I just noticed...

That in my last two posts,
I misspelled one word in each.
Well, at least two that I noticed.
I'm not going to bother much with fixing my syntax, punctuation and spelling errors.
Feh! Bizarro Kevynn No Like Stupid Details! At least in this.

Anyway, in my last two posts there were two words that I noticed misspelling.

Post before last?
I wrote Bet. I meant But.
Last post?
I spelled Whole. I meant Hole.

So, ladies and gentlemen...
The last two words that I messed up were

BUT
and
HOLE

BUT(T)HOLE!

hee hee hee!

Thank you for your patience...

All I know is...

That I pushed the elevator button for the third floor and I wound up somewhere in the basement.
I wandered around, thinking to myself that for a City Hall, it looked kind of shitty and do I really need a new job this bad?
Finally, I asked a lady where personnel was and she told me that it was on the third. ( the building is three stories tall. )
She didn't even laugh, say goodbye or anything. She obviously thought I was a dumbass.
Screw her. Nice " Employee Lounge ", by the way.
She probably was the Head Patrol Of Sewage Tracking or something.

I got lost in a three story building and wound up in the basement.
I know, I suck. I'm one of those guys that have absolutely NO sense of direction but I swear this one wasn't my fault.
I pushed the damn button, heard a DING and then stepped outside. I wandered around. That's it. I also met a tall cop in the bathroom. I gave him a smile and he didn't return it. I think that's because I saw him checking himself out in the full-length mirror.

Carving pumpkins tonight. I'm going to lay mine on its side and pretend it's Dawne's fat-ass cat. What I'm really looking forward to is throwing the pumpkin in the backyard in a week or so. No. Maybe I should just chuck it down the street late at night. Then I'd get a more satisfying THUNK sound. Or I could carve a bigger whole on the bottom and then wear it on my head and let Chris punch me. That would be fun.

Happy Halloween, you bastards.

It'll never happen.

I don't think I'm gonna ever grow up. I suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome.
I'm like one of those kids that you see on the daytime talk shows
who have the brain of a five year old bet get old really fast physically.

I just want to be like the other kids...that's me.

I just got home from work and realized that my vintage E.T.
wind up action figure that's still in the package fell off of one of my walls.
Then I started to rearrange all of the others. My girlfriend accepts their presence
and the whole discombobulated state of decay and disarray that is my room,
like a new mother does the poop in her infant's diapers. A neccessary and very messy evil.

1) There's Tetsuo from Akira.
2) The Jesus action figure I mentioned before.
3) A Daredevil action figure that is dressed in his early black and yellow costume instead of the red one.
I read in a toy magazine that it was worth alot of money and found it by chance a couple of months later,
hoping to sell it on Ebay. I hate Daredevil. So, that's still on my wall.
4) A Wolverine figure that I got from someone on my birthday.
5) Ash and Evil Ash from Army Of Darkness.
6) Mr. Pink from Reservoir Dogs.
7) Jek Porkins, the fat X-Wing pilot from Star Wars.
8) Edward Scissorhands.
9) Homer Simpson in his underwear.
10) And a Viet Cong action figure that I got for cheap before WAR got popular again.

This is not including all of my crap that's out of the package.
The 18' Ash Doll in the living room.
All of the Star Wars toys from childhood.
The masks, wierd dolls, Spawn figures, skulls, Elvis crud and Pez dispensers.
I also have a trash bag full of junk that I had to put in the garage
for lack of space or in a desperate attempt of dignity.

See? I'm still a kid. The same little snot-nosed punk who used to fantasize about everything and nothing.
Well, that and being trapped in a dungeoun with naked Amazon women. Trapped?

Still the same kid.
Either that or I'm just a....geek.

Man. What the hell just happened?

This blog-schmog thing is cool and all.
Really. I mean it.

But what the hell just happened?

That was an internet-wierd.
A blog-Gremlin.
An internet-typist's nightmare.

I tried to post a religious quiz and it came with a fucked-up picture and I've been trying to make it work forever and then the thing went all wacky and i thought i ruined it and then i smoked for a bit and thought that this thing wouldn't ever work again and then i was okay with it and then i thought about how i don't write as much as i used to and how this shouldn't be my main concern, then Heather called late like i kneew she would and asked where i was, isaid that Dawne was at a kick-boxing class and that I would wait and im not going to fix any of the punctuation or grammer on this and im going to use AND and i as much as possibleleklelele until im done....which is now. today was a wierd day. eat it. thank you

this is my post....

I'm a horrible pot smoker...

Really.

Not that i'm an innocent or anything, but I've never been that bad.
I have vices.
Yeah, I like beer and cigarettes too much.
Comic books and reading the newspaper.
And I spend too much time on this damn computer.

I grew up with an older brother, so trust me...I've smoked my fair share of pot.
I'm down, yo. I've got my street cred. mutha.
Can you say, twelve years old?
I can't smoke pot.
I hate it.
Fine. Whatever.
I love it for my friends and all.
Everybody in the world, all my friends-everybody on Earth, it seems...likes to smoke pot-and that's cool, more power to ya'.
Whatever you like, just as long as it doesn't hurt me or anyone else.
But it has a shitty effect on me..........................

WORK IN PROGRESS....( there's a JANE GOODALL SPECIAL ON HBO RIGHT NOW>>>>>>>>>)

hold up, punk.....

Damn, I love that Jane Goodall.
Jane, The Dalai Lama, and Stephen Kingare tops in my 'Cool Book'.

Anyway, pot has a shitty effect on me. I'm cool for thirty minutes. Maybe an hour. I laugh, start to scream, or get insane urges like...TUNA.
I may want to open up a can but won't be able to do it. I may try to convince you that you're are a lesbian, whether or not you're a male or female.
I'll throw things at you. I'll raise a ruckus. You'll laugh...and then I'll be asleep. I can point out to you where I'll drop off.
See? Fun for you, but right when your stinky-ass pipe hits my lips-and the smell that reminds me of every horrible roommate ( Floyd ) that I've ever had, wafts into my lungs-
I remember why I don't smoke pot. It's not me. After twelve yrs. old, all of the times that I continued to try it-thinking that I would, maybe, get a different reaction....nothing. I always regret it. I hate the loss of self-control. The loss of ME. No matter the good and bad...I like my insides.
My Kevynn thoughts. There's some crud in there-but I don't know anything else and I like it.

I dealt pot for a bit.
I was a drug dealer.
Yes, I was. Really.
I did it because I had friends that sold it and they always bugged me to. Peer pressure.
I was perfect, they said. I didn't smoke it-so why didn't I sell it?
So finally, I said I would for a friend of mine that lived up in L.A. Let's call him ROB. ( Sorry, ROB. )

I had some conditions, though...

He would have to teach me the measurement thing, because I've never understood it.
All that I know is that JOEL once lost an eighth of pot from down his pants at a DANZIG concert.
I suck at all of that stuff. C'mon, I grew up with measurement tables from 'Pee-Chee' folders!
Barrels, hogsheads, bushels? What? Liters, grams, schwammy-whams, whatever....

I would never sell too much.

AND I would never have to leave my house.
None of this pager/secret-code-meet-you-in-the-bushes-at-Bradford-Park-type-shit.
That was shady ( before it was Slim ) and not worth my effort. Getting jumped by some bongo-playin hippy crew for...???

AND I would only sell it to my friends.

So it ended up that I sold pot to all of my friends in my apartment complex or I would just leave it in my hidey spot for my buddies, who I would trust with my life and had keys to my place anyway. It all worked out. It was cool. It was effortless. I'd come home from work and find new money and less pot in a drawer. I was a genius with an extra, small-time amount of about $100-$200 bucks every couple of months. Hey, it payed a couple of beer and utility bills.

Then it all got screwed up when my Mexican neighbors started to send their family members randomly to my door and when my friend/new roommate Chris, started to cut into my apartment-complex profits. I should've capped his ass. yo!

So. I quit.

And I only smoked some of my stash once...

I started to yell at my 'Trainspotting' poster


Which Trainspotting Character Are You?

and then fell asleep on my floor....

That's it...

Yo. Yo. Yo.

Baseball. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I did try to hear the fireworks from my house, though.
Wouldn't it be alot more fun if they played with canned hams or ripe fruit instead of a baseball?
Or if the infield and outfield players carried Uzi's instead of mitts?

Or if a team lost, then their bat boys got sold into slavery?
Or maybe the losing team's pets got killed?
Or if they played the game while riding on the back of Rhinos?
Or had to have a pet monkey chained to their leg?

Or if a team lost, they'd get taken over by a huge, money-hungry corporation?

And yes, I was a crappy baseball player...

I've never found it difficult to write...

Even if it was just nonsense for crappy magazine deadlines, school assigments or work-related stuff.

So what's happening, Rawg?

I don't know, Rerun.

I'm staring off into space and have the opportunity to write now that the house is empty and...

I've looked at the turtle a million times.
I thought about writing something pertaining to end-of-the-world scenarios and what I would do.
I was going to post a list of favorite books of mine and tell what I would do if I was the main character.
Relate a funny story about childhood, but my head fixated on images of me throwing a tennis ball at my old friend Adam's nuts.
I thought about Batman and what a psycho he is, and things that I picture him doing in private. Besides beating the crap out of criminals.

Now I'm listening to the Jeffersons theme song.
I'm trying to get all of the songs that I have downloaded in this computer to play as a playlist and it's not working.
Everything plays at once.
Three videos on one format will load up.
So I see Two Oasis videos and Janine and Brett Micheals doing it.
T.V. theme songs on one player.
Chewbacca, Mogwai, Thundercats outtakes and Weezer on another.

AH. This is what I'm going to do...
Nope.
That didn't work.
I was going to list all of the SHITE I have-but I can't lift the text.

Oh well.

Bride of Frankenstein is showing tonight.

It's raining, though.

What to do?

Things I Remember About Kidney-Garden...

Little strips of scotch tape on the carpet with black marker X's on them in front of the chalk board.
I sat somewhere in the back. To the right, I think.
Feeding Caterpillars.
Eating birdseed off of the ground and getting in trouble for it.
Going to speech therapy every Wednesday.
This was probably because I was still living with my fragmented-English mother and played with my babysitters son-who was retarded.
He was cool, though. We always had a crap-load of fun. Smashing our heads into Lego piles and spitting on each other.
My father would get furious with me though because I always came home speaking gibberish. He called it my "Idiot Language".
I guess It started to rub off on my older brother too, so i had to go to speech therapy.
It wasn't that bad. It just made you feel like you had toddler cooties. Everybody would look at me when the teacher announced Kevynn Had To Leave.
Oh well. Now, I love to speak. I can't shut up usually. And I'm an eloquent bastard in real life.
Really. I'm not as stupid as I am on the written page. I was a drama-fag for a bit in high school until all of the party people left. I got smart and went into Home Ed and Guitar. I've done voice-over work for advertisements and cartoons. So lick It...Mr. KINDERGARTEN! You sucked! Except for the part where I got in trouble for chasing around all of the girls with the dead mouse I found out in the field. And except for the part where I ripped off a bunch of Dristan from my fathers medicine cabinet and took it out on the bridge over the sandbox and poured it into the dirt, thinking that a Dristan tree would grow...Except for the parts when I used to cruise around during reccess on one of the three-wheelers like a pimp. Cruising for...what...solidarity? A lack of confusion? Damn, I was a wacky kid, but still cool. If I have a kid like I was back then-I'll be lucky. I wasn't that bad. At least back then.

Now? I don't know...

I still like Lego's, spitting and...gibberish.

Oi Doi Dooey Dooey Ooo....!!!

There's Something Creepy About

me reading comic books online...

Oh, did I say 'creepy?'

I meant nerdy.

(Yes. A dork. I am.)

HOW CAN I NOT WRITE 2NIGHT?

KNOWING THAT IF I DON’T, YOU’LL FEEL A PANG OF DISAPOINTMENT AND HAVE TO START OFF YR. DAY W/OUT A SMILE OR UNDERGARMENTS FULL OF POO. I HAVE AN OBLIGATION AS NICE GUY/Kevynn/ INSOMNIATIC/writer…I THINK. IT’S MY DUTY. I’M SWORN TO A LIFE OF VERBOSE SERVITUDE. Really!

THIS WEEK, I NEED TO WRITE…AND BAD.
TO DO
WHAT I’D DO
WHAT
I THINK
I’M SUPPOSED 2 DO
IF I IGNORED FRIENDS AND THE OBLIGATORY DISTRACTIONS.

I DON’T WANT TO WRITE ANYTHING ANYMORE. I'ts late. I THINK THAT….

OH, I DON’T KNOW…

MY LITTLE SISTER USED TO KEEP SNAILS AND SHE MADE A LITTLE HOUSE FOR THEM. IT HAD SEPERATE ROOMS. A MINIATURE T.V. THE WORKS. SHE’D CRY IN THE MORNINGS THOUGH, WHEN WE WERE GETTING READY FOR SCHOOL. I COULD SEE THE DEWEY, PHOSPHOURESCENT TRAILS SHIMMERING ON THE WALKWAY. OVER THE WALLS AND OUT INTO THE BUSHES…SHE’D CRY. I WOULDN’T SAY ANYTHING. REALIZING HOW STUPID AND BEAUTIFUL IT WAS ALL IN THE SAME MOMENT…

LIKE THIS MOMENT.

HAPPY
FEELING everything
AND
nothing
TIRED
AND
RESTLESS

READY TO PULL THE WORLDS EARS OFF
TO WRESTLE IT
TO STAND ON TOP OF ITS COMATOSE BODY
VICTORIOUS
SCREAMING triumphantly
AND
BEATING MY CHEST
LIKE
A Monkey Thomas Malone

Its time to go to sleep… now...
Though you’re probably already slumbering…


time to go to bed
and
hopefully dream of

me closing my eyes…

and dreaming of …

writing better things than this...

P.S. I forgot to include something...