The Mud People Cometh...

I live across the street from a beautiful park. Today, when I came home, there was a huge tanker/truck thingy, and a man shooting out new sand out of a big tube into the playground. I stood, fascinated for a bit. I had the urge to call the fire department and see if I could have them shoot an equal amount of water out of their hoses at the same time, so that we could have the mud fight of all mudfights. This is either a kid's fantasy or a pretty homoerotic one.

Then I thought that it would be cool if I slipped the sand guy some bucks to spray some in my backyard so that I could have an awesome summer/beach type party with umbrellas and lawn chairs, but I didn't think that the landlord would appreciate that, and maybe all of the neighborhood cats would use it as one big litter box. I might be tempted also...

So I didn't ask.

Baa...

Sometimes sleep is good.
Sheep are good sometimes too.

The Happiest Place In My Crotch...

The phone is ringing, but I just got a bad feeling, so I'm not going to answer it. After I'm done with this - I'll tell you who it was to prove my psychic empathies. Anyway, I'm going to go to Disneyland or California Adventure to eat, but will be in the parks. Does anybody want anything or want me to punch Mickey Mouse in the asshole again? Since I'm there anyway.

I just checked my phones voicemail. It was my girlfriends work. Nostradamus, I ain't.

Carrie...

I have hit an ultimate low. I managed to lock myself in my car today. Twice. Serious. This type of shit only happens to me. What the hell? It's not my fault. Really. I came home around lunchtime, turned off my car, and couldn't get out. They're automatic. I tried to make it work tons of times and finally had to get out from the passenger side. Then I opened the driver’s side with my key, got back in, and tried it again. Locked myself in again and had to climb back out. I did it again when I went to the grocery store. Now, I can only get out by using the window button and opening it with my hand from the outside door handle. My car's not a jalopy either. It's a decent Camry. I think it's possessed. I think that it's only going to get worse. I think that I need to buy a horse and just take that to work.

Cyclops, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Marvel Girl, Havok, Polaris, Nightcrawler, Wolverine, Banshee, Storm, Sunfire, Colossus, Thunderbird, Rogue, Dazzler, Gambit, Jubilee, Cannonball, Thunderbird, Shadowcat, Psylocke...

I wont tell you about what a badass Hugh Jackman is as Wolverine, I'll tell you instead about how fucking cool my mutants friends are, and how lucky I am to have them in Kevynn Malone’s School For Gifted Youngsters. I appreciate their presence. They’re all fucking insane, but in a very special way. I’m a lucky guy, and you’ll never, ever hear me complain about them.

A random day can turn into a party. I called J-of-the-freckles. She was having drinks with M, C, and A. They called me back later to tell me that we were going to watch the Laker game at my house. They don’t like basketball. This doesn’t matter. I’ve slept with three out of four of them, and we’re still friends. That’s amazing in itself, don’t you think? And they don't hate me? I don't hate them for giving me THE CLAP? AND THE HIV? AND THE SARS? I don’t know if that’s really appropriate to say, but this is my writing, and my life, and it’s true, and sometimes when you have, cool-as-hell-friends, and you’ve known them for a million years – shit happens – and the fact that they can still remain your friends and you can even appreciate them more makes it even better. It’s like Hollywood…everybody has slept with their co-stars. I’ve known them forever, so – shaddup. They’re all made of good, unique stuff.

A knocks on the door, like a fucking cop and scares the shit out of me while I’m typing. We have a smoke on the front porch. A has a total of eighteen beers and a hat that says “ Hang Loose!”. C comes. J-of-the-freckles arrives. M arrives. Amy and Tom arrive. Joe arrives. John arrives. Al arrives. We spend more time laughing and being crass, hilarious bastards than anything else.

My sister called to talk about when I was going to visit her in Austin. I was distracted. There was too much stuff going on. I was talking on the phone, and I remember looking around my house as everybody was doing their own thing. C was steaming artichokes in the kitchen; A was eating Taco Bell nearby. Joe was on the computer. John was watching the game; Amy and Tom were talking to Al at his place next door. On and on. People laughing, doing what they want, feeling at complete ease with each other, one friend always calling someone else. Sometimes I can get in trouble in these situations because you never know what the hell is going to happen, or how many people are ever going to show up, but that’s also a beautiful aspect of my life. My friends fucking kick ass and are plentiful, and they're all made of good, unique stuff.

I like the familiar interaction. The cleverness. How they can all feel comfortable and at home at any of our houses. How that, when it comes to humor, all is far game. I like the fact that we spend the majority of our time laughing in unison. I like the fact that my girlfriend is now friends with them all. I like the fact that she has private conversations with them that I’m not included in. I like that they like her and she’s developing special relationships with them. I like when they make plans that I’m not even aware of.

I wish that I had more time to explain all of the funny stuff that I found special tonight, but this is too long already. I wish that I could write you stories about all of my friends. It’s the stuff of notebooks, not of Bloggy-ness. They’re a great source of material for screenplays. Like always, I wish that I could tell you more, but, sometimes, I don’t have the patience. Ask me and I’ll tell you. Otherwise, you should really come over and hang out with us, cuz’ I think that we’re all really pretty fucking funny.

And we're all hot pieces of ass to boot.

Astro Jetson And Scooby-Doo Are Gay Lovers...

I'm glad animals don't talk. I think that they'd be really critical of the human race and put us down a lot. I can just imagine walking down the street and a Labrador telling me that I smell bad. But then they lick themselves in dirty places. But then, humans make fun of dogs for doing that, but you know we would - if we could. Well, some can - but, I'm not that limber. If you were ever at a party and could tell that somebody farted, your talking animal friend would probably be able to tell you.

Animals would get sick of us, and start to form unions. They'd want their own representative in the city council. Some would get sick of humans and try to start their own island community. It would be a secret. Maybe the island wouldn't work, though...nobody would ever pick the dog poop off of the beach. Some animals would form gangs and terrorize the street at night. Orchard members would be extorted. Alpo truck drivers robbed at claw point. It would suck to deliver pizzas. You'd always get a weird pizza order with strange ingredients to be delivered at a strange location. Then the animals wouldn't have any money to pay, and if you threatened to take it back, they'd threaten to kick your ass.

I'd teach animals how to read. I'd take taxis with animals. We'd buy Disneyland annual passes. I'd get them fake ID's. I'd love them, and hug them, and name them George.

And I'd teach monkeys how to type, so that I didn't have to.

Cheers...

Man, Is this how it's gonna be for me every Sunday night? I know that I'm usually up at this time anyway, but if I come home at three in the morning, that means that I'll go to sleep at five a.m. at the earliest. Some of you guys are eating breakfast right when my nightmares are starting to kick in. Friends stopped by the bar, though. That was nice. Bunch of drunks. All of them.

Oh, and by the way. Bartenders are like strippers. They're only there for your money. They pretend to like you and your conversations. The reason why were always looking around is so that we can find something to do to get away from your stories.

Sam Malone, I ain't.

I Found This On Boz's Site, Who Found It On Lucy's...

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Extreme
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Moderate
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Very High
Level 7 (Violent)	Very High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Very High
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	High

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Hail To The Thief...

Listening to a burned copy of the new Radiohead album. Good stuff. I think I got drunk last night. Joe came over and we played video games and drank furiously. By the time he left, I was feeling a bit loopy. I think that my long day of work added to the effects of the alcohol. I tried to watch the first dvd from the Back To The Future box set, and apparently fell asleep because I woke up at fo' in the mornin' in my clothes and halfway on the bed. When the alarm woke me up, I felt like a bear had stomped on my tongue and shit in my mouth. I tried to get it together at work, but no amount of caffeine could save this poor child. All of my words were slithering out at a snails pace, and my gimpy leg was worse than usual. After work, I went to the library and paid my obligatory fines. I got a couple of reference materials for my girlfriend's school project, checked out a couple of comic books. David Boring by Daniel Clowes, and Murder Mysteries by Neil Gaiman. I got a Dragonlance book, the new Harry Potter dvd, and that White Oleander/Michelle Pfeiffer movie on vhs. Yes, we have all of that at my library. I'm spoiled, I know. All I got from there was kid Kevynn stuff. I feel no guilt about this. Crime and Punishment can wait, Doestyevsky-however-you-spell-your-name. Then went home and felt like poo. I read some comic book crap, then helped make dinner for my gal's friend's birthday. Then they left to go drink, and I stayed on this damn computer pretty much the whole time in between sessions of laundry. Now the girls are home, eating, smoking bowls, and asking me questions while I try to type this. It was a boring story, but probably is worse because of it. She asked if I wanted to hear about their night and for the third time I just told them no. People never get it. Drunk or not. Don't disturb people when they're trying to write. It’s like fucking with the insane, tripping a man when he's down, poking the wasp’s nest with a stick, tripping a legless man. Please don't talk. If I could find a good cave with high-speed internet access, I'd be there in a second, Bubbalicious.

You ever notice how two girls, drunk, and giggling, can make a house sound like it's being invaded by elephants? I give them twenty minutes and then they're going to pass out. Then I'll fart on their heads. Maybe that'll be my next AudioBlog.

Thank you, and goodnight. Bastards.

Fido...

I wish Blogger had an option right next to edit your blog that said edit your dog.
Then if your poodle took a shit on the rug, Blooger'd take care of it.

Hold Me...

Oh, did I have some bad dreams last night.

Quatro Ojos...

If you could get rid of one grooming habit what would it be? I don't really have an answer, I just thought of it when I was staring at my weird face in the mirror in the bathroom. Does anybody else do that? I'm not vain or anything, but I can't stop looking at myself. Flesh and blood can be fascinating. Sometimes I think I look cool. Sometimes I think that I look like I'm dying, and sometimes I just study myself. Notice stuff that I didn't notice before, look at my teeth, make faces. I was listening to a bird chirp, also. I was thinking bad thoughts towards the bird. Why the hell does he have to be up right now? Couldn't he have waited for a little bit? Does he have to remind me that it's getting late, does he have to remind me to go to bed and try to sleep, and not be able to, and finally fall asleep two hours from now, even though I went to bed on purpose so that I could fall asleep? And why try to go to sleep when you know that you wont be able to? And what the hell was that noise just a minute ago? And, no - I don't do drugs. This is just the way I am. Thank you. Where the hell did this day go? Why did I spend so much time on these three sites? Looking forward to tomorrow can sometimes be a scary thing. New days always have the possibility of biting you in the ass, so why can't I stretch this one out? I guess we could all just lie to ourselves and say that we're experiencing one big day in our lifetime, just cut up by occasional bouts of silent, dark, commercials that vary in length and are best viewed when the eyes are closed...

Man, oh man. Now that time is short – I could just go on forever…

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...