long Beach. Ate too much lobster. Drank insane amounts of alcohol. Danced for one whole minute with a room full of Czechoslovakian girls that looked like short Mexicans to me - but, whatever. Got boarded by the Coast Guard. Very Miami Vice. No, wait - it was nothing like Miami Vice. That was stupid. Won half the pot in the game. Cut my hand by accident and had blood on my nose the whole ride back home and no one either noticed or bothered to tell me through their drunken hazes. Maybe both.

And that's about it.
It was cool as the swear word that starts with F.
There were no ninjas, though.
Now, that would've been even better.
Or monkeys.
No, wait - or midgets.
Or...

Okay. I'll stop.

Later...

After some sleep, I will tell you about my Saturday night.
It involved an 80 ft. yacht, poker, booze, and The Coast Guard.

No foolin'.

Bud Light...

Went to the BIG pet store today. Tried to find a thing that our turtle can climb on. Bought a huge stick. Also bought a couple of goldfish for it to eat. The turtle - not the stick. The entire time that I was driving home - I felt guilt-ridden, because I'm a big pussy. I didn't feel like it when the nice kid was scooping them up - I felt like it was the natural order of things - but when The two fish were sloshing around in my passanger seat, I started to feel bad. I put them in the tank and apologized to them in my mind. The fish are still there. I've gone back to the pet store and bought fish food. Apparently, my turtle isn't a normal turtle. He's retarded and slow-moving. Now, I have two more pets. Such is my life.

Irwin...

I went to the LA Zoo today and was a tad bit let down. All of the animals looked so depressed, they seemed to frown at their surroundings, and all of the cages looked rust-filled. Especially the monkeys. One always expects monkeys to be jovial and frivolous, but at the zoo, they seemed bored and disappointed to be there. I watched one of the trainers feed one of the two rhinoceroses, and the trainer appeared to be stoned, and when the rhino came out of the back to eat the food that the loaded trainer provided, it seemed totally lethargic, and when it found the food, after looking for fifteen minutes, it mowed down upon it as if it were stoned too. It made me picture the trainer taking a huge bong hit and blowing it in the rhino's face. Needless to say, I was let down by my zoo experience.

I did like the snake room, though...