Feh...

Dr. Curt Connors' Missing Arm...

It's kind of unfair that all mirrors aren't made alike.

I think that mirrors should give back the same reflection as any other.
because, I mean, doesn't it suck to look okay in one mirror and then later go to a different mirror-only to look hideous? I hate those close-up mirrors that show everything too. I don't think some people should be looked at that close. There should be a law against that sort of thing. Like a restraining order that ugly people can file against others so that they don't get too close. I bet a lot of people would start shouting their conversations to each other on the street.

The only people without vanity problems are those that shatter every mirror that they look at.

Asiatic Anti-Venoms...



Man, you get so lazy - you don't really want to put the effort into telling imaginary people what you've been doing. If what I've been doing involved ninja swords, then I would definitely tell you. I get more enjoyment out of writing nonsense anyway. I only like reading journals of mass-murderers anyway, and they're usually so busy that they don't keep them.

I really need to get back to writing in notebooks.
All of this hi-tech Rosie The Robot stuff sucks more time and energy than the pen and good ol' paper. I'll let you read my books someday. They're all in the garage. I'll vomit them out in the publishing world someday.

Dr. Phil and The Da Vinci Code will stomp on my guts.

Doyle Brunson's Bad Knees...

Wish me luck today.

I Wear This Helmet To Protect My Head From When I Have My Epileptic Fits…

I slowed the car to a crawl in the middle of the street to see the fireworks from Disneyland. I looked to my right to see if the men playing softball were looking to, but they weren’t. Were the cars in front of me moving slow because of the fireworks too or did they normally drive that slow?

I didn’t get that movie soundtrack that I wanted. Tower was sold out of them. The Wherehouse had just closed and Target didn’t carry it. The pimply faced, tall teen told me that it was too INDY for them.

I want a lot of random things. Things like the 18 in. Spiderman figure with 67 points of articulation. A string for my bow and a bunch of arrows. I want woodworking tools. A pet crow. But it seems that when I actually do get something in my head, no matter how small – I can’t. Like I’m thinking about things too late. I know that nothing will kill me if I don’t get it, but the gods kind of scuttle me about like a Boll Weevil whenever they get the urge.

Fireworks. Carrots. Soundtracks.

Writing about important things that seem small.

Tonight, these dangle before me.

Snagglepuss...

Why write when I have eggrolls to eat? I stopped by the Vietnamese place to pick up some to go. I feel like I don't belong. I don't. I look like the only bastard Asian there. I'm an imposter. A spy sent by the Irish. Seriously, though. Nobody in there but Vietnamese. They could be Romans wearing Viet masks. Maybe. Maybe not. Do I care? No.

The host or hostess always looks at me like I might be a health inspector. Or lost.

I manage to mangle my garbled pronunciation of Chi goia or however the hell you say it. I also ask for the other stuff that I'm not even going to try to spell. Hey, my gook mother left when I was seven, so what do you expect?

Then a dog escaped from the kitchen.

And I went to the video store and rented that movie where Nicole Kidman hides in that town, the movie where the kid dates the porno star, and the documentary about the guy who tracks down the guy who wrote that book.

Seriously. A dog darted right by my legs.

By The Time You Read This...



I'll be at work serving drinks to drunks.

By the time that I'm done with this, hopefully I'll be asleep.

Last night at a bar, a drunk girl dropped a cigarette on my head, drank my beer and then hit on me. She was on pills. I asked her how she felt. She said that she felt nice and sleepy and that she felt like throwing up. Then she told me that she thought that I was hot. This is what I get.

Tonight I went to a friends birthday party at an ARTIST'S COLONY in L.A. The ARTSIST'S COLONY was right by a big mountain of dirt. I was expecting ants to be at the party...but none came.

Now, I've got a couple of sleeping pills and a crudload of beers in my system to help me sleep. This should kick in soon.

Cartoon Pig threw two baby tomatoes from the balcony and I caught them in my mouth. This is not gay. This is really cool. I swear.




This is Cartoon Pig, M.V. and AL G. of Damnation posing like super model people...





These bunnies guarded the bathroom...





Ian, of Wrist Action was drunk when I got there...





So we tried to stuff his ass in one of the coolers...because...it was ART.





My pretty girlfriend kept tabs on me all night because I wander and she loves me...





Ian went to sleep...





We had a fire going on in THE ARTIST'S COLONY...





And then we all ate SMORES. Which is like art, except just with graham crackers eaten from DURAFLAME LOG-fueled fires. Gross, indeed.

I had more fun talking to the gay guys tonight.

I need more gay friends.

And Duraflame SMORES.

Pills are kicking in...

Winkle...

I guess sleeping pills do have some uses, huh?

I actually got some sleep.

A little.

Benjamin Grimm...



and Mr. Fantastic now does porn. He and his family got kicked out of The Baxter Building and he had no choice. Sometimes even superheroes get the blues.

You know what sucks about comic books? Besides having to talk to other people that like comic books at the comic book store? See, I'm a fairly-kind-of-normal-looking guy. I just look like I need some food and look like I'll be balding in, about five years or so. But, otherwise - I would like to think that I don't fit the generalist mold. Yeah. Yes. I do like fucking reading comic books...BUT...CARTOON PIG saw somebody in the comic book store wearing a chain mail shirt the other day. This is what they wear in The Lord Of The Rings. I would wear this too, if people carried around swords. BUT. THEY. DONT. I don't live off of Florence and Normandy either - so, I don't wear a bulletproof vest. Only ODB, Little Baby Jesus, Dirt McGirt, etc. does. And then you get popped. Which kind of doesn't make any sense to me because...when in Rome? C'mon. If I were living in Ninja world - I'd sure as hell’d be wearing an Anti-Ninja-Force Field-Belt. You better bet your slanted eyes and your uncanny stealth, I would. Hell yeah.

Crap. Ummm...oh yeah. I get embarrassed at the comic book store. Because people talk to me. They ask me questions. They comment on my comics OUT LOUD REALLY LOUD WHEN THEY'RE RINGING THEM UP - HEY WOW, WHAT'D YOU THINK OF THIS? I THINK THAT THE SCARLET WITCH IS HOT, JIM LEE'S RUN ON SUPERMAN ISN'T THAT GOOD I LIKE HIS RUN ON BATMAN BETTER. HAVE YOU SEEN SHE HULK'S TITS IN THE NEW SERIES? WOW! YUK YUKSNARFSNARF!

The people who work there are nice, though - and aren't The Simpson's comic book guy type snobs. But. Sometimes, I get trapped there by somebody. And I don't care too much. Like I give a crap what anybody thinks about me. I just think it's funny, that's all. Like, I felt all-sad the other day because I walked by the room that they have where all of the role-playing, Yo-Gi-Yoh, and Magic The Gathering-type guys play. I walked by and saw two guys sitting there bored out of their skulls. One was looking through a deck of gaming cards and the other looked alone and miserable. Later I saw one of the guys talking to one of the comic book store employees. I guess the rest of his players never showed up. He looked sad and said that he would give them another thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. This kid might have been around, maybe...fifteen? All I really noticed was his Spiderman t-shirt. Okay. I love reading Spiderman comics. I would love a cool t-shirt, but - this kid wasn't wearing a T-SHIRT. It was a collared, short-sleeved shirt. Now, I'm not trying to be a big old snobby bastard here, because we have all had some moments and who knows? Maybe this kid'll be the next Don Juan, Bill Gates, Jesus Christ - whatever. But. Man...if you could've seen this shirt that this kid was wearing. I wanted to rip it off of him, to not chide him, but to give him some neutral clothes, to shave his upper lip and then chop off his mullet. I wanted to remind him that you could just be as nerdy talking to girls. That you could be just as nerdy hanging out in a park doing nothing. Everything is good - BUT! It just made me sad to see a kid waiting in a comic book shop on a weekday, for people to show up to play MAGIC. I used to role-play. Loved it. I loved telling stories and creating scenarios. Loved researching adventures, etc. BUT! I also loved girls, parties, hygiene and getting into trouble.

Too bad that I couldn’t have struck up a conversation with this kid and just shot the shit with him. Talked some nerd stuff, because I know a lot of it, maybe not the newer stuff that he likes - but enough nerd stuff to get by. I would just be cool. He maybe, might look at me and realize that one can still like great crap like comics, geek movies, etc. and still have a social life. Not that having a social life is all that great at times – but…yeah. It does.

I should be a Big Brother for geeks. I would take them to Comic Book Conventions and to Strip Clubs and to Public Places. I would make them meld all of these things together.

Geek is cool.

Just don’t sit in a comic book shop waiting for other geeks to show up.

Beats sports, I guess.

But, then…Sports Bars have booze.

Excelsior!

FUCK...

Too much talky talk.
Too many distractions.
Forget trying to write.
I don't see how married people do it if they don't have a door to close.
Though I'm not married.
Blahhh...
Write in vacuums.
Don't write.
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