Why...

Do old men smell like eggs?

When I'm old, I want to smell like pipe smoke and the cheap perfume of hookers...or maybe like the perfume of cheap hookers, instead. Yeah that sounds better, I think.

Whatever.

Dogs Of War...

I'm glad that I wear socks and shoes because if I didn't...

The I'd never appreciate how good it feels to take them off.

I Came Up With The Title Of Fat Free Milk Because I looked In The Fridge...



And now, folks...it's been awhile, but I just may - start to do some productive things. REAL things. I will try not to let my real imaginary world affect my imaginary real world.

Three things to work on.

The second Marvel Comics submission.
The Mad Magazine Freelance thing.
Have to work on the totally simple thing that the library girl was going to give to Cartoon Network.
Dig out the old notebooks and re-type.
And talk to the already twice-over-published loyd about his literary agent so that maybe he can get me a meeting.

Fuck the screenplays. They're like ex-girlfriends to me now. Best left forgotten unless you have to deal with them out of necessity.

Maybe there's a Cafepress.com for fun book in there once I find out the costs, tech specifics, idiot-friendly factor and copyright-so-that-I-can-reprint issues.

Any help? Coo.

Not? Coo too.

Runaway Ralph And April's 30th Birthday...



Once again, the outside cat left me a present in the form of a splayed out, large, dead rat. So, I got some newspapers and shuffled over to the back yard and swung it by its tail over the chainlink fence but it hit the top and bounced back and hit my sandaled right foot. Then I picked it up by its body and hucked it over hand and now it's gone.

I love cats.

I love coming home.

I love rat blood and brains on my big toe.

Kind Of Funny...

Drunk friends call tonight while I write this. I was originally going to write about phobias. I talk to them, tell them to hold on, and drop the phone by the computer speakers. I think that they're now listening to MUSE. After I am done typing this senten - oh wait....they hung up.

This was funny. A little bit.

Rivers Cuomo...

I will only allow myself to play Texas Hold Em' once a month from now on.

I can only afford to suck horribly at things every so often as oppossed to my regular routine.

But even typing this makes me want to play even more.

Yet, poor people shouldn't gamble. Apparently I haven't learned this yet.

I suck at a lot of things.

But, yet, writing about things that I suck at...seems to be my forte.

Would I rather have words in the place place of good luck, winnings and sense of luck-dodging accomplishment?

No.

I am the best WORST poker player ever.

Greatest Hits...

I really don't know anything about my grandparents. I have no sense of family history beyond my mother and father, and even then, it's sketchy. It's sad to think that 30 years from now, when I have children, that they'll ask questions that I won't be able to answer. Yet, the only sick comfort that I have about this is that someday there'll be a great grand ME that'll be writing this same sentence, frustratingly, years and years from now......

I Am The Jedi Master Of Potential Stomach Aches...

So, If I pulled some steak out of the freezer that was left over from The Fourth Of July, then blended some onions, garlic, pepper, beer and A1 Sauce together and am now marinating it to BBQ later - is this how I'm going to go out? Will my actions today be an ulcer later?

Wish my butt luck.

I Fart Just As Much As You Breathe...

I feel old, fat, slow and stupid more often than before, but then my friends and I all crank call each other's offices on a daily basis, so we can't be that old yet.

Or maybe we just never grew up in the first place. I don't know.

The Beginning Of Tommorows Headache Starts Tonight...

But I did promise my neighbors that I wouldn't tape fireworks on top of one of my motorcycle helmets and run up and down their stairs like I did last year.

So that's good.