When I Had Long Hair...

People used to say I looked like that guy Nuno from that crappy band, Extreme. Damn. Or that I looked like Lou Diamond Phillips or that I just plain looked like shit.

Now I get Harry Potter all the time or a skinny Clark Kent.

Better than people telling you that you look like Ellen Degeneres, I guess...

What A BeeYatch...

No, not Michael Jackson or his spider nemesis. So, my girlfriend just came home from visiting about eight stores to look for kitchen stool satan seat covers or something. Nothing in her hands. I asked her how the affair she's having is going. She asked me how my other girlfriend is. She's fine. Forget about that, check out what she just told me.

I guess my girlfriend and a woman were both looking at the same cream seat covers except that there was only one pack of three left. Four come in a pack. Somebody must have taken one out to look at it, like people do in stores sometimes. My girlfriend found the stray one from the pack a little later and...HID IT.

Yeah, tucked it away somewhere. Later she ends up seeing the lady in the store again and they have a long conversation about seat-thingys and tells my girlfriend that she can have the last pack if she wants because she can't find the other one. Then my girlfriend went outside to the pay phone to ask her mother some question about something and then ended up going home because the girl on the pay phone next to her was screaming fuck you and restraining order into the phone repeatedly and at top volume.

My girlfriend left.

Someone's getting coal in their karma stocking this Christmas...

Yeowwwww!...

If I ever meet the spider that bit Michael Jackson, I'll give it a sugar cube and shake its...hands.

That's gonna be the name of my new band...Michael Jackson Spider Bite.

Something To Remember...

Even if the double shot of tequila is free --
You Dont Have To Drink It.....

I Love The Damn, Fuckin' Library...

Oh, and thrift stores too. After work I bought a crapload of cheap books, but I won't tell you what most of them were because you'll laugh at me. Hey, they were only a quarter each...I also got a couple of books at the library. Prey by Micheal Chrichton and the Nanny Diaries by some crap head. I rented two movies also...Portrait Of A Lady with Nicole Kidman and...Zero Effect with Ben Stiller. I got two comic books also. See, I'm spoiled...my library has comic books.

I also saw your mom.

She says hi, and to send more money.

She needs new shoes.

Word...

Writing, like all forms of expression, can be a pain in the Mons Pubis. The first story I remember writing was when I was five, I think. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree while my father tried to be sneaky and take pictures of me. I have that picture around here somewhere. Beatles mop top hair, khaki pants, skinny as hell. Writing a story about a giant, red robot named Maxmillian. I read it to my shitty-ass older brother later that night and he accused me of stealing the idea from the movie Black Hole. I denied it. I lied, but who cares?

Writing kind of sucks. Once the sick urge infects you, there's no getting rid of it-you're always going to feel like you should be doing it. You'll feel guilty for not doing it or for wasting ideas, and if you're like me, you'll go through intense, sporadics periods of productivity and then slog through a desert of uncreative poo.

Like now. I'm in the desert. That's okay, though. I don't care as much as I used to. I can't sit in a tiny rented room and write twenty to thirty pages full of shit anymore. I try to focus on the quality not the quantity, I tell myself now. That's bullshit, I think. I just don't write as much. I'm not as angst-ridden, I'm more patient and more willing to write when I can, and accept the day as a success if I just wrote anything. That's why writing all of this crud is good. If I'm not going to tackle the big Kevynn Malone projects then at least I can still tackle something when I'm being a lazy punk. It's like getting sacked in a football game and then hitting the waterboy over the head as you make your way to the bench to recuperate.

My spelling sucks. Syntax horrible. I have Frankenstein punctuation. Actually, If Yoda was a writer-I'd be him. Writing, of yours...good-it is not...yesssss? Why does Yoda sound like a snake? I don't know. I've ditched all of my schooling. My earlier literary influences didn't help much either. Mr. Kerouac-No-Punctuation-Don't Stop. Bukowski's poetry. Morrison poetry. Allen Ginsberg-Miasmic-Mess-Of-Form. Hustler reader responses. Ah, but I've done all right considering. I've done some good stuff. I like my ideas and what I've done with them. I'll never be the best writer in the world and who would want to be? I'm content to excrete my own shit and fertilize my life the only way I know how...slowly and with relish. Grimacing and feeling pleasure at the same time...

I'll be rich and famous one day. Everyone else can erase my mistakes. I'll just keep on creating them. After puking my guts out and visiting my harem, of course. And if I ever run out of ideas, I'll just write about Star Wars...

Bye.

Awww, Saara...Just Send Me A Check...

For THIS. All payments accepted.

Thank you.

Now What The Hell Was That All About?...

Checking this before work and I couldn't get it to load.
My web site would come up as the archives for Que Sera Sera.
Not that bad, I guess. At least it was linking to something good.
It could've been embarrasing and linked to my midget porn picture link.

Nothing against midgets and porn...

Small Friggin' World...

Video Store. See Michelle and some guy. She ran up and scared me as I was perusing the childrens videos. I had a Hamtaro-something-or-other thing in my hand. No, not in my butt-thank you, Mr. Gere. Where the hell did the Richard Gere hamster/butt thing start anyway. How, I mean? Damn, that rumor's old-but is there validity to every rumor? It has to start somewhere, right? He was probably shopping for a pet and an employee probably dropped one down his pants by accident. I don't know. Saw Amanda and Mark. I didn't think it was her. I started to run up to her and scare her but then put on my brakes and stopped in the middle of the new releases because I had second thoughts. I back-pedaled and started to cough her name out really loud. It was her. I put a Grease DVD in her hand and told her to buy it. After the video store Dawne and I went to the grocery store to pick up Beer (me), cigarettes (me), and aluminum foil (us). As we were leaving we saw Amy. Made fun of each other. She said I smelled like tuna. What the hell? Do I? Tell me. Do I smell like tuna? As we were leaving I spotted Amy's car and fucked with her windshield wipers, like I always do. I love my annoying humor. Too bad nobody else does. Went home, Mark (another one) and Nadia came over and gave me glasses from Spaghetti Factory. We watched a bunch of horrible, old movies that I made. They left. Amy called and left a message saying that she knew that I would see her car and fuck with her windshield wipers. Yup. That was the last couple of hours.

So now, what should I watch?

Reign Of Fire or Attack Of The ClonesAttack Of The Clones?

Tell me now or I'll kick you in the crotch...

Platypus, Cookie-puss, and Sisyphus...

Sunday is for sleeping, but trying to get up early.
Ummm...probably not writing, even though I want to.
I have to call April and have her come over so that I can rub her pregnent belly. I want to whisper dirty things into her navel.
Not turn on the t.v. unless it's Star Wars related.
Not turn on this computer unless it's really late.
Feed my cat.
Fuel my fire.
Quench my desire.
There's no band practice cuz' Ryan's in France-the bastard.
I'll need to pick up an L.A. Times.
Pick up some lollipops to give to random children.
I need to let it loose.
Lay low.
Aim high.
Eat pie in the sky.
Skate.
Wear something other than black.
Pretend I'm black.
Pretend I'm white.
Waste the day.
Get wasted.
Create waste as a consumer or fecal-wise.
Listen to music.
Play music.
Play in the park.
Play with myself.
Play Bocce ball.
Play dumb.
Play dead.
Playfully tweak your nipple.

Thank You.

Lick me til' your tongue hurts. I'd appreciate it...

When The Time Comes...

We will need to see this movie.

Ouch? What the hell was that? Jeezuz! Pain in my chest. Damn, I'm too young to die. Conan's on-not the conquerer. The talk show host. The body's kind of weird. Slapping you around every once in awhile. Pain here, eye twitch there. Zit. Rash. Erection.

You know, all that stuff, right?

It's Time To Start Thinking About...

These things...

Greedy? Yes.
Ashamed? Hell no.

I Suck...And I Don't Care...

So, I talk about trying to not eat meat.
I Rag on fat people, fast food culture and I hate t.v.

Well, I just saw a Burger King commercial advertising talking Simpsons watches.
All you have to do is buy a value meal...

Hell Yeah!!!

I am so there, Bubba!!! I'm going to order five of every single version and run around the store yelling, "THIS" and punching obese people in their bellies.

This is a good thing.

To Cleanse The System...

Of your Thanksgiving festivities...there's this.

Enjoy.

Hail To The King, Baby...

Whoomp! Here I am. Finished my last post-based-on-reader-comments-thing. Fun? Yes. Glad it's over? Yes? Was the last one a good one? No. Do I care? Ahhh...no. I'm glad Thanksgiving is over. I'm a waiter. I suck. I used to have a good writing job for a fancy-schmancy company and got treated like a baby. Fed for free and flown on skiing trips. A bunch of good shite. No more. Now I pretend to care how your $150 meal was. So, today I worked. Left as quick as I could. Went to the store. Came home. Called Father Malone. Talked about various stuff. Called my sis, Sindy. Read. Wrote. Played on the computer. Girlfriend came home. Now I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Drinking a beer, Phantom Menace is on t.v., and I'm pretending to write. This is a good ending to an otherwise poo-filled day.


Love my butt, please. Thank you.

Penguins...

1 . Most scientists recognize 17 species of penguins (del Hoyo, et al., 1992):

• Emperor Aptenodytes Forsteri -- Class of penguin that helped sway Anakin Skywalker to the dark side...


• King Aptenodytes Patagonicus -- Made good music. Got Fat. Produced a kid that could kiss Micheal Jackson...


• Adélie Pygoscelis Adeliae -- Was Early Grace's girlfriend in Kalifornia...


• Gentoo Pygoscelis Papua -- Lesbian penguin that has to bring her girlfriend everywhere...
  
• Chinstrap Pygoscelis Antarctica -- Football Jock Penguin.


• Rockhopper Eudyptes Chrysocome -- Lives in New Mexico, does psychedelic drugs...


• Macaroni Eudyptes Chrysolophus -- Smokes alot of pot, still lives at home with his mother...


• Royal Eudyptes Schlegeli -- Penguin who dies in a tunnel or writes this website...


• Fiordland Crested Eudyptes Pachyrhynchus -- Ummm...like a penguin that enjoys water and land bridges and stuff...sorry...


• Erect-Crested Eudyptes Sclateri -- Viagra penguin


• Snares Island Eudyptes Robustus -- Likes to set traps penguin? Sorry, again...


• Yellow-Eyed Megadyptes Antipodes -- Penguin with Jaundice...


• Fairy (also known as little blue) Eudyptula Minor -- Penguin who dresses real nice...


• Magellanic Spheniscus Magellanicus -- Portugese penguin who first circumnavigated the globe by sea...


• Humboldt Spheniscus Humboldti -- Penguin who grows the best weed...


• African (formerly known as black-footed) Spheniscus Demersus -- Penguin who still thinks Spike Lee is a good director...


• Galapagos Spheniscus Mendiculus -- Vonnegut Penguin...

Lame, yes...Sorry. I was going originally going to write about The Penguin from the Batman comic books and then talk about what a psycho Batman is, but this was easier-so lick it, Brian!...

Okay. No more. That whole 'write me a word' experiment was harder than I thought it would be. Next time I'll just ask for nudie pictures in the mail...

Chow...

Chow reminds me of Chow Yun Fat, the not-obese, Chinese action film star, and Chow reminds me of food. Hey, Thanksgiving, yoyoyo! I know that all of you are going to scream-especially all of my fellow fat ol' Americans. Especially Southern Californians, but...I...HATE...TO...EAT...( no, I'm not a super model, but I will be if you pay me ). Everybody likes food. Loves food. Food can't come fast enough for us. We all wish for bigger mouths so that we can jam as much shit in there as possible.

Okay. Dogs, right? We've seen them eat. They gobble, they inhale their food. This is an instinctual behavior. If they didn't eat their food fast enough in the wild or out on the prarie, another wild dog or Laura ingalls would grab it. I think that's why human beings and all of society gets so crazy, possesive, and fat about food. We're programmed to hoard and eat as much of it as we can. Yes, I know we also had to hunt, preserve, and store our food back then, but that was all learned behavior.
I am not the biggest fan of food. Yes, there are things to eat that I absolutely love, but I won't go all ape shit over it. Ill buy it. Maybe. There are preferences that I have. I will knock you over the head for your steak. Maybe your beer too. But otherwise? Feh! Food and the whole obligatory act of ingesting it is a necessary evil to me.
It's something that we all have to do, but I make a meal last as short as possible to me. This doesn't make me a fast food eater, I actually don't like the majority of the chains out here-it usually makes me feel ill or lethargic. Putting beef flavoring in the meat because it's lost it's natural taste in the processing doesn't help them either. Deforesterazation and excessive water waste too.

Eating is such a social behavior, no wonder the majority of us look like Alfred Hitchcock. Ask people what they did today ( not counting this day/Thanksgiving ) and they'll say, "Oh, Ryan and I went to McShitBurg" What does that mean? I didn't ask you where you went to eat, I asked you what you did today. Did you ride your skateboard around town?, offer candy to kids?, dangle them over a balcony? If we didn't do anything-then we should say nothing. But we think that we're doing something by engaging in the act of eating. I know, I know, some of the greatest times that I've had have been around some table somewhere over something-but I don't count it as an activity. I count it as trying to make something out of nothing due to the hilarious conversations of my friends. Dates? Eating. Meetings? Eating.

I like to poop. Serious. Sorry if this is too gross for you, but I love to poop. It's fun. I'll stay in there forever. Reading, thinking, whatever. Defecation/evacuation ( Alright everybody, evacuate! hee hee! ) is just as natural and enjoyable of a process as eating right? That's just as natural and necessary of a process. So why don't we hold business meeting in communal bathrooms? Because you can't order the poop that you want and it never comes when it's supposed to, huh? Why don't we ever have a first date in a bathroom with some nice atmosphere and some fancy music and then maybe catch a romantic comedy afterwards? "Gee, Kevynn-thanks for taking me to the bathroom tonight-it was great!"

Now this is making me hungry. I have to go. Girlfriend has to use the computer...and don't send me freeze-dried poop in the mail. Yam-chips are okay though...and...uh...yo mama...

Thanks, Chewie...

Existentialism...

Great. Thanks, Ichi-wawa. What a word. All that I needed to know about philosophy, I learned in kidney-garden-to kind of quote that Robert Fulghum guy. I remember that I had a cool teacher in philosophy. He was funny, bald, and happened to miss his classes the same weeks that I did. Yes! It was World Philosophy. What, as opposed to New York City philosophy? Orange County philosophy? Actually that does make sense, doesn't it? There is a difference.

Existentialism? Making me did up the old books that aren't around now that I need them. Existentialism evolved as a school of philosophy, borrowing from others, while never completely rejecting past ideals.
Kierkegaard -- humans suffer a deep anxiety because they cannot be certain of anything, of any meaning.
Nietzsche -- not only is there no logic to existence, but the truly strong person rises and masters the absurdity of life.
Existentialism is a paradox, as Sartre came to describe it -- an attempt to live logically in a universe that is ultimately absurd.

So what does this mean? Nothing. It means...enjoy yourself on Thanksgiving Day. Enjoy the moment. Everything will be back to it's crazy-ass self the next day or when the relatives leave. Don't eat the yams, either...because they suck...

Yams...

Stupid-ass yams. Yams are retarded. Yams are wrong. They're sweet! What the hell? If it looks like a potato, it should taste like one. I am God, and that's my new law. That'll be my eleventh commandment. Thou shalt not eat nasty yams. I'm gonna buy a yam tomorrow and burn it in the backyard in protest. Do you only eat free-range yams? Yams are like the distant, red neck cousin of the wonderful potato. If I had a gun, I'd shoot a yam next time I saw one. I'm a yam racist. I'm anti-yam. I'm going to buy the web domain Godhatesyams.com. I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam...stupid Popeye.


Thanks, Diz...

Love, Jean Claude Van Yam...

Plethora...

Was there ever a man named Plethora? Was he the inventor of excessiveness? Was his house a mess and full of useless crap like my room is? Was he friends with Pythagoras? Did he drink much? If you asked him for a book of matches, would he pull out a drawer filled with them? He must've had a HUGE porn collection...

Alpha Blondy...

First I was going to write a story about me on a hunt for sexually-starved blondes. Then I changed it to a story about piloting a ship towards a planet called Alpha Blondy. Then I was going to tell a tale about fighting a wrestling jock. I just couldn't get passed the "Bloody" oops! not bloody- I couldn't get past the "Blondy" spelling. I wanted "Blondie" even though it's not really a word-but I really shouldn't mind because I make up my own words when I write anyway. So I found the real Alpha Blondy's website and it's not bad at all. Well, I only heard the song that plays at the beginning of the website. It made me realize that I don't have jack-shit when it comes to reggea in my music collection. Not even the obligatory Bob Marley's Greatest Hits CD. Doesn't everyone? But you don't have any Atari Teenage Riot, do you? Nope. I'll get this guy's CD. Now everybody get Atari Teenage Riot...

Attu, this is the fucking funniest thing I have ever seen...this thingy.

Foment...

Sad Story. Years ago I once needed money so bad that I sold a whole Darth Vader case of Star Wars figures to a guy who placed an ad in the paper. I think that I sold them for two bucks a piece, which netted me about forty much-needed bucks, but is still very sad when you think about it. Two bucks for a Power Droid? How? Two bucks for a Gammorean Guard? Why? Two bucks for Mon Mothma? Weeeeeelllll...that seemed about right.

Mon Mothma sucked. She was one of those weird-ass figures that they had that no kid really wanted-but somehow managed to get at Christmas or on a birthday. Mon Mothma looked like an action figure of somebody's really religious, anal-retentive stepmom or something.

So she might have been at the top of all time shitty Star Wars action figures to have. God, she was boring. I don't remember her having a weapon-maybe just a gay-old staff or something. She wasn't even hot looking, so Chewbacca humping her in the back of the Millenium Falcon wasn't even a redeeming option for her plasticky existence.

But I guess as far as Star Wars geek-dom goes, she wasn't pretty looking, but still pretty much a bad ass in the whole Star Wars universe. To the big ol' bad and evil Empire, she was a problem. She became disillusioned with the Empire and left to foment a rebellion against them. Enter Luke, Leia, Han, Chewy, your mom, etc...to save the universe.


Thanks, Elizabeth...

C'mon Punks...

Anybody who writes ONE word of their choosing in the comments section of this post will get the next post(s) written about their ONE word.

I hope that made sense because I'm not going to write it over, baby.

It'll make me stop reading these damn, old comic books anyway...

Stupid Winds...

Go ask Wil-He'll tell you too. We get these winds out here that suck my big fat one to quote Stand By Me. What did he say in that? Suck my fat one, you cheap dime-store prick? Was that it? Anyway, these stupid Santa Ana winds ( I don't know why they call them that-Santa Ana is a city out here-what, do they come from there or something? ) They're the kind of winds that wreak havoc on those with sensitive noses like mine. It feels like somebody stuffed a couple of chopsticks up into my brain and turned on the snot faucets. Sorry. Gross. I tend to sneeze alot. I'm not the type that sneezes once either. Or like a little mouse like some of you-that always drives me crazy with jealousy. I sneeze HARD. FAST and FURIOUS. Yeah, if Vin Diesel was a series of about five sneezes in a row followed by thirty others...that'd be what his next movie would be called...I don't care if that made any sense. My nose is buggin' the crap out of me.

Stupid Winds...

So A Customer Asked Me The Other Day...

Where I would want to live in the United States if I didn't live in California.
Somewhere like Montana. Definitely. Even though I've never been there, it just sounds good. Looks good to me from what I've seen. I want a ranch in Montana. A modest one with some horses. No cattle. Some chickens. Some Werewolves to fight. I want to walk around my ranch. Help my hired man out with some of the chores. Sit around on the front porch and smoke and drink and write. And I'll use "AND" all of the time in my writing. And I won't use proper punctuation-I'll have the fancy-schmancy east coast editor do all of that. I'll fly in friends whenever they want, or they can just raise a ruckus in the guest house. I want some lemon trees too. I don't think that's possible there-but I'll want fresh lemonade. AND to do that-I'll build a geo-dome thingy. Yeah, that's it. And I'll run around naked, dressed in war paint. With all of my dogs, who will help me fight all of the Werewolves...

Sounds good to me...