Dear, Mr. Daylight Savings...

I take back all of the bad things that I said about you. I'm sorry. I DO appreciate it still being light outside after taking a post work nap. So...I hope all is well with you, and I just wanted to let you know that I apologize, okay?

And I'm sorry for calling your mother a whore.

Goodbye.

Kashyyyk...



I walked past the comic book store after work today and saw a poster for a comic called Teen Titans Go! It's kind of like a superhero team for the Power Puff Girls age bracket. Anyway, the slogan of the cartoony version of The Teen Titans is Truth. Justice...Pizza. That got me to thinking about The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and how they were really into pizza. Then that got me thinking about how kids go apeshit over pizza. That got me thinking about that baseball game when I was young, and how my father told me that if I caught a flyball - then he'd take us all out for pizza. I fucked up two very important ones, one sailed over my head, and I dropped the next. Then my older brother punched me in the arm and called me an asshole. That got me to thinking how I build up how I want pizza in my head for weeks, order one, and then only eat two pieces. Only the Italians have a right to go apeshit over pizza. They created it. But they're also responsible for Tony Danza too, so fuck em'. I hate advertising that feeds the fuel of American fatties. I hope they put a bomb in your pizza next time. All this because of pizza. I hate you, pizza. Piss off.

This Is All For Now...

I'm Rick James, Bitch!

Thank You.

The Kids Of Widney High...



Life Without the Cow

Life without the cow, no more milk and cheese
No more New York steak, no more fertilizer

No more BBQ, no more leather shoes
No more butter on biscuits, no more Ben and Jerry's

But there is a cow, I see 'em every day
I seem 'em from the freeway in California
I can't stand my life without the cow

Life without the cow, nor more cottage cheese
No more hamburgesas, cowgirls or cowboys

No more saying "Mooo", no more "Cow and Chicken"
No more frozen yogurt, no more big brown eyes
(Chorus)

Brahman Bull, Caucasian, Guernsey, Black Angus, Beefalo, Belted Galloway, Brown Swiss, Jersey, Corinthian Blonde, Texas Longhorn, Jamaica Red, Florida Cracker
(Chorus)
(Solo over verse)
(Chorus)2x

Mortimer Mouse...

Early in the morning, while working on The Great American Novel, I went outside to smoke a cigarette, and found a dead rat that the outside cat left for me on the doormat. I rolled it up in the mat and then tried to fling it into the bushes, but it sailed over them and landed on the neighbor's driveway with a splat. Then I went back inside and ate Mexican food.

rat
that
cat
doormat
splat

Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tomorrow?...



Today for April Fools Day - I fooled myself.
Yeah, It was awesome.
I pretended that I was happy and liked my job.
I put a big smile on my face and pretended to be interested in conversations.
Everything was nice and shiny.
Perfect, new, and polished.
The air smelled of baby heads (still attached) and crisp linens.
I loved it.
I told myself that getting up in the morning was the best thing that I could've done today.
I told myself that I was proud of myself, that I've accomplished much, and that it doesn't get any better than this.
Everything was great until I crept up behind myself and yelled,

APRIL FOOLS! YOU MOTHER FUCKER!!!
in my ear and punched myself in the face. My mouth was a bloody O with shattered teeth decorating the edges. I kicked myself in the crotch hard, and that's when I fell. I grabbed a fistfull of my own hair and slammed my head down hard into the pavement. The dull thud reverberated through my arm.

I kept on yelling APRIL FOOLS! as I repeatedly slammed my head into the ground.

It was hilarious. I totally made me believe it. I'm Such a Jokester. How did I come up with those things? Dude, wasn't that funny? Did you see the look on my face when I was punching me? I hope I'm not mad at myself.

HaHaHaHaHa....

I fooled me good.

What I Learned From Today's Two Year Old...

We have the same sense of humor.

We don't have the same amount of energy.

We both like to poop.

NERD...

Shipping This Week: March 31, 2004

The following products are expected to ship to comic book
specialty stores this week. Note that this list is tentative
and subject to change. Please check with your retailer for
availability.


DEC030024 STAR WARS INFINITIES RETURN OF THE JEDI #4 (Of 4) $2.99
JAN040204 BATMAN #625 $2.25
JAN040290 HELLBLAZER #194 (MR) $2.75
JAN040298 MIDNIGHT MASS HERE THERE BE MONSTERS #3 (Of 6) (MR) $2.95
JAN040281 PLANETARY #19 $2.95
JAN040224 SUPERMAN #203 $2.25
JAN041528 PULSE #2 $2.99
JAN041532 SPECTACULAR SPIDER-MAN #12 $2.25
JAN041586 THE PUNISHER #4 (MR) $2.99
FEB042003 WIZARD COMICS MAGAZINE DAREDEVIL CVR #151 $4.99
JAN042287 SOJOURN #33 $2.95
NOV032277 TRANSFORMERS GI JOE #6 (Of 6) $2.95

The Great Brain And His Fascination With Water Closets...



I think that if you don't like books - you're retarded. Doi, you retard. I use this term loosely and in the nicest sense - and who is actually retarded? Somebody retarded or me who had to rewrite retarded twice already?

Seriously, I worry about people who don't have books in their house. It's kind of like the people who I know, when you ask them for a pen or a piece of paper - don't have one. How the hell can you not have a piece of paper to write on in your house? I don't really expect you to be like me and need the shit around - but...c'mon, man! What the hell? At least tell me that you keep some around just in case you run out of toilet paper. Tell me that the only reason that a pen's around is to scratch yourself where your bathing suit covers.

I've noticed that the first thing that I do when I'm in a house that I haven't been in before is to go and check out their books. Everybody else talks and jabbers in the background while I sit there, usually with my hands clasped behind my back and my neck tilted to the side like the famous RCA dog. Thoughts flit through my head like miniature judgment butterflies. It's so interesting, but becomes like a check list to me. Crap, crap, crap, oh-shit-really-bad-ass, my-god-horrible, never-read-that, meant-to, who-the-hell-is-that type of list.

I like to borrow too, but hate when others borrow from me. I used to lend out everything that I had because I was excited to share things that I'd read with others. That's dead and gone now folks, because I realized that people lag on giving the crap back. I end up not being able to find it later. Bastards. So, no more library. No more Clifford The Big Red Dog for you.

First time that I met my friend, Baxter, and after he told me how that I didn't look like a gook and that he expected me to look like Charlie Chan after hearing so much about me - we both ended back at his place after the bars, and were waiting for all the rest of our freaky friends to show up. While he was getting me a beer and doing some things, I checked out his book selection. I remember liking the Hunter S. Thompson, early Kerouac, and Bukowski stuff - but hated his Tom Robbins and politics books. He came out of his kitchen and found me stomping up and down on a pile of the books of his that I didn't like and had thrown to the floor. This is how bold I am. This is how stupid I am. This is how drunk I get. This is how lucky I am that Baxter is a Scottish pacifist lush. My life is full of Great Escapes. Steve McQueen would be jealous.

I feel that everybody should have books. We all need shelves full of crap that interests us. It's cool and exciting to look through somebody else's stuff and to get a feel for them, to see what they like, to see what they hate, and what they're into. You can learn a lot from a person from their books. If you don't have any, then I end up having to talk to you more before we can get into something that piques my curiosity. We don't want me bored because the idle Kevynn is The Devil's plaything. I'm like Satan's dildo when I'm bored, and with batteries of plutonium. That's bad. Not good.

So. I encourage everyone to buy books. Or if you have a ton - to buy more, cuz it cuts the tension like thin paper does the tip of a finger, it encourages conversation better than Coke. It makes me happy. It makes writers happy. Babies smile when books are read. Babies poo when they aren't.

If you were really nice, you'd tell me ten books that you think kick ass.

And if I were...I wouldn't have written this post for you to read.

Santa Clara Vampires...



My girlfriend rented Mona Lisa Smile last night.
I fell asleep and had nightmares about Julia Roberts being a vampire...
I mean, maybe that isn't so bad to some - she is kind of sexy...
In a Fun House mirror kind of way.

Even When I'm Dead...

I doubt I'll get enough sleep.

Et Tu, Brutus...

Dear old man on the street today,

If I looked like Popeye - I would not be smoking a small pipe.

Just my opinion.

The Dark Crystal...



Rock star friend called me from the SXSW festival in Austin last night. Said that he met the owner of a magazine that I used to write for back when I was young(er) and stupid(er). I cringed when RS friend said this - surprisingly the owner-doody had nothing but good things to say about me. That's nice. I thought that he would've had voodoo dolls set up. I guess that's cool. I remember back in the da(ze)ys of magazine writing and music interviews. Ugh. I was also psychotic, half-naked, starved, and insane and didn't know any better. Props to any sick soul who can actually make a living and a fine nest in the cold head of writing deadlines. Much respect to those that actually enjoy going to big city shows to interview bands. I didn't care much then, and care even less now. Boogers to all of that shite.

I interviewed Bad Religion, The Vandals, Reel Big Fish, Cake, Blink 182. I think that was it. There may have been a small handful of other bands - but I've forgotten. There were some that fell through, but maybe that was a good thing. If I had the choice of interviewing anybody - it'd be writers. But then, props to those who would actually want to track down reclusive, agoraphobic, obsessive-compulsive, molested, nerds? Not I.

I would like to hang out with Stephen King, though. And J.D. Salinger and Harper Lee if he's still alive. Orson Scott Card and Irvine Welsh. Chuck Palahniuk. Nick Hornsby. Koushun Takami. Paul Theroux. I'd punch Stan Lee in the nuts. I want to grind Kerouac's bones into the ground and ask the dust, "why?" Sounds like John Fante. I'll tell you a secret...I never finished that book. George Lucas doesn't count as an author unless you count his Willow books - but I have a crapload of "y's" for him too. Bukowski should rest in peace.

God(s), what's wrong with me?
What am I doing here?
Won't you fucking go to sleep? My self asks myself.
Yes, indeedy - what the hell is going on?
Don't you think by now, I would've either turned run-of-the-mill rambling into a rumble?
Or at least learned a trade or something?
The justification of my existence is not that cat running around right now.
It's not words on paper.
It's not the clickity-clack of Alicia, Florida, Car, or computer keys...
No. The justification of my existence is...
Don't know yet.
And that's frustrating...
Not that I expect answers.
Those that expect answers just end up with more questions - and I've got enough of those.
I'm half-mad and half-cocked.
Fire me.
Light me.
Blow me up.
I want to be that sulfuric stench wafting up your nostrils.
Burn me up and smoke my ashes.
I want you to suck the marrow out of my bones.
I want to rip your fucking heads off.
Obey me or break me.
Because I'm sick of the in-betweens.
I want to be a Dung Beetle and roll my shit home.
French kiss me.
Beat me.
Forget me.
I could do better - If I'd let me...

Hey.

I'm not working tonight.

What did I do instead?

Nothing.

How do I feel about it?

Great.

This Weekend...



Knowing Kung Fu would come in handy.

I can just feel it...

My Internal Combustion Engine Is Technologically Obsolete By At Least Fifty Years...

I hear we are going to hit close to $3.00 a gallon by the summer. Want gasoline prices to come down? We need to take some intelligent, united action. Phillip Hollsworth, offered this good idea: This makes MUCH MORE SENSE than the "don't buy gas on a certain day" campaign that was going around last April or May! The oil companies just laughed at that because they knew we wouldn't continue to "hurt" ourselves by refusing to buy gas. It was more of an inconvenience to us than it was a problem for them. BUT, whoever thought of this idea, has come up with a plan that can really work.

Please read it and join with us!

By now you're probably thinking gasoline priced at about $1.50 is super cheap. Me too! Now that the oil companies and the OPEC nations have conditioned us to think that the cost of a gallon of gas is CHEAP at $1.50- $1.75, we need to take aggressive action to teach them that BUYERS control the marketplace....not sellers. With the price of gasoline going up more each day, we consumers need to take action. The only way we are going to see the price of gas come down is if we hit someone in the pocketbook by not purchasing their gas!
And we can do that WITHOUT hurting ourselves. How? Since we all rely on our cars, we can't just stop buying gas. But we CAN have an impact on gas prices if we all act together to force a price war.

Here's the idea: For the rest of this year, DON'T purchase ANY gasoline from the two biggest companies (which now are one), EXXON and MOBIL. If they are not selling any gas, they will be inclined to reduce their prices. If they reduce their prices, the other companies will have to follow suit. But to have an impact, we need to reach literally millions of Exxon and Mobil gas buyers. It's really simple to do!! Now, don't wimp out on me at this point...keep reading and I'll explain how simple it is to reach millions of people!!

I am sending this note to about thirty people. If each of you send it to at least ten more (30 x 10 = 300) ... and those 300 send it to at least ten more (300 x 10 = 3,000)...and so on, by the time the message reaches the sixth generation of people, we will have reached over THREE MILLION consumers! If those three million get excited and pass this on to ten friends each, then 30 million people will have been contacted! If it goes one level further, you guessed it..... THREE HUNDRED MILLION PEOPLE!!!
Again, all You have to do is send this to 10 people. That's all. (If you don't understand how we can reach 300 million and all you have to do is send this to 10 people... Well, let's face it, you just aren't a mathematician. But I am ... so trust me on this one.)
How long would all that take? If each of us sends this e-mail out to ten more people within one day of receipt, all 300 MILLION people could conceivably be contacted within the next 8 days!!! I'll bet you didn't think you and I had that much potential, did you! Acting together we can make a difference.
If this makes sense to you, please pass this message on.

Sent via Mel...thanks.

Everything And Nothing...

It's very cute how I gave her the American Splendor comic book that I got from the library and told her to read it. Now that our bellies were full and now that we'd had a good night chock full of the unremberances of the day. Cool, that I thought that she was reading it whilst I went about my winding down motions. After all of it was done - and the filthy cigarette was out, the face was washed and the rotting teeth were brushed - I walked back into the room...and found her asleep. Was it a blessing in disguise? Or did the Roofies work? I'm so out of touch with youth drug culture - I'm unsure how to spell modern day drugs. Not that I was ever really in touch - but maybe this is a good thing. Christ, I don't even know how to properly spell anyway, so what's the difference, verdad? Drugs suck. Who needs drugs when life is just as wishy - washy as anything that you could put into your system?

So, the movie's on pause - and will remain so - probably until I crawl back into bed a couple hours from now. The bomb turned out to be a dud, the lion sleeps tonight, there's no joy in Mudville - so, The Mighty Kevynn might as well swing away into the night. Nothing like a little batting practice to make one a better hitter. You gotta keep your eye on the ball, son. Homeruns come from a keen eye, a good swing, good posture, and a certain amount of unlucky luck.

I will be doing a little private excercise for a bit. Please bear with me. The next thing that I write, might be a little different than the usual pedestrian shite that I chuck towards you. Please bear with me...things ( like the title? ) will be normal...soon?

Hee Hee Hee.

Your Stupid Person Of The Day Nominations...



I nominate myself for staying up this late and not getting St. Patricks Night off of work.

You?

Missy Elliot...

The day after I got my hair Cut. Done. Did. I was doing all of the obligatory prep crap at work and realized that all of the guys in the back didn't say anything about my haircut when I arrived. Not that I care much. Not that I expect them to notice, but, at my work, if there's something different about you - you'll have somebody calling you on it and make fun of you about it. We all do it. New shirt, hat, mustache? It all becames garbled Spanglish cussword observations. It's fun.

But...anyway, I was tying my tie or something in front of the mirror in the bathroom and realized to myself that none of the guys said anything. Hmmm...maybe they really don't notice anything about me. That's good in a way, I thought.

Later that day, I was talking to a customer.
A nice lady that I joke around with a lot.

She told me that my hair was getting long.

Dude.

Chinks...

I can hear a distant sprinkler spraying water against metal once every five seconds. Just realized that it was the music from the headphones right by me. Just realized that I'm retarded.

Yeah.

30 Days Of Night...

After poker last night, we all ended up at a strip club. I'd never been to this one before. My girlfriend had gone before with my friends, the bastards. They all went without me one night when I had to work. The place was pretty big. We drank. Saw some boobs. Girlfriend gave me crap because I gave money to the angry, Gothic stripper. I only gave her money because she danced to Ministry. My girlfriend liked the girl with the glasses, but we couldn't find her afterwards. She was probably giving a lap dance to a fat, balding man.

I think that strip clubs would be a lot more interesting if the girls were covered in Prime Rib and the audience threw hungry tigers up on the stage instead of cash.

Now that - would make me horny.

Ranch Dressing...



Had a dream about pizza last night, and first thing that I wake up this morning, my girlfriend asks if I want to get a pizza. So, I said okay. I had no choice. The gods want me to eat a pizza - then I'll do, damnit! So, the pizza guy's coming now. Because I'm loyal. I pay attention to my mind. This came straight from the dream police and I turned it into reality. Yes. Really. I mean it. I'm stupid. I'm going to go eat my pizza now. I'm not even hungry, though. I'm going to eat my pizza and watch The Last Temptation Of Christ.

A Cat...

Peed inside my car.

( not while I was driving it. )

It smells.

Might As Well...

Write.
Right.
Now.
Because.
This.
May.
Be.
The.
Only.
Chance.
I'll.
Get.

I Am Roberta Sparrow's Unwashed Hair...



And it's kind of weird when I'm checking my hits for the day on Fat Free Milk and I see my name typed into Yahoo or Google or something like that. Or when the site is like, number eight or ten when my last name is typed in. That's what I want, right? Make MALONE into a household name? Hmmm...No, maybe not. People scare the bejeezus out of me. I just want to be left alone and to die quietly. Fuck fame.

But, what if my almost - seventy year old father decides to do some gynecological - I mean, some genealogical investigating on the WWW? And up pops Fat Free Leche? All full of poo and F words? What if somebody finds me that I want to avoid? No, I don’t have any enemies – and YES, I am paranoid. My old friend Adam just found me after we both lost touch with each other. Guess how he found me? Google. My name’s easy to find. It’s number friggin’ one on there. But, that’s good, right? Man, I’m confused.

And what about this happy crap? Why would anybody type in my funky spelled first name and ankle? Come on. That’s just weird. Who was that? Why? See, I told you I’m paranoid. I guess I should stop typing my own name in posts if I’m gonna get all funny about people typing in my name on search engines. See, I need money. That’s it. Mass quantities of cash help ease my curious and sick mind. I accept all donations. I need to be an actor. I sure as hell can’t be an athlete unless people sponsor beer drinking and comic book reading. You just let me know, Bubba.

Kevynn Malone. OUT.

Doh.