WARNING: People Who Have Had Photosensitive Seizures, ( A Seizure Reportedly Induced By Flashing Lights Or Patterns ) , Or other Symptoms From Being Photosensitive, Should Not Play This Game Without First Seeing A Doctor...

Okay, enough of that crud. I was really going to take a week off and focus on the cartoony scripty thingy, but progress has been slow kiddies. I need to clean the dirt out of my ears. I can't help it. This isn't even real writing. This is like kind of like writing, but it doesn't entirely qualify. It's like being a professional dancer at Disneyland. Yeah, you get a paycheck and all, and maybe you throw your heart into it - but it isn't really like you're dancing on Broadway, is it? What the hell did that mean? Broadway? Paid? I don't get paid for this claptrap. Blaargh, maybe I really should stick to taking a week off. I’m all frustrated too, because I got the new Star Wars Galaxies Geek game, and after all of the initial excitement, downloading, and whatnot, I found out the fucking thing won't work on my computer. I need to get a new video card and to increase my RAM. I was up till three trying to figure out a bunch of crap that I really don't know much about - and by the time I was ready to go to bed - I was ready to ram the game up George Lucas' arse.

It's not too hot right now, and I'm on beer number three. Money crud is getting so burdensome, that I'm probably going to have to ditch a couple of shifts at work and work for my friend who does contracting. Two to three hundred bucks for a couple of day’s worth of manual labor? Sold. I'd rather shovel a bunch of concrete around in the hot sun with my weak-ass body than have to talk to people anyway. And I might get to eat off of a Roach Coach, smoke a lot of cigarettes, ruin my back to compliment my fucked up knees and still-recovering gimpy broken ankle, and I'll get to whistle at women that walk by.

Sounds good to me, Bubba.

While I Work On A Cartoony Scripty Thingy - Celebrate Customer Appreciation Week...

cheeks
panjan
alf pen
boz
true
marci
boredhowi
paul
melissa
pam
don
ia
1 of 6
bing
kirk
nedra zeal
ang
anna
jennifer
rosa
saara monk
petey
stacey
deev
mott
shanti
pee
lf jeebus
auntie sarah
spig
jimbo
chez
undie
h
gina
br
sass
kyle
jen
lauren
prose
anti
kym
lori
raymi
grrl
nessa
larue
danee
mad
scruff
jr
fierce
design
mo
chop
nev

He Will Bring Balance To The Force...

Ummm...sometimes I get drunk and write things on here that make no sense.
Well, they make no sense more than usual. Huh?
So, sometimes I read them in the morning and have to erase them.
Cuz' sometimes, the writing blows Hardy Boys hard.
What?
Take a nap, boy.
Okay, pop.

The Spice Mines Of Kessel...

Fucking shit balls.
Joe just got Star Wars Galaxies.
I'm jealous. I want that game.
I know that it sounds all super nerdy, but I don't care.
It's cool, so lick it. I just may have to go over to his house.
Than I'll chop off his head and take the game.
That, and his beatles CD's.

Chris Is Queer - I Mean, Here...

I don't really have much to say. I've been itching my right eye. Now it's all red. Combine that with my sick-ass light brown eye on the left and I look like I've been shot in the head. We have to go to Courtney's house at 9:30. My friends start everything late. I think I'll show up later than everybody else. I'm tired. I watched Punch Drunk Love. I liked it. I'm drinking a beer. I like it also. I drink a lot of beer. I feel no guilt. The new Spider-Man cartoon is going to be on MTV tonight. I feel a tingle in my crotch area.

Damn Harpies Keep On Stealing My Food...

Now this is just getting ridiculous.
Time? What the hell?
Why you frontin?
Being all gangsta' and shit,
robbin' me?
I'm gonna bust a cap in yo' ass.
Leave me alone.
Why the hell is it so late?

Give it up, bitch.

Arf! Arf!...

Damn, how does one relax in the heat?
I know it's hotter in other places, so I'm not going to whine.
A beer, a breeze, mellow music,
and some comics in the backyard sound good to me right now.
And I'm not talking about David Cross and Carrot Top.
I meant, COMIC BOOKS.

She Wasn’t That Hot – But Had Nice Titles…

Ashing out my smoke, outside - I spit on the table by accident. That kinda sucks, but these things happen. 60, the outside, sometimes inside cat, jumps on my thigh. Claws. Fucking ouch. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Me OW!, indeed. One of the things that sucks about these summer nights has nothing to do with Danny or Sandy, it has everything to do with how quickly one's beer goes warm. For those of us who are wusses, and can't stomach the likes of Guinness, various stouts, and lagers, etc...it don't make fo' no fast beer drinkin'.

Today will be shuffled off and filed away, never to be seen for years. Uncovered by historians, librarians, heads of estates, or aliens studying what the hell happened years and years from now. The editors will glance it over, and chuck it - thinking that it slows down the narrative pace. I'm cool with that. I understand. No hard feelings - just make sure that you don't let them use my image in a Coors Light or Vacuum cleaner commercial. That's just plain wrong.

Kitty on my back right now. Not a monkey, thank god. I guess I do have some monkeys; they must be invisible, though. And I guess that they're not too heavy, and I guess that they don't smell too bad, because usually I can't tell that they're even there. I can deal with invisible monkeys on my back, little kitties are the coolest - I just wish that they’d remain small. But, then...our parents probably said the same of us when we were small, didn't they? And where would we be if we were still five years old?

Taking dumps in sand boxes, eating kibble, and meowing too loudly, ergh?

Oh, wait...some of us still do that...

What's Wrong?...

I’m just tired…is one of the biggest, lying statements ever used.
Pay attention next time that somebody busts that out as a response,
and realize that it’s quick and easy, used a lot, and means absolutely nothing, right?
They're just tired. Nothing's wrong, yeah? Bullshit. It means something.
It means that you’re not really telling the truth. Pay attention. I do it all the time……

Pussy...

Was under the car in the driveway. My girlfriend found him. Now he is in the bathroom. Little pussy is meowing loudly once every two seconds. Pussy is cute, but pussy is driving me nuts. Pussy will have to be bathed and picked of fleas tomorrow. Then pussy can roam about the house freely. Does anybody want some cute, furry, young pussy?

Texas Hold Em'...

So, I'm getting ready to bet the farm. Lose it all. Get drunk. Get poor-er.
I only have twenty bucks to lose, though, So, I guess it can't be that bad.
Wire me some money or something, yo. I'll buy you a steak dinner.

Protocol Droid...

Don't you hate listening to music that reminds you of old stuff, and memories best left to be tossed away or forgotten? There are certain data tapes in our robot minds that should've been permanently wiped clean. Ugh. Beep Dee Doop Doop!

Avengers Assemble!...

" This is the plan, guys! we're going to party like crazy on a limited budget. We're going to rip the throats out of this town this weekend. I want all of you to remember nothing. Who's with me? "

- But, Captain America - why would we want to do that? We're a super hero team. None of us even drink - well, except for The Wasp, but she's just a ho anyway.

" Shut it, Ant-Man. You've got the short man complex, obviously. It must be hard variating between penis sizes. Everybody else? Ignore Ant-Man. What about you, Hulk? Any problems with our plans for the weekend? "

- HULK SMASHED!!!

" Very good, Hulk. "

The Fish Of The Day Is Copper River Salmon. That's Broiled, With A Lemon And Butter Sauce, It Comes With Fettuccini Alfredo, And Sautéed Vegetables On The Side...

Man, Ummm...all day, I told myself to think up of something to write and was really serious about it. After work I replaced all of the locks on the back door. Everything was wrong. Nothing fit, so I had to make it fit. There were a lot of wood chips left on the floor.

What are you doing for the weekend? I might be on a yacht. If that doesn't work, I'll be at my gal's sister's house having fun, lighting off little kids fireworks, and thinking about partying on a yacht. If I'm not at her sister’s house, I'll be at my house, thinking about partying on a yacht. I have a perfect place to watch the local fireworks. You can drink beers from my neighbor’s balcony and climb on my roof, too. You can fall off if you want, also. That's free.

What's weird, though - is that I live across from a park and that people start staking out spots in the morning to see the show. So, if you're a friend of mine then you're shit out of luck for a parking spot and you'll be carrying your beers a long-ass way to my house, because on July 4th you got two things going for you when trying to find a spot...JACK and SHIT - and JACK left town. Anyway, it gets kind of freaky when you realize that there are a couple of hundred people across the street, basically staring at your house until the fireworks start. I made sure to shut the blinds last year. Nobody wants to see me hitting on your wife while wearing a lampshade on my head. What I just said was so fucking stupid, it was really, rally stupid. And I just said, " rally ". Oh, and I'm not really smitten with Reese Witherspoon - I think she's cool and all, and I thought that she kicked ass in " Freeway " the movie, but...I really want to do bad things to her. She seems like such a genuinely nice person that I want to ruin her and make her an evil person. Sorry.

So, the people under the stairs - I mean, across from my street on July 4th are cool to look at when you're on my roof. I usually turn around and look at their faces. It's scary. I should charge them to use my bathroom. I should sell cans of crappy beer wrapped in paper sacks. I wish I had a dog that fetched. I'd chuck a stick right in the middle of the crowd and laugh. I could be like William Wallace and soak the grass in oil the night before, and then when everybody's all settled - I'd shoot flaming arrows into the ground. Yes.

Damn, I still have nothing to write about...

Lick my butt, please...

Shortest. Post. Ever...

Perfect for stoners.

From Warren Ellis' Wonderful 'Die Puny Humans'...


To Be In England, In The Summertime


Even in summer, the English sky's the colour of a dead body left out in the cold. Grey light, grey buildings, grey people, grey lives.

The expensive new car on the corner was supposed to be silver, but it's just grey. The man in the grey suit writhes against the grey fabric of the driver's seat and pounds the wheel with little grey fists. Human fingers lay between his feet, leaking over the little grey plastic mat under the pedals. He starts to cry, lips twisting back from little grey teeth with fingermeat stuck between them.

There's a girl who's almost beautiful, standing by the roadsign watching, wreathed in grey cigarette smoke. She leaves cheap lipstick on the filter, watches the man in the car with dead eyes. When she inclines her head to get a better look, her chin disappears and she looks like a child's painting. Her kid's about three feet away, eating dogshit.

The girl's mother is in the pub, taking a call on a stolen mobile phone. No, this is 'is mum. I took 'is mobile off 'im. No, I ain't seen 'im in three month, since 'e came round my 'ouse with that bitch. I punched 'er in the face and 'it 'im with a frying pan, and they don't come round no more. You got DVD players? I'll 'ave eight. I said I'll 'ave fukkin eight. You come round with 'em.

The bloke with the DVD players needs the money. His car was stolen and the police won't give it back, because it was found with a junkie driving it and a crack pipe and soiled baby clothes in the back seat. It's material evidence in the mimed "fight" against the thousand crack addicts in town, forcing Yale locks and kicking out cat doors in the search for goods to feed two-hundred-pound-a-day habits. Everyone says they should be in hospital, but everyone knows they're safer on the street, because the hospital is rotting in its foundations. The plasterboard the new wing was put up with is festering on its hinges, and disease breeds in the wall cavities. The nurses ruthlessly jerk off the old men in the cancer wards to make them sleep through the night, and palm bottles of Vicodin on the way out the door in the morning. A little soma-holiday for people who reasonably expected to be working in medicine and helping people.

Blank stares at the ground as they walk home down blank streets, past the mothers doing the school run in the grey morning light. Remembering how they used to walk to school with their friends, laughing and joking and inventing whole new ways to look at their bright little worlds. Despising themselves and everything around them for being afraid to let their children walk anywhere alone. Any one of these people could be a paedophile, a child killer, some kind of sex monster that will steal their baby off the streets and do something unimaginable to them. She remembers walking home from school through the woods, making magic out of strange tree stumps and odd rocks and ancient clearings, dark copses and paths never taken, and wants to cry, because her child will never have that in this grey world she stupidly birthed them into.

These are all true stories.

To be in England, in the summertime.

-- Warren Ellis
warrene@aol.com

Frank Castle, Tony Stark, And Jubilee...

My girlfriend almost gave away a bag full of my toys to the retard truck - I mean, the truck that comes by and picks up things for the retarded home. It was a big plastic bag full of extra and old toys that I keep in the garage that I have no room for. Nerd. It wasn't her fault, but it still scared the shit out of me. Wives and mothers who clean out garages and attics are the enemy of childhood keepsakes and nostalgia. I still miss my Garbage Pail Kids, Muscle Wrestler Things, and Transformers, bastards.

I'd Go To The Gunshop First And The Liquor Store Second...

Saw 28 Days Later. Damn, see the movie. Don't listen to anybody else, remember - people never know what they're talking about. Especially when it comes to movies. Especially me, right? It was the best fast-moving zombie-type movie that was directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland that I've ever seen. Alex Garland wrote The Tesseract, The Beach, and nothing else that I knew of. I always checked the library to see if he ever released anything new, but I couldn't. I didn't know that he wrote it until the credits started to roll. Bastard snuck underneath my radar somehow. I would've rather've read the book first, biotch. Yeah, I just said rather've.

This is probably the only movie review I will ever write. There are obvious reasons for this...

Scuttle...

Dude, Buddy Hackett died?...

Yeah, I'm a fan of The Little Mermaid too.

Please Hammer, Don't Hurt Em'...

Oh man, it's gonna be one of those days, isn't it?
If things already start suckin' - and it's not even noon,
go back to sleep or get drunk.

Where Do You Think You're Going, Captain Solo?...

Damn.
Even if I'm dead tired.
I can't leave a gibberish message like that.

So, my camping trip kicked major booty. It was hot as hell, but I knew it was going to be. I now have a very red back in the shape of a wife beater. The t-shirt, not ( fill in the blank with the name of a major star or sports figure who beats their significant other. ) I drank a coke that had a bug in it and then it bit me on my lip while it was inside my mouth. I saw coyotes, kangaroo rats, snakes, birds that looked like Elvis, crazy Germans, and swdish girls riding bikes out in the desert. I cheated and went back into town and ate a salad from Jack In The Box. I drank a lot of water. I drank a lot of Bud Light, which is basically the equivalent of water. I called my girlfriend and Joe, Cheech and Chong, Beavis and Butthead, Shaggy and Scooby, and Dawne and Joe - all in the space of one smoke-filled car ride. I hiked two miles yesterday on some ungodly, horrible, but beautiful trail that led to an abandoned gold mine. I almost gave up twice. I thought that It was a hard trail or that I was out of shape. Joe said that it was both. Joe's body is still there. I was sneaky and tried to get into the mine. I didn't climb over the fence to the main mine - I slid under the fence. Like I said...I'm thin. I finished a book. I won't tell you which one, becasue I waaaas kind of embarrased to be reading it. Not Harry Potter. There was a meteor shower on both nights, and I managed to not see one meteor. I blame GOD. I used an axe. I like chopping wood. My toes get scared, though. I probably listened to forty CD's. I was worried about my cats. I was worried about bills and my mail. I felt weird about not writing. Then I felt like a jackass for even thinking about it. I went rock climbing, but had to take it easy. Bum ankle. Bum Dee Dum Bum. I'm already forgetting all of the things I did. I stared up at the stars a lot. I stared into the fire more. I mercy-killed a big, fat bug that flew in and out of our fire pit. It was about the size of your computer mouse. I was going to say something else. I am very tired. I must go. I will not use spel check. I really and drifting off right noe. I thank you. I'm serious. I just spilled a Sprite. Goodnight.

Stephen. Jack Stephen...

Falling asleep at keyboard...must go sleep.

Me talk to you, tomorrow. Today.

I am Kevynn's lack of sleep.

Henry David Thoreau Was A Pussy...

Yeah, part of my birthday thingy / extravaganza is I'm going away for the weekend. Where am I going? Vegas? Catalina Island? Fantasy Island, boss? Disneyland? Some swanky hotel? Yes, all of those. No. I'm going to Joshua Tree National Park, Bono. Yup. It'll be at least 100 degrees tomorrow and 104 on Saturday. Don't try to rob my house either, you cretins - because I'm gonna have somebody staying here while I'm gone. His name is Bubba. He spends time in and out of prison. He is strong. He has boyfriends. Yeah.

Anyway, it is fun, though. I like it up there. Nobody is around. You can drink yourself to oblivion, talk to coyotes, burn a lot of things and forget a can opener so that you have to use a knife to get to your food. Sweating is good. You don't even have to have sex with somebody that you met in a bar to get that way. I won't be climbing around on the rocks like my usual monkey self, though. I'm a little handicapped now. I'm bringing my cane, just in case. I'm also bringing Justin Timberlake. You never know when he might come in handy.

So, It's getting late and I'm making last minute preparations. Guess what we don't have yet? Hmmm...a tent. Firewood. Ice. Directions. Small stuff. I can't wait to wake up early in the morning. Ummm...it makes me feel all giddy just thinking about it. I'm a morning person. Yup. Hell no, I'm not. I'll wake up if you have a gun pointed to my head. I'm one of those types that never likes to go to sleep, suffers from bad insomnia, but when I'm actually asleep - the last thing that I want to do is wake up. Mi ojos es treiste.

When I'm away, I'm going to make friends with all of the coyotes. All of the Mexicans too. Coyotes first. I'm not going to shave. I've never been able to grow a beard. I've always wanted to, but it just wont happen, folks. I can only grow a mustache. It's kind of embarrassing after a couple of days without shaving. I look like a cross between Genghis Khan and Cheech Marin.

Wish me luck, bastards......

If Your Beers Are Too Warm, It's Time To Get Air Conditioning...Or To Drink Them Faster...

Wow. Apparently, I was added to the links section of a radio show hosts web page. I vaguely remember seeing some hits late last night, but I was too drunk to really know what was happening.

Whomever you are I'd like to thank you for adding 400 and counting hits to my itty, bitty site today.
Next time I see you, I'll make sure to get somebody to rub your crotches for you. Serious. Thank you, Catherine Martin for referring me. I like the description. You don't happen to be the same cheerleader that went to my high school that was a junior when I was a senior that went by that name? You were really hot, and we got together a number of times, but you talked like a baby, and had the smarts of a buffalo? A retarded buffalo? You talked in some kind of lispy, baby language with your best friend Donna? And she was pretty too, but had a messed up lip because your dog bit her in the face when the both of you were young? And both of your families sued each other, yet you were both still friends? Can I say both again, please? Somebody killed the dog afterwards. You both probably saved the shotgun shell and talked him to death, huh? No, wait...That was Catherine Marshall. Sorry. I'm glad that you weren't her, Catherine. Even if you were, I'd still thank you. You're in my cool book.

Yo Te Llamo. And, ummm...Remember The Alamo.

You all make me tingle in a bad way.

Go Shawdy, It's My Berfday...

maybe he’ll feel a sharp needle ping in his crotch
right at the accurate moment of conception or ejaculation
of twenty-eight years ago

maybe she’ll feel a piano string snap of guilt
From within her uterus

it was the age of creation
it was hot
it was raining red worms that night outside the hospital
lightning flashed
burning a patch of them against still stained asphalt
the smell was awful inside
brine
vinegar
and brimstone wafting from her straddled legs

the power went out
an elderly dying lady let out a final shriek
before plummeting into a blacker than black world

we saw death that night

the night of my birth