Mrs. Vlad Tepes = Happy...

Seriously, I think that this may be the earliest I've gone to sleep in a loooooooonnng time...

Rejoice!

Right About Now...

Tha funk soul brutha'. I know you were thinking that when I said it. Anyway, I can't hear a damn thing right now. My ears have been all plugged up since I've been a little sicky lately and now I gave it to my girlfriend, but she's got it ten times worse than I had it. Round of applause for me, please. Thank you. I'll be here all week. Remember to tip your waitresses...

So...whatever you've been saying about me - I can't hear you, go nuts - you fargin' bastiches.

Just Got Back From Taking...

No, not a poo - but the new cat to the vet to get his balls snipped off. I've never had a guy cat before. I never knew what a pissy, little horny cat can make a house smell like. It's been miserable. So, off he went. And now, maybe he's in a cage? pumped up full of drugs to make him sleep easier. He's a pound lighter and dreaming...of taking a big crap in one of my shoes when he gets back...

I'm sorry, Spider-The-New-Cat.

Oh, wait...no, I'm not.

Ooooooo...I Just Called The Cops...

On some guy across the street, yelling into the night. Hey, he might be cool and all - he may be speaking out the poetry in his mind - but, say your words somewhere else, buddy. I'm crazier than you, and there's only enough room for one of us right now, okay Mr. Weirdo-In-The-Park?

We Have Millions Of Probe Droids Searching The Galaxy ... I Want Proof, Not Leads....

Man. Seriously. I can't concentrate. Too late. Too little time. Getting over a small cold and took the night off because of it. What have I done with my time? It's out there somewhere in space, speeding through galactic, philotic ansibles and landing on Greedo's vid screen.

New links to the left.
I'll get to more later.
Falling asleep...

Electric Youth...



Got out of the bar at three in the morning last night. Tons of people all after eleven. I was also coming down with a cold or something too, but all I needed was some sleep. I got some. Do I feel better? No. Am I going to play poker and drink some beer and laugh and eat bad food and spend money and use AND again? Yes.

This Weekend...

Has sucked so far.
How?
It just has.
I mean, I still don't have super powers...so...
It sucked.

The Best Thing That I Did Today
Was The Worst Thing That I Could've Done...
Because Then - Everything Was Better After That...




I have a new wallet now. Strikes me funny that, in twenty-eight years, I think that this is only the second time that I've bought one myself. There were probably a couple before that, but they were probably fastened together with Velcro, so they don't count. I might've traded a friend one of my G.I. Joes for one of the wallets that I had before. And the one before this, was a Harley Davidson one that I bought in a biker shop in downtown Cincinnati when I was eighteen. It had a long chain on it. I thought it was cool. And it helped prevent people from stealing it while I tried to sleep on the Greyhound bus too.

Dude, yes - I am getting older...nothing makes an old dog sniff the aging air more than perusing wallets in Target because your old one's on its last thread. I cheaped out and bought it at Target. Do you have Target where you live? It's like the west coast equivalent of your Wal-Mart. Except without the guns. And the old people greeting you. We do have Wal-Mart here though. Don't get me wrong. We have a lot here that you do too. Except White Castles...maybe that's a good thing. But...

Buying a new wallet made me feel ancient. Car lots, buying booze, lap dances, work clothes, ordering for your date, having kids call you SIR...none of this makes you feel as dusty as buying a wallet by yourself. I don't know why, but it does. I also bought some plain, white t-shirts, socks, light bulbs, Cokes, and picture frames. That's old too. But I did spend a lot of time agonizing over whether to buy more Star Wars figures - so that doesn't make me a gray ol' man yet, does it?

If I could've stopped any part of the day today, it would've been the part where I woke up, and if I could've sped up a part of the day it would've been the part that I'm at now. Stretch it to the limit. See what happens in the end before you fall asleep and have to return it the next day to avoid late fees.

I think that I just figured out the law of nature, kids. We have to hunt down all of the cats, let the dogs fight it out amongst themselves and let the monkeys be monkeys. Everything else can be bugs and insects. That sounds good to me.

I'm scared of the snail's pace in the world's race. I remember how cute and sad my little sister was, all at once, when she was young. She used to construct little dollhouses for the numerous snails that used to inhabit our front and backyard bushes. My father eventually found out and made her move her sticky cardboard and miniature plastic furniture mansion outside in the front by the doorbell. One day, as I was getting ready for school, she ran up to me crying. I followed her outside and looked towards the direction that she was pointing at with her tiny little fingers. Cardboard snail shelter intact, but myriad shiny snail trails leading from her house, over the walls, and back into the bushes.

Sad for little girls. A relief for fathers. Freedom for fast-moving snails in the night. It must've been some operation for them under the cover of hushed darkness. I bet they ran real fast. She was only slowing them down.

Little sister's all grown up now, trying to build her own house. While I feel like one of her snails. Except the walls are bigger for me and I can't figure out which way to go. Would you look for me if I left a phosphorescent trail for you? Would you try to retrieve me like she did? Would you try to replace me with another or just forget about me and move on to something bigger?

I like my new wallet. It's nicer. Sleeker. Slimmer. Kind of like how I am now in my older age. I liked only filling in the new wallet with the bare essentials and chucking out the pack rat paranoiac feeling that I-cant–throw-this-away-because-I-think-that-I-might-need-it-in-an-emergency. I like feeling that if an emergency came up and if I needed a number or a scrap of paper that I'd survive and that I should just chill and that none of this stuff comes up anyway, and that if I really needed it - then I could get it - and if I couldn't? Then fuck it. My mind keeps on telling me to get jumper cables for my car, but I still haven't gotten those yet, though - have I? So why worry about having a certain business card? Yes. Why?

Oh...everything's fine. This is part of the reason why I turn nonsense letters into nonsense sentences. This is how I've always been. All questions with, maybe, a different answer every second. Every second breeds more questions - all you're trying to do is catch up. You forget most of it by the time that you wake up the next day - and then...shake...stir...repeat process.

Looking at the long list of ingredients to the package of Pringles that I brought home for my girlfriend makes me depressed. Looking at the cigar to my right doesn't. Uh-huh. Yeah. Hypocrite. I spent all of my day working at a job that I hate doing, now that I should be sleeping at three in the morning - I finally feel alive. Love the girlfriend and can't wait to spend time with her - but now that she's asleep in the next room - I feel alive. Feeling like, I think, the person that she fell in love with. The person at work all day doesn't exist. He's just a gossamer image of me now. Tonight's ME can totally kick today's ME's ass.

I'm getting better and better each day…I hope. I need a little fast and a little slow snail pace. I need what I need based on my schedule. I need you to listen to me. I need to listen to myself. I need to be young and old all in the same moment. I need sleep and I need to wake up. I want you to kiss me and I want you to leave me alone. I need more time and I've used all of mine up. I need to keep drinking and I need to sober up. I need to start running harder. I only want to float. I can' t watch. My eyes won't close. I should stop writing...

But I can't shut up...

Shotgun Hemingway...

Goodbye Janet Jackson superbowl picture. My fault for putting it up in the first place. I didn't care when I was watching the stupid half time show, I was too busy drinking free beers at my employee party. I posted it last night, but I was drunk. I think that I have more important things to post anyway. Like stuff about comic books, beer, and nasty, ol' Mynocks sucking out all of my juice. You gotta pick em' all off, one by one. Check thoroughly - you don't want to miss one and then have to pull over again.

It's raining hard and then minutes later - hardly raining. All of the windows are open. I cleaned around the house today. I can feel the chill air blowing as I type this, kind of reminds me of how I used to write back in my single days. All alone in a big, ol' apartment, with no company except for weather...and it's cold in Kalifornia tonight. Not like your cold, but my cold. Orange County cold. Which isn't as tough as yours, but beautiful just the same.

Won 340 Dollars In Poker And 50 dollars On The Super Bowl Janet Jackson Tit Fest This Weekend...

I feel pretty lucky.
And I took tonight off.
No bartending for this guy.
Buy me a drink.

Boring Words...

I finally figured out the whole digital camera thing. Both my girlfriend and I have been lagging on experimenting with swingers parties...oops...I meant, lagging on experimenting with downloading pictures. I don't know if I'll keep another blog with photos, or just post em' here, or never show them. Oh, and I also don't know how to make em' smaller - do I need PhotoShop for that? or can I use something else? I tried with some other programs similar to it, but the results sucked. I could swear that I had Photoshop. I think I lent it out. I never get my crap back, man - I swear. I have no memory card anyway. I need to get one. Sooner or never.

I forgot to tell you that I'm going sky diving too. That's in April, I think.

The bank lost $450.00 of mine. I spent about an hour yesterday with them while they sorted out their fuck up.

I hope that your weekend is good. We're having an employee party on Super Bowl Sunday. I could give a rat's arse about the outcome of the game. I'm just there to drink the free beer and to not work.

This post is boring.

I apologize.

Wait. No, I don't.

Just A Minute Ago...

Her - You smell like a baby...
Me - What? Babies poop themselves.
Her - No, you smell like a good baby.
Me - ...That's because I just ate one.

Shipping This Week: January 28...





STAR WARS INFINITIES RETURN OF THE JEDI #2 (Of 4) $2.99
BATMAN #623 $2.25
HELLBLAZER #192 (MR) $2.75
SUPERMAN #201 $2.25
POWERS #36 (MR) $2.95
WALKING DEAD #4 (MR) $2.95
WANTED #2 (Of 6) (MR) $2.99
AMAZING SPIDER-MAN #503 $2.25
THE PUNISHER #2 (MR) $2.99
ULTIMATE FANTASTIC FOUR #2 $2.25
ULTIMATE SIX #6 (Of 7) $2.25

This is all of the stuff that I have to get that is coming out at the comic book store tomorrow.
Every dollar I spend on comic books adds a point to my nerd pool.
I have a lot of points.

Thank you.

Wondering...

What if Tim Burton directed a remake of To Kill A Mockingbird?
Who would he cast as Boo Radley?
Besides Johnny Depp, I mean...

Super Nein...

Sometimes I don't feel like doing anything,
and then I have days like today in which I don't -
and it makes me wish that I did...

Sometimes I wake up, and I'm falling asleep, And I think that maybe the curtains are closing on me, But I wake up, Yes I wake up, Smiling. Sometimes I feel that the chance is surprising, Surprisingly good to be moving around, So I wake up, Yes I wake up, Smiling. So what? I feel fine, I'm OK, I've seen the lighter side of life, I'm alright, I feel good, So I'll do, I'll try to stop moving, Sometimes I wake up, and I'm falling asleep, And I've got to get going so much that I wanted to do, Yes I wake up, Smiling. And this could be my last chance, This may be my only chance, Yeah this could be my last chance, No more keeping my feet on the ground. Sometimes I feel that the chance is surprising, Surprisingly good to be moving around, And I move, And I wake up, Smiling. So what? I feel fine, I'm OK, I've seen the lighter side of life, I'm alright, I feel good, So I'll do, well it's time to stop moving. And this could be my last chance, This may be my only chance, Yeah this could be my last chance, No more keeping my feet on the ground. There's nothing to keep me, Nothing to keep me.



I am convinced that someday, a team of historians will spend years going through every single toy, drawing, scrap of writing, piece of junk, etc. to somehow dissect my grand life. They'll categorize everything, hoping, someday, to put it all on display. "Kevynn Malone's Pez Collection", "Nudie Drawings", "Nail Polish"...things like that.

They'll read through those forty notebooks that I have molding away in the garage, they'll unearth every file on my computer. My clothing will be purchased by a young, snotty actor and worn to holo-movie premieres. Gothic teens will scribble away Malone verses on their holo-Pee Chee folders during Economics. My great, granddaughter will be an old woman and refuse to speak to historians, fans, and the press. She'll never leave her mansion and silently curse my existence for the burdens that my brilliance bestowed upon her.

My house will be declared a historical landmark, and through photographs - it will be painstakingly recreated to look like it does today. Maybe they'll even make a movie about me, but they'll get all of the facts wrong. They'll jumble things together and kind of throw in a galactic predicament to heighten the drama. Paper cuts, break ups, and fuck ups aren't enough, I guess. They'll throw in Satan and a gay interior decorator too. Just because.

My image will be on t-shirts sold on the internet, people will dress like I do now, the glasses that I wear will finally come back in style. Poverty will be too. Fans will want to stay true to my works and live like a deaf, Chinese immigrant.

Somebody will write a book on Star Wars - but will write it based on what I thought about it. There will be Essays on Malone's Essays on Chewbacca's homosexuality. What'll happen to my comic book collection? Where will it end up? Why, at Leroy's Boy Home, that's where. Poor, beaten, disadvantaged children will be able to check out my issues only if they've been good and remember to not smear dirt on the pages of my old Amazing Spidermans.

They'll wonder, they'll write, ponder, theorize, oh, yes they will, as to what went on in my head, and how beautiful and adventurous it must've been to live my life - oh, what was it like to live his life? I wish my life was that exciting, they'll say...

Why did he have to die?, kids will cry! Young girls will do secret things to themselves after the lights have gone out and the parents are asleep. My face will lull their aching bodies into peaceful dreams. High school jocks will tell anybody with one of my books about how I was a necrophiliac, homo, and a pussy, and that only dorks read Malone. After practice, they'll read me quietly in their room and get the same feeling in their crotch that the young girls above this sentence did.

Bob Dylan will write a song about me - he'll still be alive. It won't reach the top of the charts, though... just because. People will drink my beer of choice just because I did, and because they're idiots. They'll pretend to like it too, even if it tastes just like water. People will unmotivate themselves on purpose and lie back and fantasize about some of the same things that I do. Simians, solitude, and secret passageways. They'll start losing their hair and starve themselves, they'll take up skateboarding and then break their ankles jumping out of cars when drunk so that they can't skate anymore. They'll also look up my sister Sindy, and read all of the stories that she published, they'll get tidbits about me here and there when reading her stuff and wonder what it must have been like to be the sibling of one so sad and mad all at the same time? What must of it of been like to share the same genes? To have all of that fire burning through your veins? His blood and thoughts were like the best heroin, his limbs were like silly putty. His grammatical syntax was shite.

I heard that he always longed for a dog, but ended up with countless homeless cats, I heard that he always wanted a bow and arrow set like he had when he was a kid, he always wanted a big, ol' box of toothpicks and a ton of wood glue too! That's just what I heard. I don't know why. He could never find enough time to do all of the things that he wanted, I read somewhere. Half of his time was spent daydreaming and being a kid while the other half accomplished smatterings of productivity sporadically. Sometimes he wrote weird sentences too!

I am convinced that someday, they will know me a little.

I am convinced that someday, I will too.

Hand Grenades...

You remember that movie, Pay It Forward? Yeah, I barely do either. I remember that Kevin Spacey looked like Mel Gibson in that one movie where he looked like hell, and that kind of reminds me of Vanilla Sky when Tom Cruise also looked like hell.

So, does that mean that I was just given The Looks Like Hell Award by Cheeks? No, actually it was nice of Cheeks to nominate me and he had some really cool things to say about my writing, and I'm touched all the way down to my crotch about it. Serious, doody. He's one of my daily reads and I'm honored. Thank you.

So, this means that I have to and tell you about somebody that I like or think that deserves praise. Zeus is out. Professor X? No. Jenna Jameson? Well, yeah - but she can't count. And by that I mean that she really can't count. That was stupid. I apologize.

Ummm...okay. I like IA's blog. I think he's keen. Read him. He's funny. And when he rags on fat people, everybody gets mad at him. The end.

Cheers.

The Name's ASH...Housewares...Hee-Yah!...

I was a zombie bartender tonight. Zombies make better bartenders than ninjas because ninjas steal all of your cool stuff and slice you up with their swords. Zombies are slow, sure - but you can always trust them for a stiff drink - it'll just come twenty minutes after you ordered it.

I saw a couple break up at the bar too. A guy and a girl in a relationship - NOT zombies. Zombies disintegrating is so 2003. Anyway, that was a first. The guy left, and then the girl started crying, so I started giving her a back rub and peppering the back of her neck with baby kisses. No, I didn't do that. I gave her some tissues. Not cool. Whatever it was all about - I'm on the girl's side. But not if she's insane - then, otherwise - I'm on the guy's side. No. Actually, I'm not, because guys are hairy and smell real bad. Or so I've heard.

Gwen Stacey's Broken Neck...

End of a day.
Beginning of a weekend again.
Yoda senses much poker in your future, hrmmm?
I think that I should go to sleep.
I meant to go earlier, but that never happens.
Maybe I'll pop in that Wild West documentary, sip orange juice, and see what happens.
Maybe I'll just pop in The Empire Strikes Back like I always do, and picture all of the scenes in my head until I drift off.
I used to think about all of the arcade games that I would have in my room if I was rich when I was a little kid.
Or when I was a little older I would picture myself with superpowers.
Or I would imagine that I was famous.
Or I would imagine that I was trapped in a dungeon and had to crawl through a passage way...and found a roomfull of tall, Amazonian, sex-starved naked women who picked me up and took me to their leader...then she commanded them all to............

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.