Supplement Facts...

After work I saw the homeless guy that I always talk to. The one with the silver briefcase that yells out loud sometimes in the street. He's a very nice guy the times that he remembers me. I just got a newspaper from the liquor store when he saw me...

Hey, man - how's it hanging? Got some change? Haven't seen you around for a while!

I told him that I'd been around, maybe we'd just been missing each other.

Hey, man - you lost some weight!

I told him, me? No way. I never lose weight. Really?

Yeah, hey - you look like you're thinner. You gotta eat more. Get yo'self a lady!

Ha! I've already gotta lady, though...

Hey, you can get yo'self another!

Sure. Okay. Well, here you go. Take it easy man.

Yeah, okay - you still bartending at that...

Uh huh. Right down the street. Waiting tables too.

Cool, man. Cool.

Okay, bye.

Yeah. You too.

And then as I walked away he yelled...

Yeah, oh yeah, you should take a nap too!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, New Game...



Say something to the person that commented before you.

Rancor...



I Hate Bartending...but I like the money.
I'm so hungry...but can't find anything to eat.
I'm so tired...but can't go to sleep.
I like cheese...and cheese likes me.

Don't Splash The Pot...

Ummm...too much poker last night. Texas Hold Em' til the sun came out, and I lost the hundred bucks that I had earlier won off of friends to another friend who showed up at 2 a.m. No fair. The bastard. It's like spending a long time making the perfect ice cream sundae and letting somebody else eat it while you sit and watch. Oh well, Bubbas - I still came up 29 dollars, and Chris owes me 40. Last time we played, Chris managed to break the cover off of my air conditioner, get sick, drop a full roll of toilet paper in the toilet, get punched repeatedly by me, and chip his front tooth. Poor guy. He's like me sometimes - he's got the luck of a street mutt. That was a stupid sentence. Now it's off to eat and drink a lot. And maybe play some poker. Watch. We will. I know it. I'll bet you a million dollars. Poo.

Slurpee...



I just sucked down Quail eggs.

Sayonara.

Ancient Astronauts...

Don't worry baby, everything will turn out all right. Just like Dengar in the pic below. All he wanted was a little revenge, and I know that it's not really that productive to spend your life hating a smuggler with an already-heavy bounty on his head, but if trying to chase all of the Han Solo's in the galaxy makes your wounds heal faster - than, so be it. Go get em'. Zuckuss, 4-Lom, IG-88, Boba Fett, Boskk...did I forget anybody else? Bounty hunter scum.

I wish Carl Sagan was still alive. I wish that Jane Goodall and Carl Sagan had a baby - I wish that their baby would end up setting up a colony on Mars. I wish that their UNHOLY offspring would teach all future martians based on the writings of Orson Scott Card, Hank Chinaski and Warren Ellis.

I need to get more boxes and bags for my comic books when I go to the store in between my break tomorrow. Maybe I'll pick some up for my mind too. Preservation = value? Who am I kidding? Boys don't know anything about history. Just ask our nocturnal emissions and masturbatory fantasies. Take out the self-serving-pleasure factor-when-it-comes-to-the-jail break-of-sperm...and you have an Earth with a lot of elbow room. Room to roam, and a kingdom for cats. Meows all over, and a smorgasborg for dogs. It'd be like a comic strip and animated cartoon formula. Itchy. Scratchy. Tom. Spike. Garfield. Odie. Me. You. Spider Man. Venom.

This month should all be about Broca's Brain and about Boca Burgers. Let's all sit around and eat pretend meat and study the fabric of the universe instead of focusing on blogs, Britney, and Bin Ladin. Give me a little Beezus, Bukowski, and Beethoveen. Give me some beer, brain bravado, and beach music.

Let me remember everything that I need to do, and let me forget all of the things that I don't need.

Amen and Top Ramen.

Wit..



I want to learn how to knit.
Is it easy? I hope.
Yes, I'll be your target on this post.
Hey, but, c'mon man - wouldn't that be cool to like, knit yourself beanies and sweaters and stuff?
C'mon, you could make yourself a full body suit if you were bored.
You could make hats for your cats.
Or socks for rats.

Serious.

Barking Spiders...

The coolest thing about farting is that you don't have to use your hands to do it...

Splish Splash Bastard...

It's raining. My drivers side car window still isn't fixed. It won't go up. Thanks to the ass that made it a point to splash me as he drove by when I was at the stop light. AND I couldn't go to the comic book store either. Charlie Brown kind of day, Indeed.

Earthlings...

Howdy.

All My Friends Need Blue Star Ointment...



I'm kind of disappointed with their schedules. The rare times that I stop by their houses, they're either not home or are doing things that can't include me like laundry, dates, and masturbation. Sometimes all of those things combined. I hate it. I'm on strike. Today was my day off. I stopped by one friend's house to borrow that copy of Lost In Translation that she has because she's a SAG hag. She wasn't home. I stopped by two friend's houses, but one was going to go return things from Xmas and then go grab a hamburger. The other was waiting for a girl to come over. Nobody wanted to play poker with me. I mean, c'mon - it's like, free money I'm giving you because I suck at it!Two people I called didn't answer. Now, I know that everybody might potentially hate me. You all just let me know if that's the case. I'll go live on that leper island or that freak show town in Florida or in the Ewok Village on Endor.

Every single time that I want to do something - nobody's around. But guess what happens when I'm working a lot or busy as hell or trying to think about writing.? Hee. Think. Everybody sucks. I'm done with all of you. Yeah, you too. Everybody needs to work according to my schedule. Now. Work it out. You need to be available when I want you to. I'll buy you all Palm Pilots or support you when you quit your jobs. If I'm not in the mood to hang out - you all just need to crawl in your cryogenic tube and chill. I'll call you when I'm ready. Be ready to play poker and to listen to me talk about Fat Free Milk, Paris Hilton, and Comic Books.

Thank you.

Now go away.

I'm thinking about writing.

While My Pen Gently Weeps...

Headphones. Got some for Christmas. Now I need to crawl down underneath the table and plug them in...good. Done. I'm using a lot of periods lately. I must be on my period. Or this is my period period, maybe. Because this is all art now, isn't it? No. It's not. But that's good. Eees Okay, Seenyore.

You know, with these headphones on - I can't hear my girlfriend. She kind of wakes up sometimes in a panic and screams. She's like my retarded cancer patient. Ooohhh, maybe he shouldn't say that because that's cruel to the mentally disabled and maybe he's jinxing himself and now she'll get cancer. Suck it. I know what I'm doing - otherwise, Great-And-Powerful Jeebus would've struck me down with lightning or had a plague of locusts burst forth from my butt a long time ago.

I used to write to music a lot, a long time ago, but that was before shared living with another who studies hard. So I usually write when alone or during snippets of conversation. I can't blare the music like I used to, it disturbs the birds - so these headphones are cool with me. I asked for them. I got them. I will now enjoy fucked-up, loud music. I will now enter that zone again...now all that I need is a blindfold, and I'm set.

Funky Pants...

And it's cold. And My fingers are numb. And Tony and Tom just got done singing a song about pants when I was over at Tony's house after work and I can't get it out of my head. And Tony spilt beer all over his bed. And yes, it was a long night. And I am glad that all of my friends come to the bar because if they didn't - then I wouldn't make any money. And is it wrong to take money from them? No.

And it's time for bed.
And for you to go to work.
And that's all folks.

Merry Christmas...

Stepped In...

Dog poo at work. Came home to a cat poo house.
Cleaned the turtle poo filter in the tank.

Poo.

Dear Paris Hilton...



I’ve never written to you before – but since Christmas is coming - I better get this letter in soon so that it can get to you in time. I hope I’m not too late, but even if this doesn’t, I know that somehow, somebody will read this and put it into your hands. First, I just wanted to tell you that I think that your new show is great. I don’t even watch TV shows on a regular basis. I didn’t even see that second part of the new Battlestar Galactica thing that I thought was pretty good. It’s hard for me to remember to change my pants. Let alone set up a schedule for TV programs – but I have for you, Paris. Oh god(s), yes, I have. I have watched every single episode of your TV show. I haven’t done that since Saturday morning cartoons used to be sort of okay. I think right about when Batman Beyond and Freakazoid left – that was the final nail in the coffin. I was holding on for a long time, Paris – but the networks ruined it. I wish that your daddy was the king of cartoons instead of the king of hotels – that would make me want to meet you even more.

Paris, don’t listen to everybody else. Block them out. You’re great. Serious. I think you and me should hang out. If you ever came over to where I lived, I’d show you a good time. I don’t like to golf, so you’re safe – but I do like comic books. I don’t talk about them much in public because nobody else likes them anyway, and I learned early on not to talk too much about totally geeky stuff because that won’t get you laid. Talk about books and poetry and pain and paper cuts. That makes you mysterious. The chicks eat it up. Talk about poets and small kitties. I don’t like sewing. I don’t like football. Hey, isn’t it funny, I just grabbed a couple of comic books to read while I smoked in the backyard and I thought that it wouldn’t be enough, but I only got through the first couple of pages of the Robin comic before I started getting distracted, and by that time my cigarette was over. Funny, huh? Hee haw, said the chuckalicious donkey.

Paris, don’t listen to me. Everything that you just read was crap. I think your show is the best show that I’ve ever seen because it strikes me funny and sad on a million different levels, I feel like a tool for watching it – it’s just like The Iraq War Coverage. Tool. Home Depot. That’s what we’ve become. So, now that it’s late – I’ve turned it off, but it’s too late to “kick up the jams� because my gal needs her sleep for more finals tomorrow, so I’ll be the cucumber. Refrigerated cool. Hoth cool. Like a Wampa meal. I’m gonna listen to The Capricorns, NIN, Sonic Youth, The Beach Boys, and Atari Teenage Riot at a respectable volume. I’ll keep it down to a dull roar. All praise Aslan.

Paris, listen…you’re super hot in that waify, model way. Just like I am. People like brooms. We’re useful…and kind of cute if you use us enough. Paris, it’s okay if you can’t hold a job and don’t understand the concept of money. I can’t. Nobody can. It’s all relative. I won’t clean my room for you, though. Deal with it. I’ve got other stuff to do. Oh, and please remind me that I have to make sure to collect my seventy bucks for writing for that Aerospace company and collect the fifty bucks for the real estate newsletter that I turned in on Monday. That’ll help later on in the month when I’m trying to come up with rent. I have to get a move on and also do a considerable amount of work on that cartoony scripty thing because that guy’s waiting for it and he said that the end of January would be fine. That gives me about a month to complete seven episodic scripts, running at about 23 minutes long…that’s more then a feature length film. Balance this with working, writing on Fat Free Milk, fighting off rats, friends and comic book reading, and I’m pooped. Oh, and by the way, Paris – can you believe that Marvel Comics is still going through all of their submitted material? Wow, I was, like one of the first people to catch that they were accepting new writer submissions. Six months. They said…that was…like…six months ago, I think…

Oh. And hey, Paris? I’d like to come for a visit. I can party like a rock star and won’t embarrass you. I’d fit in. I wouldn’t hang all over you or anything, and I like to dance. If you want to go make out with somebody else on the dance floor – I’d be cool with that because, I have a girlfriend and all. I’ll just talk to the cocktail lady about Fatfreemilk and about comic books. I can ask her questions about drinks, cuz’ the more that I know – the better I’ll be. Actually, like I could give a rat’s ass. I’m a pretty damn good bartender. You should stop by. Just don’t bring your friend, Nichole/Nicole. She seems okay, a little smarter than you – but unless she’s gonna sing some of her father’s songs - than I don’t care.

Christmas is almost here, Ms. Paris Hilton…what are you wishing for this year? Me? Really? Awww…honey, that’s so nice of you to say…but we wouldn’t last. I have my crazy-ass moments, but I’m getting old. I’ll out-drink and out-fight you one half of the week – but the other half, I need quiet. I need to write The Great American Novel. I need to conjure up a new generation’s-worth of Holdens. This type of crap takes time. This is anti-social stuff. Just ask Salinger. Ask The Dust, said John Fante. I’m totally okay with you going off and doing whatever you want – just remember that…I’m always invited…

For Christmas this year, I want…

A bow and arrow set.

A big barrel of toothpicks and glue. Serious. When I was in first grade, we did a project like this and we were all encouraged to build as big of a tower as we wanted. I loved it, and have wanted to do it again ever since – but toothpicks are too expensive and I don’t understand how we got to have so many, but this was the eighties and everything was different then anyway.

More comic books – but only the good shite. Anything Spiderman is fine with me.

A Cuisinart thing to help me cook.

Porno by Irvine Welsh.

PS2.

A New Laptop so that I can write this drivel from bars.

One of those huge carpeted tower things for my kitties to sleep in, but then terrorists might knock em’ down – so fogetit.

A travel ticket to New Zealand, Amsterdam, Japan, Australia, Alta Loma, Cincinnati, Austin, Narnia, Naboo, Krynn, and Ender’s Battle School…

Thank you, Paris.
I love you.
Be good.

Fat Free Milk, fatfreemilk, fatfreemilk.com, fat-free-milk, and Fatty Arbuckle...

Tonight, I am bigger than Neve Campbell and the daughter of Tommy Hilfiger's teeth combined.

I rule.

For you. For Christmas...



I am giving out email presents.
Presents made of nonsense, but better than nothing, right?
This means that I will write a bunch of gibberish to you on, or close to XMAS.
Give me your email address, NOW - before I erase this post later.

Or forget about it when I wake up.

Today...

Is go-to-the-comic-book-store-day...

(for me, at least)

Nerd!

I Hate Money...

Let's go back to bartering chickens and shiny beads.
But then I'd probably hate chickens and shiny beads too then, huh?

This Is What It Feels Like To Finally Get To A Writing Assignment That's Due On Monday That You Wont Be Able To Spend Time On On Sunday Because You'll Be Serving Drinks To Drunks But Hell What'ya Going To Do You're Starting A Vodka Redbull And That's Okay Because You Need To Get The Crap Done And To Make Yourself Feel Like The Freak That You Are Because When You're At Your Highest Peak Of Insanity The Rest Of The Robots Are In Hibernation But It Doesn't Matter Because There's Anti-Matter And That's As Cool As Magma And It All Boils Down To My Tendency To Put Of Deadlines And My Inabilty To Actually Put My Nose To The Writng Whore Grindstone But It's Better To Have A Nose Than No Nose Micheal Jackson Said And Right About Now Me And Skeletor Feel Like This...



Shake it like a Polaroid picture, sleepy...

Best Present That You Can Give Me...



Is a whole lot of nothing - so that I can do a lot.

Bantha Poo Doo...

Time slows when one is waiting to go out to have a drink and the girlfriend is talking to her mother on the phone...

Write A Story About This For Me While I Try To Finish Some Other Crap That Is Due Tomorrow................................................................................

It Makes Me Sad To See The Last Post On The Bottom Of This Page Go Away To The Archives...

Because then maybe nobody will read it, you all know what a chore it is to actually get in somebody's archives and start reading things...yeah...so hard. Don't answer that phone, man...don't because you had things to say...oh yeah...I've realized what's been missing in my life lately...FUCK THE GoDDAMN PHONE...okay and now I'm back and my girlfriend got all offended because I was pretty curt with her and told her that she interrupted my writing and my horrible spelling but I only answered the phone because I thought that it might be an emergency or something, which it never is, and that's the reason why I don't answer the phone, and all of my friends know this, and look at what you get now - a piece of crap, but that's okay because there's a lot of crap out there, and sometimes it's okay to do your part and contribute, y' know? So, anyway, I was going to say something like, Oh yeah, I miss READING. Like I used to. Like, all the time. Like, totally, fer sure...I got three new books at the library even though, I have tons to get to at home, but I got them anyway, one is the new Nick Hornby book, which I can't wait to read, and I've liked all that I've read of his, but didn't really like that one about the guy who was into soccer or something like that but High Fidelity and About A Boy kicked my ass and I just realized that they made both of those into movies, and now you're probably thinking about your opinions on both of those movies and I don't really care about your opinions on movies or Hugh Grant or other actors, it's like how when I say that I liked Stephen King's IT, and then you tell me how the TV movie sucked. Well, you suck for giving me your opinion on a TV movie based on a work by Stephen King and I suck for telling that you suck and I suck for leaving out commas and hyphens. I dont know why I stopped. Oh, yeah I do - it's because I'm lazy, that's why. The other book that I was reading before I started writing this was A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius by Dave Eggers. I read most of this before, and liked it, and almost finished it - but for some reason stopped. Maybe I was too busy or too young to really appreciate it, and I've already started to like it better than before. Books and people are like that sometimes. And I picked up The Grapes Of Wrath by Steinbeck - which I've never read. Surprising, because I've liked and read a lot of his shite, but was, once again, too lazy to tackle it...If it was titiled The Grapes Of Khan and was written by the guy who played Mr. Rourke on Fantasy Island, I bet even more people would read the book - especially nerdy, overweight, white guys in their early 40's...Oh, and I was going to say that I wasn't going to write here until I have reread the first 100 pages of Egger's book AND finished the Real Estate group newsletter that I'm getting paid to write. That's due on Thursday. It's going to suck. Hackhackhack says the coughing real estate newsletter writing whore. Christmas is coming, though and everybody spreads their legs a little farther in December...

No Spell Check...