Everything And Nothing...

It's very cute how I gave her the American Splendor comic book that I got from the library and told her to read it. Now that our bellies were full and now that we'd had a good night chock full of the unremberances of the day. Cool, that I thought that she was reading it whilst I went about my winding down motions. After all of it was done - and the filthy cigarette was out, the face was washed and the rotting teeth were brushed - I walked back into the room...and found her asleep. Was it a blessing in disguise? Or did the Roofies work? I'm so out of touch with youth drug culture - I'm unsure how to spell modern day drugs. Not that I was ever really in touch - but maybe this is a good thing. Christ, I don't even know how to properly spell anyway, so what's the difference, verdad? Drugs suck. Who needs drugs when life is just as wishy - washy as anything that you could put into your system?

So, the movie's on pause - and will remain so - probably until I crawl back into bed a couple hours from now. The bomb turned out to be a dud, the lion sleeps tonight, there's no joy in Mudville - so, The Mighty Kevynn might as well swing away into the night. Nothing like a little batting practice to make one a better hitter. You gotta keep your eye on the ball, son. Homeruns come from a keen eye, a good swing, good posture, and a certain amount of unlucky luck.

I will be doing a little private excercise for a bit. Please bear with me. The next thing that I write, might be a little different than the usual pedestrian shite that I chuck towards you. Please bear with me...things ( like the title? ) will be normal...soon?

Hee Hee Hee.

Your Stupid Person Of The Day Nominations...



I nominate myself for staying up this late and not getting St. Patricks Night off of work.

You?

Missy Elliot...

The day after I got my hair Cut. Done. Did. I was doing all of the obligatory prep crap at work and realized that all of the guys in the back didn't say anything about my haircut when I arrived. Not that I care much. Not that I expect them to notice, but, at my work, if there's something different about you - you'll have somebody calling you on it and make fun of you about it. We all do it. New shirt, hat, mustache? It all becames garbled Spanglish cussword observations. It's fun.

But...anyway, I was tying my tie or something in front of the mirror in the bathroom and realized to myself that none of the guys said anything. Hmmm...maybe they really don't notice anything about me. That's good in a way, I thought.

Later that day, I was talking to a customer.
A nice lady that I joke around with a lot.

She told me that my hair was getting long.

Dude.

Chinks...

I can hear a distant sprinkler spraying water against metal once every five seconds. Just realized that it was the music from the headphones right by me. Just realized that I'm retarded.

Yeah.

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.