The Cupboard Under The Stairs...

I have a lot of things to write about,
but considering that I'm having to use toothpicks to keep my eyes open -
I'll just have you write a post in the comments section today instead.
Profanity and sexual themes are encouraged.

Thank you.

Bruce Campbell...

I guess I'm going to write this before I smoke a cigarette. Yes, I do smoke the vile things, and I always have, probably more than your mom and her cancer too, so shut it. Okay. Anyway. It was Tony's birthday tonight. I guess that it's officially tomorrow, but we celebrated it tonight and it was pretty lame. Tomorrow night, when it is actually his birtday, I'll be behind the bar serving his fucking rockstar arse. Speaking of rockstar arse's, I went to The Key Club down in Hollywood last night to see a friend's band play at a fashion show. Stuff Magazine and Vanity Fair were supposed to be there, but I didn't see shite. All I was doing was buying $5.50 Bud Lights. I forgot all about Hollywood beers. Oops. Expensive. Then on the way back home I peed in the back of a movie theatre and found a bunch of vinyl movie posters. Kill Bill. The new George Clooney and Catherine Zeta Jones, Jack Black, or Vin Diesel movie anyone? So, Ebay, c'mon...buy the stuff of me. My girlfriend called me from Bourbon Street in New Orleans tonight. After all of tonight, I can't even compare with all of the fun she had. Tony got complimentad on his uncanny agilty when it came to his puking abilties. Good man, that Tony. Fortunatley I'm never quite in the situation in which I need to be complimented on that. Unfortunately, when I am in that rare type of situation? There's nothing cool about it.

This is not at all how this post was supposed to be...

But moneys isn't floating down from the sky like volcano ash...

So it's okay if the masterpieces aren't either tonight...right?

Chilly Willy...

Yes, I am typing naked.
Now, where'd my hat go?

Karate Chops...

Are beautiful. Anyway, I saw Elvis the other night. At a bar in Garden Grove. Right when I arrived, he walked into the kitchen. He was hungry, I guess. I wasn't. I don't feed much. My tribe is prosperous. We're resourceful. We pluck fruit from the trees. Shoot an arrow. Climb a mountain. We're fed. Spoiled and loving it. Hooting. Panting. Fucking. No need for fighting. Everythings good in the monkey hood. The drivers side window of my car doesn't go up anymore. Good for me.

Only Because I let The Night Slip Through My Fingers Like Mustard...

I can't write about the three things that I wanted to tonight. I lagged, and now it's too late. But I will tell you that, before bed tonight, I whipped up a twenty second sandwich masterpiece involving Peperonni, Salami, Cheddar, Mayonnaise, and pickles, yo. Perfection. Darth Vader never needed Luke to rule the universe. All he needed was one of my sandwiches.

Don Rickles...

A friend of mine is dating a girl who reads my site. They are both normal and happy. Really. Yowzers, huh? She asked him what I looked like. My friend asked her what she thought I looked like. She said, based on the writing on my website, that she thought that I was old, bald, and fat. What the hell? I mean...she really hit the nail on the head, didn't she? I am happy for my friend, and happy that he's dating a psychic.

Show Of Hands, Kidney-Gardners...

And what did you do last night, anyway?
All that I'll tell you is that somebody
stole my beers when the hour started getting late.
Isn't that a kick in the liver?
I did beat the friggin' pants off of my friends tonight in poker,
and that's all that matters, in the long run because my luck has been lacking, as of late.
I had the worst luck when it came to everything else tonight.
I had some pleasant conversations tonight.
That was it.

Laborius day?

Yes.

Pleasant?

Sort of.

What did you do yesterday, Bubba?

My friend Mark, Snuck Into My Site And Posted On It. This Is After Helping Him And Twenty Other Idiot Friends At The Bar Tonight. Actually, He Didn't Even Pay For His Coke, Either. Yeah, He Drank A Coke. I'm Glad That He Has Nothing Better To Do Except Write On My Site At 1 In The Morning When I'm Still At Work. Why Am I Smiling? Because This Means That I Don't Have To Write Anything Tonight. This Is What The Little Fucker Wrote...

This is not Kevynn. This is Mark. I did not ask Kevynn if I could post on his site. I am bascially writing without permission. I am firm believer in getting permission to do things and here I go ruining my own philosophy. I just wanted to be a part of something, so write crazy things on the "comments" thing and I'll write even crazier things in response. For example, you might say, "Who's this Mark guy? Pchaw, he's retarded! I hate him sooo much. Will he just go away and never come back. Oooh, I hate him!!!" And I will respond, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" See, I am great and full of fun little surprises like that. Can you just imagine what I'm like at home. That's right! I suck at home. I'm usually ignored when I talk and told to shut up when I am not ignored. Kind of a Catch 22 if you don't know how to use the phrase "Catch 22." Has anyone seen Bruce Almighty? If you haven't seen it, go see it at your local second-run movie house. When you buy the ticket, say, "Alllllmighty then!!!!" The tickettaker should be impressed that you have seen a previous Jim Carey movie and know how to tie things together like that. I did it and was ignored. I'm all out of stuff to say. Seriously, I'm all out of time. You guys have been...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..z..z.z...............z.....................z

Madonna Kissing Britney Spears...

TheBookoftheDeadAfterallthedeedsaredone
AnddownGoesthesunItsonlythendoIrealize
ThatallunfinishedbusinessCreatedandranted
aboutduringThehotand messydayIsNothingmore
thanthat……Justbusiness…MyheartProblemsneardreams
deathsandpremonitionsnightlikethosealwaysrememberitmay
bethedayslikethesethatweforgetFORGETTINGTHEHALFFULLCUPOF
LIFEASOPPOSEDTOTHEEVAPORATINGEMPTYDAYSHERETODAYTALKINGTO
APARTMENTFRIENDSFROMWINDOWSVISITORSCOMPUTERCONVERSATIONS
WITHFRIENDSYOUWORKWITHCOMINGHOMETOAFRIENDALREADYINYOUR APT.
BEFOREYOUWEREEVENTHEREHERMOTHERANDCHILDRENPLAYINGWITHYOURSIX
SMALLKITTIESFRIENDSCOMINGANDGOINGCARSJOKESANDCONVERSATIONSABOUT
JCPENNYTWENTYDOLLARFAMI PHOTOALBUMSWITHEVERYBODYWHOLIVESHEREALLTENOFUS

( I erased the majority of this post. Sorry. Thanks to those who commented. That was really nice of you. I don't know, I don't really care about putting super-duper personal stuff on here. It doesn't bug me. I'll write whatever I want, but it kept on nagging at me in the back of my mind - so there. Yup. )

Five Dollar Boom Boom...

My mom's from Vietnam. Yup, I'm first-generation-born-somewhere-other-than-that-place-guy. My older brother was born there too. Why don't we have the obligatory X-Men-Cyclops eyes? Don't know. Don't care. I always look tired anyways, so it doesn't make much of a difference in the long run. I had a bad mother. She's nice and all, but sucks in a lot of departments when it comes down to the final inventory. No big deal. No bad feelings. No skin off of the Irish-Vietnamese back. Tonight at the bar, I was engaging in some type of conversation that I thought was important, when I heard my name being called...There was a small, smiling lady selling something. With my bad vision, I thought that it was roses. But it wasn't. She was lugging around a wooden display case full of bracelets. That was probably why the lady was brought to my attention. I'm one of the only guys left with a girlfriend. So everybody was directing the lady towards me. Nobody wanted anything. The bracelets were okay. Nothing special. What was special was that I bought one. That she was smiling, even though that she had to try to sell cheap trinkets of homemade beauty to a bunch or worthless kids. What was special was that she always had a smile on her face. What was special was that I could hear people making racist comments behind her back, even though two of them were black. What was special was that she danced to the live band that was playing as she left the bar. The only money that she had was what I gave her. She danced away with a smile on her face as people made fun of her. These are the same people who probably made fun of my mother years ago when she came to this country. The only reason that she was here, and the only reason that I exist is because she met a handsome white guy. A guy that gave up the job that he loved to shack up and do the nasty with a beautiful girl. Nothing mattered. All that my father wanted was what was best for the both of them. They asked why I bought the cheap bracelet. I half-joked that I was watching out for my own. I told them that that was my mother who just left. They said, why, because she was Vietnamese?

I said no...because she was a person, you fucking idiots.