Beautiful Stories For Ugly Children...

A Message For You From The Guy That Screams In The Middle Of The Street And Pretends To Hold A Rifle...

I just gave him a couple of bucks as I left the store and he said," Tell you're friend to be safe, okay? Be safe! Be safe!"

I said that I would even though he didn't specify exactly whom he was talking about.

So...ummm...BE SAFE. Yeah you.

And then five minutes later while I was in my car at a red light, I saw a teacher herding about twenty little kids across the street in a crosswalk. A little girl did a cartwheel. I smiled.

That will probably be the coolest thing I'll see all day.

More Important Than Me Getting Drunk...

Go visit The Island Of Misfit Toys.
Come back.
Don't.

Bring gum and a sleeping bag.

Some Other Day Than Today...

I can't write. The story I just started...ended. Hiccup will forever wonder why people are stealing his trash I guess. And why is this easier to write than what i was writing earlier? When I don't care, I can write. I don't obsess over grammatical syntax even though I rewrote this sentence. Those things can be corrected. Who cares anyway? It's not like there's a book deal hanging over my head. I'm not getting paid. I have no deadlines. Well, actually i do for a couple of things - but reading 128 pages of a book before I started writing tonight doesn't help because if im reading - im not writing. The music playing on this stupid-ass computer isn't helping either. I must remember to write like Hemingway. I must remember to write like a baby. I can't wait to go to Paris and write like a baby Hemingway. Actually, like I'd give a shit about writing about famous cities. I'm all for writing about famous situations within the cities. Not the boring, everyday march of the morons in places with history. It's already been done. Blow up a bomb in a cow field. Kill a cat on a dirty rooftop - but not on a famous rooftop. Throw a famous cow off of cat-infested rooftop with a bomb inside the building.

Morale of the story: Somebody else was picking through Hiccup's trash and slowly recreating his apartment because he or she or it wanted to be like Hiccup.

p.s. Hiccup got his nickname because he always does when he smokes pot. Which is awesome. I only named him Hiccup because my Muse CD was skipping.

No spell check.

Samuel Clemens' Right Eye...

Since nobody reads this site anymore - maybe I'll just let it die and do more productive things.
Nah. Fuck that. The writing'll probably get better now.
Like I care what the rest of the Munchkins in Munchkin Land think...

I hate you so much - I want to twist off your head.

Oliver Queen...



Whenever my girlfriend talks about going shopping, I ask her to look at the toys for me. Even if she's going to a fabric store, IKEA/HELL, or looking for fake purses in L.A. She'll tell me that they don't have toys there. I always think she's lying to me. Everybody's against me. If I ask you to get me toys, a monkey, comic books, or beer - you better try real hard to make it possible. I'm serious. You can make this happen. I don't joke about stuff like that. I have constantly asked everybody for a bow and arrow set. My conservative, secret branch-of-the-government father of mine only gave me presents that he was interested in. So, my older brother and I got bow and arrow sets when we were young. We had fun, actually. We had more fun when my father was inside the house because he would’ve beaten the crap out of us seeing us shooting arrows at each other's heads. So, I've always wanted to do that again. Not shoot an arrow at my brother's head. Been there. Done that. No. I want to stand out in my backyard with twenty-four arrows, a twelve pack of beer, andjust shoot a bunch of arrows at targets, bales of hay, and fat people. I dream of this. From you, I get smiles. This is not cool. Do I look like I'm being cute? I mean it. Nobody listens to me. I was talking about this to a co-worker the other day and he told me that his younger brother was an archer. Seriously. An ARCHER. Legolas in training. What? Wow. I did a double take. Yes, he was serious. So he gave me one of his younger brother's bows.

It needs to get re-strung. I don't care. When I first got it. I took it out with me. In my drunken glee, I thought that, maybe a bow-stringer would see me pretending to shoot things and would take pity on me. Nothing happened. I am not lucky. I write like Frankenstein tonight too, I guess. Errr.

So, the other day, I went looking for the local archery shop. We do have one. I swear. I didn't just imagine this. I saw the sign, said Ace Of Base. I did, really. I saw a sign...but couldn't find it this time. I felt like a nerd and eventually gave up. Yesterday I looked up the place in the phone book...

- Blah Blah Archery. How can I help you?

Yeah, Umm…Where are you guys located? I tried to find you the other day, but didn't see you.

- Well, we're not in out old location anymore.

Like I'm a regular. Got any new stuff? Dorkdorkdork.

Oh. You're not on Commonwealth?

- Yes. That's where we are.

Really? Okay. Well, are you by anything, like a landmark or something?

Yeah, I said LANDMARK. Like they were right by Mt. Vesuvius, The Death Star or the statue of Jebediah Springfield or something.

- We're between POO and BLARGH street.

Like I have a sense of direction and like I know the streets of the city that I live in. I don't. I'm fucking retarded.

Oh. Yeah, and do you string bows too?

- (pause) Ummm……yes.

Okay. I guess that's like asking a mechanic if they do car work, but - c'mon, man, like I'm supposed to know. Maybe they'd all start laughing at me or something. I'm just making sure, okay. When you assume…you make ass-meat out of U and ME. Something like that…

Oh. Great. Thankyouverymuch. Cool. Thank you.

...Click!...

So. The moral of my story is that I'm drunk and that it's hard to be a nerd when the nerds...think you're a fucking nerd.

The End.

Watch. Now even the comic book guys will start pretending that they don't even know me.

Jai Guru De Va Om...

I just tried to take one of those little quiz thingys that you find on somebody else’s website – but the questions and all of my answers seemed dumb. It was kind of like I was trying to make myself look more clever or interesting to spice up the whole waste of time that it was. SO. I erased it. SO. I am now going to create my own. Which will suck and waste my time even further. I hate you, Internet.

Worst childhood memory?
Beatings, arguments, abuse. All of that happy crap.
Since nobody really knows you, what’s the no. 1 sexually perverted act that you like?
Human contact.
Best lie ever.
I love you.
Last time watched porn?
A week ago?
On a diet?
I look like I took a diet WAY too far.
Kerouac?
Loved the early guy. Sad for the fat version. Like Elvis.
Americans?
Fat. Lazy. Nice. Mean. Stupid question.
Bukowski?
NICE.
Stephen King?
Brilliant at times.
My authors suck. Name one of your favorites.
I just did.
Forget it. No more authors. That was stupid.
Yes.
Jawas? Filthy or just plain misunderstood?
Filthy.
Coolest part of your day?
Time with the girl before work.
What didn’t you do that you totally wanted to?
Write.
Why didn’t you do it?
Work.
Is that any excuse?
No.
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-punch?
Fuck…ummm…today?
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-massage?
Kate Beckinsale?
Give me an idea for a movie.
I crotch punch Hollywood.
Last favor you did for someone.
Crotch-punched Hollywood.
Most annoying website – besides mine, of course.
AOL.COM
Drink of choice?
Bud Light. Seriously.
Deserted island. One book. One item. One author, dead or alive. One companion animal. One thing that you could take to the island that’s in your car right now. One bathroom item.
Boy Scout Handbook Of America. Rambo knife. I wouldn't want to be stuck on an island with a writer unless it was a she, and she was hot..and MUTE. I'd like a Peurto Rican boy as a companion animal. I'd take my road flares so that I could burn my Puerto Rican when he was really bad. Bathroom item would be a gun.
What’s going on tomorrow?
Chaos. Order. Pizza. Porn. Oasis.
Favorite 5 cd’s right now.
That one Bjork CD that I got. AND SO ON by Longfellow. YOUR ENEMIES FRIENDS. THE ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND soundtrack. KNUCKLE SHUFFLE ON THE PISS PUMP by WRIST ACTION.
Site you were on before this?
Fat Free Milk.
Any comic books you want to send me?
Yes, I would love to, Kev...
Last time you got really pissed and why?
Today. I'll keep it to myself. Bottle it up.
If you could kill somebody right now – who would it be, why, and with what?
Ms. Scarlett, cuz' she's a whore and with the lead pipe in the study.
If you could bring a dead person back to life – who would it be? Religious figures don’t count.
Andre The Giant and The Haiti Kid. I cheated.
Weirdest thing that’s ever been inside your body?
Energy.
This was lame, huh? Oh well. YOU took it. I was bored. I’m the bigger dork, but YOU took it. Dork.
Piss off, you wanker. Yeah, you.

Yoda's Bland Food...



First thing I see
when I twist off
the cap of a beer
is Dagobah fog.

And a lifetime of solitude...

Seriously...

Have I missed the bus or was I not supposed to be able to buy a ticket anyway? I just don't get it. I'm either the biggest waste in the universe or I'm grasping at the coats of demonic millionaires a coupla seconds too late. I'm like a stray dog weaving in-between lanes of highway traffic. Maybe I should stop and take a breather? Maybe I rested too long that last time. Everytime I stop, I put myself in more danger...but maybe if I pull my leg over my head and lick myself, one of those cars might notice me, stop...and take me home. To a place of warm fireplaces, food, comfort and heavy petting...

Yes. I said heavy petting...

To Get To The Other Side...



If you combined the whole Blogger thing with the old Atari video game FROGGER - then maybe there'd be a point to this.