Looking For A Good Home...

I am placing myself up for adoption.
If you are interested, please tell me what you have to offer.
All perverted comments from males will make me shiver and then be ignored.
If you have any questions, please re-read my blog thing.

Thank you daddy and mommy dearest...

Whatcanigetcha?...

I bartend on Sunday nights now. I've done it before, but always in the day. I had a guy fall off of his barstool already. I saw him do it when I was outside smoking. I didn't even know that him and his friends were drunk when they came in. I just thought that he was naturally a loud and friendly guy. I can't ever tell when people are fucked up. Drugs, booze, or whatever. I think everybody is weird. I'm pretty naive too. I'm one of those guys that never know when a person is strung out on something. I live in a happy dodo land where nobody does drugs. I can't tell. I always act like I'm on crack, and I've never even seen the stuff. Oh, wait...that's a lie. I was in a Denny's on Sunset once and a man stood up on one of the toilets and asked me if I'd like some. I declined. Flushed. Zipped. Got out of there. No Chris Rock, New Jack City for me.

I think I did okay. Nobody died. I didn't have to get all ninja on anybody's ass. I engaged in a lot of meaningless conversation. I guess Sunday nights will be the new hang out for my friends. They're all good tippers too. Bad drunks, but good tippers .I'm a good drunk and a good tipper. I'm really good at tipping over drunks too.

Some girl grabbed me and started dancing with me. I felt kind of foolish though because of my gimpy leg. I smoked a lot. My girlfriend came in for a drink and I messed hers up. I guess I'm an okay bartender, though. I'd rather have me behind the bar than someone else. I'm nice. I smile a lot. I laugh at your jokes. I pour strong drinks. I want to make you poor. Give me your money so that I can put my twelve children through college. Give me your money so that I can go to college twelve times. Or give me your money so that I can spend twelve hours a day making collages. Or just spending my time brushing with Colgate.

Best part of today? I'm talking to another drunk guy outside, and a small black kid came up and asked us if we wanted to buy some candy. The drunk guy asked him how much and the kid told him five dollars. The drunk guy said that he couldn't have sugar. But being drunk was? Anyway, the kid then said that he could take donations and the drunk guy gave him ten bucks. Then the kid asked the drunk guy if he'd like any candy and the drunk guy said no. The kid's face lit up, he said goodbye, and then started to dance down the street. Dancing. Really. Kind of shuffling and skipping along. I should have bought all of his candy, so that he didn't have to walk around asking fat, drunk, humans if they wanted any...

AND I should have bought him a drink for one of those Kit Kat's...

Confession Can Be Quick...

I used to hump my bedpost when I was a kid.
I also used to hump the basketball pole in the front yard.

That's it.

Question Club...

Ask me a question as hard as you can.
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Stick Em' Up, Bugsy...

When I was young, I used to get in trouble a lot. I'd do wacky crap for no reason. Tear my clothes off, break something, name it - I did it. So punishment was a daily occurence. When my mother was around, punishment was different. If i was bad, I had to hold my hand out and get whacked with a...chopstick. No foolin'. And if I was badder, I had to stick both off my hands against the wall. I couldn't turn my head, or talk. If I was lucky, I got the side of the wall that had the calender nearby, and you could kind of discreetly sneak glances at it for entertainment, this lasted for hours sometimes. That's why I can't keep my mind still nowadays. My overactive imagination was a childhood survival mechanism. Now, if I was badder-er, I got the belt. Right on my ass. This was my fathers territory. He wore big belt buckles. He was a Texan. They all have big belt buckles. He always said it hurt him more than it did me. Uh huh. Yeah, whatever you say, pops. You've got the belt. You know what was scarier than his belt buckle? His face. It'd get all red and splotchy, and spit would start flying out of his mouth. He looked like a cartoon. I'd imagine steam coming out of his ears and a whistle blowing like in the cartoons...

See? Like I told you...

Survival mechanism.

Doris The Thinkasauras...

You know, it's pretty sad when you have to go brush your teeth for inspiration. Anyway, I was thinking that maybe I shouldn't have started to brush them if I wanted to smoke, so now I can't - and I thought that it kind of sucks that I have to go to sleep. I guess I don't have to, but I'm trying to be good and at least have my body in bed by 2 a.m. I mean, what else can I do? A lot of stuff, I know, but people start getting up three hours from now and the sun comes up, birds start playing the guitar, etc. When that shit is happening and you're still up, it gives you an icky feeling, like you've been bad.

The other thing that I was thinking about was how cool it would be if there were two worlds, or at least like, two societal schedules. Kind of like if you had two seperate lunch periods in high school. I want the world to start according to my internal alarm clock. I want to be productive along with everybody else. If it's dawn, and I think that a beer would hit the spot, I want to see you at the bar. I know Vegas is like this 24/7, but that doesn't count. That's a special place - like Disneyland. I want the world to be my own personal Denny's. Where I can get what I want at anytime of the day, and where all strange behaviour goes unnoticed.

That's it, I think. Lick it.

Rotten: No Irish, No Blacks, No Dogs...

Pretty anticlimactic arrival at work. It was slow and I was out of there early. It was frustrating not being able to walk as fast as I wanted. I just looked at the TV, and Ray Liotta was limping just like me. How cute. I'm having deja vu right now about typing about Ray Liotta limping like me, this is freaky. I hate deja vu. I get it real bad sometimes. I used to get it all the time, not as much anymore.

So, my friend called me last night and told me to take down a number. After I was done, I asked him what the hell it was for. With my friends, you never know. He said it was the number for a reality show. I tried out for one of the Big Brother's, like, two years ago, I think. I don't think I made it. Ha. Anyway, this one's kind of like ED TV. They follow you around 24/7 and all of that. Am I entertaining enough? Hmmm...yup. Shit, I just threw myself out of a car and am still recovering from it. I would've loved to watch that. I guess I could've held a mirror in my hands when I was doing it.

Anyway, I called. They called back. I'll talk to them tomorrow. If I don't get picked. They can lick it.

Oh, yeah...and if I ever wanted anything on Ebay, it's these two things. Yeah this and this thing. If any of you are millionaires out there, I'll be your court jester monkey boy for them.

Okee-doke.

Here We Are...Face To Face...A Couple Of Silver Spoons...

When I was younger. I used to lie in bed and picture things that I wanted sometimes. Surprisingly, for a Star Wars geek, I never really focused on toys that I wanted. Maybe I had enough of them to satiate my appetite. I never collected comics as a kid. I started to dream about them much later. I spent a lot of time dreaming about being locked in a stone dungeon and finding one that was loose. I'd slide the stone inwards and find a bunch of Amazonian women that would treat me nice. I used to hump basketball poles, but we won't get into that. Thank god, my father never allowed me to have pets.

I used to picture my room full of arcade games. Just like Ricky Schroder's living room in Silver Spoons. I used to conduct interviews in my head. I wanted to be a movie star real bad. I used to pretend that I was Danny from Grease. I skated a lot, but never really thought about it unless I was doing it. I used to pretend I was David Adison from Moonlighting, and had a huge crush on Cybil Shepard. I would imagine that I would get locked inside the mall. That doesn't seem exciting to me now. What the hell would I get now? Who cares? What, decorate the house, take some tools? The books would be cool, I guess, but that's what the library's for, folks. I wish I could live at the mall, though, and just do what I wanted. Eat at the food court for free when you wanted. Open everything. Break shit. Set up a computer and try everything out. Parade around in Victoria's secret lingerie. Wear suits, smoke cigarettes, and spit off the balcony. Masturbate in the elevator. I'd set all of the pets free and let them breed, not feed them, and have to fight for my life. That'd be cool.

Oh, wait...they don't have beer at the mall.

Forget it.

Vacancy...

Ack. Going back to work tomorrow, Hmmm...I don't know how I feel about this. It's good because being hobbled at home is not a good thing, but loads of free time is. I always thought that if I could just sit at home and write, I'd be a content and happy man. This was not always the case in the last month and a half. I need a vacation. Maybe I'll sneak in the luggage when my girlfriend goes to Europe.

So this is my last night of freedom.
Did I finish anything worthwhile?
Let's see...

Kevynn, did you finish a couple of screenplays?

Well, Ummm...I worked on em'.

You should be done with at least a couple final rough drafts, you should have been writing everyday.

Dude, you want to go outside and have a smoke with me?

Stop changing the subject. What else did you work on?

I...uh, wrote a lot on my blog thingy...and I tried to learn more html.

Your site looks the same. And you always write on that thing anyway. So, what else?

I wrote some stories.

Where are they?

In the computer.

Okay. So is porn. Useless, Kevynn.

I submitted a story to Marvel!

That was this week. What were you doing for the other month and two weeks?

Ummm...sleeping, I guess.

And playing video games, writing on other people's blogs, drinking and watching T'V. I thought you hated TV?

I do, it was just hard to move and -

Shut up. you suck. Goodbye.


I just tried to dial the number of my conscience.
All I got was an echo.
I think it's mad at me and moved out.

IKEA...

I try to avoid the place. Too many people. Too big. Even more difficult to be at if you're walking with a cane. I spent almost three hours there the other day with Joe and my girlfriend. They were both excited, at least. Joe was ready to buy stuff for his new pad and my girlfriend gets so excited that she’s there; she starts to hump the bedposts and bookcases. I tried to have a good attitude about the whole experience, and like to think that I've always had an uncanny ability to entertain myself in even the direst of circumstances. I tend to not get to too imaginative though, when I'm in a shopping environment and can't buy anything. The cheap things that they have are interesting, though. People watching is too. I spent most of my time reading the books that they had in the fake little habitat set-ups. IKEA arranges bedroom, living room, and office displays to help you visualize the practical and decorative applications for all of their junk. I found the choice of books set up in the displays funny and kind of interesting sometimes, and even wanted to steal an Isaac Asimov book that I saw. I wonder where they pick all of them up? Garage sales have more interesting choices.

I had fun in one of their fake kitchen set-ups. I walked around, and out of habit, tried to turn on the water. Nothing came out of course, but that made me think of that Twilight Zone episode where that couple got plastered at a cocktail party and woke up in a strange bed and didn't remember anything other than driving home the previous night. They were clothed. That never made any sense to me. The story would've been a lot better to me if the had woken up amidst empty taco bell wrappers, smuggled bottles of booze, and used condoms. Everything was fake. The phone came off of the wall. The trees and grass outside were fake too. They tried to take the train out of there and it only returned them back to where they started. Giggling too. They heard giggling a lot and eventually located the source when a huge hand came out from the sky and plucked them out of the town. I don’t remember if the hand belonged to an alien girl or one that looked normal, but her father picked her up a couple of pets on his way to a tiny Earth. Blah Blah. Cool episode, I’ve just seen it too many times. The man’s wife was a bitch, too. I remember that.

Anyway, walking around the kitchen made me think of that episode. When the couple tried to open the fridge, they found fake play food. I found empty containers. I wish I had some real food to throw in it, to throw the next guy for a loop. I also had the urge to leave the store and buy a six-pack. Even if I only had the time to enjoy one beer. It would've been worth it to start a card game at the kitchen table or something.

Maybe next time.

In another couple years.

Yesterday...

I saw a baby possum that looked like a beany baby.
Hid eggs.
Realized everybody, when preparing for holidays...is nuts.
Drank.
Had kids sing 50 cnt lyrics to me.
Ate.
Played a lot of video games.
Watched some really embarrassing things Im ashamed to admit on MTV.

And had a fun day considering it was Easter.

Seriously, Folks...



Easter Eggs Smell Like Farts…

Come One, Come All...

Rabbit stew at my house.

Mmmm...

Crap...

All the things that I want to write about might take me to long to do. I have a couple of things to tell, but think that they would be better explained tomorrow due to the late hour and my over exposure to alcohol...I hope that I just made sense, bubba...

All that I can tell you is that it has to do with my three hour trip to IKEA today and about junior high school parties....

Green beans and Empire Strikes Back. That's what I'm all about right now. Yeah, I'm down for some smart Han Solo dialogue and some Jolly Green Giant Lovin'...

Oh yeah, fuck you, Lando Calrissean!

Lobot's cool, though...

Somewhere There's An Island Full Of People Just Like Me...

And here's another thing. When I go to clothing places and shop for jeans, It's kind of funny that the only sizes that I find on sale in the clearance rack in the back section of the store are either XXXL or 32 waist and 32 length, which is my size. 32/32, not the XXL.

Me...

Who starts editing a story for a Marvel Comics submission at 4 in the morning?
Yeah...
I suck. I know...

I Wanna Eat Yo' Brains...

So I guess that my sister made the transformation from a vegetarian to a full-fledged VEGAN now. This is a huge step for her, you know. I'm totally behind her on this. So I'm going to suport her 100%. So that means no more baths in cows blood when I come to visit. That means no more animal sacrifices when I pray to Satan. I'll now be using a soy substitute instead. This means no more Jello baths too. No more Chihuahua tossing. No more eating the worm from the bottom of tequila bottles. No more washing spiders down the plughole. No more meals at my vietnamese mother's house. No more bacon. No more Porky Pig cartoons. No more Moons Over My Hammy's. No more Just In Quesidillas. No more Moons Over My Hammy. No more, I tell ya'. No More!

Sindy is my little sis. She rocks. Next time you see her, slap her with your leather belt for me...

Rock And Roll High School...

You know, the only reason I'd ever want to go back to high school is so that I could go to all of the dances and pass out drunkenly. I'd tell all of the nerds to kiss my shoes and then tell them to please hire me ten years later. I'd make out with the dance teacher. I'd kick the principal in the balls. I'd steal all of the raffle prizes. I would nominate myself for queen of the dance and I would have taken a lot more naked pictures of dumb cheerleaders.

Hmmm...Interesting...

I'm a pretty easy-going guy when it comes to understanding about staying out later than one expects. Time passes quickly. Drinks happen. Friends. Conversation. Whatever.

What I don't get is what I was talking about earlier. About how you would get very mad at me if I did some of the same things that you did.

Like: I understand if you just want to hang out with your friends without me being included - just tell me. Don't assume. You used to get mad at me about this type of crap all of the time. Now I don't do it. Who was the gal gettin' ready before she even let her significant other even know that she was going out. To be honest, I didn't want to go anyway. I hate where angelica works. It sucks. But if I was getting ready to bolt out the door before telling you what the hell I was doing, and assumed that you wouldn't mind not even being told that I'd rather go out by myself with friends? Fuck, you wouldn't let me live it down.

Like: Not calling the whole time you're out?

Like: Having Angelica call me after you were apparently too drunk to drive? You could apparently get to her house, but not ours?

Like: If you are at her house, then why don't I pick you up?

Like: If you're drunk, you know I'd pick you up or get you home somehow. If you wanted to stay at her house, all you have to do is let me know.

Like: What the fuck were you doing this whole time?

Like: If I can learn how to be a considerate partner, then what happened with you? You can't call me once?

So: Did anybody else stay at Angelica's house?

So: Did you not think how you would feel if put in this situation?

I really am and was cool the whole time until after 2 a.m. I puttered around the house doing my own thing. Angelica's call left me flabbergasted and saying, "Okay...whatever."

If I spent the night and had a friend tell you...how would you feel?

It doesn't really instill a boatload of security and trust in me about your trip to Europe, does it?

I am waking up 10 - 10:30 to have lunch with George.
Please don't wake me up because I won't feel like talking about it...

Kevynn

Malthusian…

Socially, today was not a good day. Everybody that I passed by or came in contact with disgusted me. From the attitude of the older man who tried to cut in line in front of me at the store, who I, at first, was polite to, and then had to be mean to, to the other dirty, creepy cretins who infiltrated my sunshine for the other portions of the day. People were rude, lazy, and impatient. People were driving too fast, and not giving a shit about anything except for their own "progress". Taco Bell will still be there, folks. You driving faster won't really make a difference. Your cheap tacos will always be around. There are no bombs dropping overhead in America, people. Not right now, at least. You can go with the flow. No need to hurry. I am disgusted at your laziness. I am disappointed at your lack of empathy. I am not surprised at your tunnel vision. You're all very hungry, so that carrot dangling in front of you is all that matters today, I can understand that. Just try not to involve me. If I speak to you, be polite back. I always give you the benefit of the doubt. Please return the favor. I'm trying not to show you my weaknesses or to make your day any more unpleasant by letting my insecurities, worries, and my bad upbringing rub off on you. Please do not let your children outside if they're just a carbon copy of your bad habits. I don't need to see the miniature examples of your inability to raise children. Dealing with one of you is enough, let alone one and a half of you. You didn't really ruin my day; you just made it a lot harder to enjoy. You made my sky a couple shades darker. You made me feel colder than I should have. I exerted more energy than I should have. Now it's lower. I might have to recharge all of the batteries that you tried to deplete today. I used to try to be apathetic. That never worked. It doesn't work at all, it just gets you angrier. I've tried hard getting rid of that, so I'm not going to let you get me back into it. I came to the realization that I wasting too much of myself towards something that I can never change. I think that the happy, gray area that I've created is just fine with me. I've got enough to think about now without you fucking it all up. I'm glad to meet you sometimes. And sometimes I'm glad that I can walk away. I'm glad sometimes that I don't need to say something to you all of the time. I'll still say something to you if I think that you're out of line or if you infringe on my personal space or enjoyment, and watch out -cuz' I'll rip your fucking head off, but I'm glad that your monsters don't hang around my house as much as they used to. It gives me more time to do the things that I want to. That's it, I think. This could go on forever, but maybe that's another good sign of mine. I can let you go, like some black dandelion floating off in the stinky air. You're forgotten, spread your seeds elsewhere. You dummies. You make me remember how happy I am with myself. You make me feel good. You make my parents proud.

Thank you.

You dumb, fucking sheep.

Malocclusion...

You ever get an idea for something to write, but then think that it's too long and you don't really feel like writing it, editing it, etc. Maybe you don't feel like getting started or continuing on something that you know that you should be devoting two hours on instead of two minutes. Maybe you just want to write something quick and witty like everybody else. Quick and witty is good. Not in bed though. If you're ever quick and witty in bed, you better be quick, witty, sorry, and a very fast runner. Maybe you start to write something and then erase it. Maybe you actually get started and then accidentally delete it afterward. Maybe you get that fever going, the pen is scribbling furiously, or the keys are clackin' - but then get interrupted by the phone or a visitor. You may be the mousy writer. A little sentence here, a short story there. Maybe you're the Manatee writer. Slooowww, floating, bloated. What? Sorry. You may be the type that works on a novel for years, it may be your little secret that you do when everybody is away. You may write alone, slowly building up stacks of notebooks, or files on your hard drive. Maybe one day you'll croak, and when they wheel your butt away, all of your work will be forgotten or thrown in the trash with the other things that can't be donated or sold. You might spend more hours staring away into space then actually writing something down. You may daydream more at work then you write at home. You might jot down more ideas on scraps of paper than you actually write down in a cohesive manner. You could be a defeatist, and feel that you were a better writer when younger. You may think that you have nothing to write about. You might be confused as to how to get it down properly. You might not have the time. You could be going blind. You could be waiting for inspiration to strike. You might like kung fu more than writing. Or kung fu movies. Or kung pao chicken more than writing. Maybe you're a specialist writer - nothing to say about anything until it comes to this summers line of shoes by Prada. Maybe you've always wanted to write, but don't think that you have much to say. After that, somebody will ask you how the Cubs are doing this year, fifty minutes later; they're squirming to go to the bathroom.

Or maybe you just take the easy way out and write something like this...

Elmers...

So I'm stuck in that one part in my screenplay where that guy is done from that last town and he woke up and then went and peeked into that thing...

She Is Very Sad Right Now...

My girlfriend got her first white hair today and I feel personally responsible.
But, I mean, she is like...seventy-nine, c'mon! So it can't be all my fault.

Noodles...

Roberta was angry because Liam kept on stealing her hairbrush. She knew where it was. It was in the backyard, by the little storage house. Liam always used it to brush the next-door neighbor’s pony’s hair. He was five, but that was no excuse. This was the second brush that she had to replace. The last one Liam couldn’t find. He said the ponies must’ve stoled it. But the horses didn’t steal it cuz’ Roberta found it by the play set a long time after. She tried to tell dad about it, but he usually got mad if you tattle-tailed, so Roberta stopped and just made sure to punch Liam good before dinner, but then Liam told dad that Roberta punched him for no reason and when Roberta was trying to explain, she got in trouble for being a “brat”, and that she was older so why did she always have to be so “violent” and then she had to go to her room and miss supper. Not that she minded because it was the same old, stupid fried rice that made the whole house smell like fish, anyway. The only good parts were the egg and the shrimp. Dad only made it because he made the same things anyway. He always made spaghetti too, which was good if you put a lot of sauce, cheese, and black olives on it. If they had it. But than dad would get mad if he saw that you put too much stuff on it. He’d tell you not to be “greedy”. Roberta thought that she wasn’t greedy. She was just trying to make it taste good and not like the noodles. The noodles were gross-tasting and why didn’t they make more of the other stuff? Why not just have it with the sauce and the cheese and olives, then? The only good time that they had spaghetti was when Liam was carrying his plate with the spaghetti and his milk and saw the Spiderman movie commercial on TV and dropped the plate of spaghetti on the carpet and then dad got mad. That was funny because Liam cried and had to rub the carpet good with a rag while everybody ate. That was the only time that the spaghetti tasted good. Roberta even had seconds.

What Invention Was/Is Of Greater Benefit To Mankind?

Eye glasses?
The printing press?
Condoms?
Birth control?
Toilets?
Or The Simpsons?