Carl Sagan Poos On Your Cheap Ice Chest Flying Thing...

I will personally fly alongside the space shuttle when it comes back to ensure its safe return. You would think that we'd be able to upgrade a space fleet so that they don't fall apart. The tiles on the space shuttle are like my teeth. Big gaping holes and wide, open spaces.

Forget the war. I'm going to further space exploration.

I'm getting off of this planet and starting my own colony somwehere else.

And Warren Ellis will be the Minister Of Defense And Alcohol.

The Only Thing...

Funny about my insomnia is...

nothing.

BUT

I AM

doing something

even if it's REALLY nothing

while you're doing nothing

and that's SOMETHING

isn't it?

Too stupid to be smarter.

Too smart to be stupid.

Too much. Too little.

Too lazy. Brain on fire.

One of these days - hopefully a great many days from now...

I'll be dead. Food for worms. Tattered burial clothing. Cracked bones.

I just forgot - I wont be all of those things above because I'm going to be cremated, even though I hate fire - but, I'll be cremated because it's the most unselfish thing to do when space is limited on planet Earth or planet California.

Just burn the shit.

I DO want my ashes to be chucked out into space, though. To someday be picked up by an advanced alien race and mick-mucked together in a petri dish like a Betty Crocker looks-like-poo-muffin. I want to be interrogated by pale blue, spindly, wide-eyed beings through thoughts. Why this? Why that? What were you...STUPID?, They'll press.

They'll also ask me about bad punctuation, my inabilty to take over the world and my lack of moral fiber.

I will speak of things. Strange things that will make no sense to them. I'll tell them about the pleasures of Bud Light that tastes like water but creeps up on you in a slow, progressive way. Much like a pleasurable anti-cancer. I will tell them about love. I will tell them about the joy of two-dimensional comic books. I will confuse them with tales of two-dimensional people, also.

I will regale them with Star Wars stories. They will scoff, snort, and sneer. I will end up publishing these stories and selling them to the alien youth market.

That last sentence was really dumb. Pretend I didn't write it.

They'll ask me tons of questions. I will answer honestly.

I will tell them about the voices in my head. I will tell them that I think that one is my grandmother, even though she died when I was 5 or 6, and seems to have developed an immense amount of patience, which is different than the grandmother that I barely knew, because as far as I remember and know, she was very set in her ways and wouldn't of ever of had a conversation deeply about anything that was geared outside of her beliefs. But I still love her because she was a badass and taught me to read at a great age, and she was nicknamed Bubba and she wasn't fat so how's that for fun?

I will tell the aliens who put me back together again about the voice in my head that is the sad and bemused future me. The one that knows that the young me is too headstrong to really listen, but every once in a while will sit down and have a serious and open-minded conversation with you.

Years from now, in a floating space station or by being interrogated via alien telepathy - I will start to remember things that I took for granted while I was in that funny, frail form on Earth. I will remember cats, poems, hugs and blood. I will remember mind-expanding conversations and youthful excursions. I will see stars. I will feel the dirt beneath my toes. I will remember what it was like to be alive.

I will think of disposable nights

like tonight

that last

forever.

Dude.

The other day I bought a bag of potatoes and it's totally smelling up the house. And now I don't know where to put the bag of potatoes. We have no room for a bag of potatoes.

Also, on the vegetable front...I have an avacado pit. As far as I remember...can't you stick some toothpicks in one, half-immerse it in water, and then a plant will start growing out of it? I made a bet with friends that this would happen years ago and all I ended up with was a cup of smelly water and I had to throw it away.

Did I just imagine that you could do this?

Or was it a potatoe?

I'm spelling potatoes wrong, huh?

potato?

potatoe.

tomatoe. tomato.

Whatever Song This Is, Playing - I Don't Like It...



But I'm too busy typing crap that you and I won't remember tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow, I will just be getting home from Hollywood from a horseback ride. I will probably've been very drunk before, but after the stupid freeway ride that always bores me to death the one in every six months that I go out to Hollywood...ummm what was I saying?. Ummm...I was saying that my buzz will be worn off and that I'll be tired.

Oh. I will not be drinking whilst atop the beast. I will be drinking at the Mexican restaurant that we're going to. Drinking whilst horseback riding WOULD be Friggin' A Awesome, though. I COULD bring my gals flask, eh?

I will not die on tomorrow nights horse. That will be up to my girlfriend. I grew up around horses and she's never touched one. How will I get home?

Please pick me up if you live in LALA/HOLYWEIRD.

Thank you.

"Groovy!"...

Everybody should write at least ONE horror film.

F U In The A, Kid...

That's what I should've said after my bartending shift when I was at the 24 grocery store inquiring to the pimply, half-asleep checker about the new Harry Potter book. I knew that they were carrying it, but couldn't find it. He just looked at me blankly and slooooooowly asked another clerk who ignored him. So I told him to forget it. He said nothing. I said nothing also. It was 3 in the morning. I will get it now. Right after I type this. Because I am old and weird.

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.