More Important Than Me Getting Drunk...

Go visit The Island Of Misfit Toys.
Come back.
Don't.

Bring gum and a sleeping bag.

Some Other Day Than Today...

I can't write. The story I just started...ended. Hiccup will forever wonder why people are stealing his trash I guess. And why is this easier to write than what i was writing earlier? When I don't care, I can write. I don't obsess over grammatical syntax even though I rewrote this sentence. Those things can be corrected. Who cares anyway? It's not like there's a book deal hanging over my head. I'm not getting paid. I have no deadlines. Well, actually i do for a couple of things - but reading 128 pages of a book before I started writing tonight doesn't help because if im reading - im not writing. The music playing on this stupid-ass computer isn't helping either. I must remember to write like Hemingway. I must remember to write like a baby. I can't wait to go to Paris and write like a baby Hemingway. Actually, like I'd give a shit about writing about famous cities. I'm all for writing about famous situations within the cities. Not the boring, everyday march of the morons in places with history. It's already been done. Blow up a bomb in a cow field. Kill a cat on a dirty rooftop - but not on a famous rooftop. Throw a famous cow off of cat-infested rooftop with a bomb inside the building.

Morale of the story: Somebody else was picking through Hiccup's trash and slowly recreating his apartment because he or she or it wanted to be like Hiccup.

p.s. Hiccup got his nickname because he always does when he smokes pot. Which is awesome. I only named him Hiccup because my Muse CD was skipping.

No spell check.

Samuel Clemens' Right Eye...

Since nobody reads this site anymore - maybe I'll just let it die and do more productive things.
Nah. Fuck that. The writing'll probably get better now.
Like I care what the rest of the Munchkins in Munchkin Land think...

I hate you so much - I want to twist off your head.

Oliver Queen...



Whenever my girlfriend talks about going shopping, I ask her to look at the toys for me. Even if she's going to a fabric store, IKEA/HELL, or looking for fake purses in L.A. She'll tell me that they don't have toys there. I always think she's lying to me. Everybody's against me. If I ask you to get me toys, a monkey, comic books, or beer - you better try real hard to make it possible. I'm serious. You can make this happen. I don't joke about stuff like that. I have constantly asked everybody for a bow and arrow set. My conservative, secret branch-of-the-government father of mine only gave me presents that he was interested in. So, my older brother and I got bow and arrow sets when we were young. We had fun, actually. We had more fun when my father was inside the house because he would’ve beaten the crap out of us seeing us shooting arrows at each other's heads. So, I've always wanted to do that again. Not shoot an arrow at my brother's head. Been there. Done that. No. I want to stand out in my backyard with twenty-four arrows, a twelve pack of beer, andjust shoot a bunch of arrows at targets, bales of hay, and fat people. I dream of this. From you, I get smiles. This is not cool. Do I look like I'm being cute? I mean it. Nobody listens to me. I was talking about this to a co-worker the other day and he told me that his younger brother was an archer. Seriously. An ARCHER. Legolas in training. What? Wow. I did a double take. Yes, he was serious. So he gave me one of his younger brother's bows.

It needs to get re-strung. I don't care. When I first got it. I took it out with me. In my drunken glee, I thought that, maybe a bow-stringer would see me pretending to shoot things and would take pity on me. Nothing happened. I am not lucky. I write like Frankenstein tonight too, I guess. Errr.

So, the other day, I went looking for the local archery shop. We do have one. I swear. I didn't just imagine this. I saw the sign, said Ace Of Base. I did, really. I saw a sign...but couldn't find it this time. I felt like a nerd and eventually gave up. Yesterday I looked up the place in the phone book...

- Blah Blah Archery. How can I help you?

Yeah, Umm…Where are you guys located? I tried to find you the other day, but didn't see you.

- Well, we're not in out old location anymore.

Like I'm a regular. Got any new stuff? Dorkdorkdork.

Oh. You're not on Commonwealth?

- Yes. That's where we are.

Really? Okay. Well, are you by anything, like a landmark or something?

Yeah, I said LANDMARK. Like they were right by Mt. Vesuvius, The Death Star or the statue of Jebediah Springfield or something.

- We're between POO and BLARGH street.

Like I have a sense of direction and like I know the streets of the city that I live in. I don't. I'm fucking retarded.

Oh. Yeah, and do you string bows too?

- (pause) Ummm……yes.

Okay. I guess that's like asking a mechanic if they do car work, but - c'mon, man, like I'm supposed to know. Maybe they'd all start laughing at me or something. I'm just making sure, okay. When you assume…you make ass-meat out of U and ME. Something like that…

Oh. Great. Thankyouverymuch. Cool. Thank you.

...Click!...

So. The moral of my story is that I'm drunk and that it's hard to be a nerd when the nerds...think you're a fucking nerd.

The End.

Watch. Now even the comic book guys will start pretending that they don't even know me.

Jai Guru De Va Om...

I just tried to take one of those little quiz thingys that you find on somebody else’s website – but the questions and all of my answers seemed dumb. It was kind of like I was trying to make myself look more clever or interesting to spice up the whole waste of time that it was. SO. I erased it. SO. I am now going to create my own. Which will suck and waste my time even further. I hate you, Internet.

Worst childhood memory?
Beatings, arguments, abuse. All of that happy crap.
Since nobody really knows you, what’s the no. 1 sexually perverted act that you like?
Human contact.
Best lie ever.
I love you.
Last time watched porn?
A week ago?
On a diet?
I look like I took a diet WAY too far.
Kerouac?
Loved the early guy. Sad for the fat version. Like Elvis.
Americans?
Fat. Lazy. Nice. Mean. Stupid question.
Bukowski?
NICE.
Stephen King?
Brilliant at times.
My authors suck. Name one of your favorites.
I just did.
Forget it. No more authors. That was stupid.
Yes.
Jawas? Filthy or just plain misunderstood?
Filthy.
Coolest part of your day?
Time with the girl before work.
What didn’t you do that you totally wanted to?
Write.
Why didn’t you do it?
Work.
Is that any excuse?
No.
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-punch?
Fuck…ummm…today?
What actor/actress would you most like to crotch-massage?
Kate Beckinsale?
Give me an idea for a movie.
I crotch punch Hollywood.
Last favor you did for someone.
Crotch-punched Hollywood.
Most annoying website – besides mine, of course.
AOL.COM
Drink of choice?
Bud Light. Seriously.
Deserted island. One book. One item. One author, dead or alive. One companion animal. One thing that you could take to the island that’s in your car right now. One bathroom item.
Boy Scout Handbook Of America. Rambo knife. I wouldn't want to be stuck on an island with a writer unless it was a she, and she was hot..and MUTE. I'd like a Peurto Rican boy as a companion animal. I'd take my road flares so that I could burn my Puerto Rican when he was really bad. Bathroom item would be a gun.
What’s going on tomorrow?
Chaos. Order. Pizza. Porn. Oasis.
Favorite 5 cd’s right now.
That one Bjork CD that I got. AND SO ON by Longfellow. YOUR ENEMIES FRIENDS. THE ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND soundtrack. KNUCKLE SHUFFLE ON THE PISS PUMP by WRIST ACTION.
Site you were on before this?
Fat Free Milk.
Any comic books you want to send me?
Yes, I would love to, Kev...
Last time you got really pissed and why?
Today. I'll keep it to myself. Bottle it up.
If you could kill somebody right now – who would it be, why, and with what?
Ms. Scarlett, cuz' she's a whore and with the lead pipe in the study.
If you could bring a dead person back to life – who would it be? Religious figures don’t count.
Andre The Giant and The Haiti Kid. I cheated.
Weirdest thing that’s ever been inside your body?
Energy.
This was lame, huh? Oh well. YOU took it. I was bored. I’m the bigger dork, but YOU took it. Dork.
Piss off, you wanker. Yeah, you.

Yoda's Bland Food...



First thing I see
when I twist off
the cap of a beer
is Dagobah fog.

And a lifetime of solitude...

Seriously...

Have I missed the bus or was I not supposed to be able to buy a ticket anyway? I just don't get it. I'm either the biggest waste in the universe or I'm grasping at the coats of demonic millionaires a coupla seconds too late. I'm like a stray dog weaving in-between lanes of highway traffic. Maybe I should stop and take a breather? Maybe I rested too long that last time. Everytime I stop, I put myself in more danger...but maybe if I pull my leg over my head and lick myself, one of those cars might notice me, stop...and take me home. To a place of warm fireplaces, food, comfort and heavy petting...

Yes. I said heavy petting...

To Get To The Other Side...



If you combined the whole Blogger thing with the old Atari video game FROGGER - then maybe there'd be a point to this.

The Taskmaster Knows All of Your Moves Even Before You Do Them Because He Studies Them On Videotape Before You Fight…



And the beat goes on even for those suffering from heart attacks. Black markers on black souls and the color black is used in too much writing. Work is a bitch, and don’t you just fucking hate that bitch from work? I make food for my girlfriend and never eat it. I’ve become my mother. She’s very short. I’ve seen her twice in the last eleven years. That either makes me old or her - not too attentive. Maybe both. My friend’s mom told me the other day that she thought that I was 22. I said thank the gods I’m not anymore. I feel sorry for Ernest Hemingway because he pussed out and because he was a jock and couldn’t survive being a tough guy today. Kerouac did not become a roman candle – he became a fat dud firework. His last wife looked exactly like his mother. I couldn’t marry my mother because she’s too short...and I need lots of attention.

And the beat goes on even for those suffering from heart attacks. Black markers on black souls and the color black is used in too much writing. Work is a bitch, and don’t you just fucking hate that bitch from work? I make food for my girlfriend and never eat it. I’ve become my mother. She’s very short. I’ve seen her twice in the last eleven years. That either makes me old or her - not too attentive. Maybe both. My friend’s mom told me the other day that she thought that I was 22. I said thank the gods I’m not anymore. I feel sorry for Ernest Hemingway because he pussed out and because he was a jock and couldn’t survive being a tough guy today. Kerouac did not become a roman candle – he became a fat dud firework. His last wife looked exactly like his mother. I couldn’t marry my mother because she’s too short...and I need lots of attention.

Fat Man And Throbbin'...

I just saw one of those two person bikes. The guy in the front was dressed up as Robin The Boy Wonder. The guy on back wasn't dressed as Batman, which made it even weirder.

I waited for The Joker to follow on a unicycle - but it never happened - so I got in my car and drove home.

Melatonin...



Lost a paper that had about five story ideas and a list of things to do.

So now I'm here, just kind of twiddling my thumbs on this keyboard. I gathered up all of my movies to return to the video store. I have Netflix but still go to the video store occasionally, because, you know - it's just so hard to mail those Netflix envelopes back, y' know? I also have my bow propped by the door. I'm going to take it to that archery store place thingy to get it strung. Then I can start shooting arrows at people and chirping birds. I also took off the back of the huge tv that we have. We broke the connector thing off of the back. When I popped of the back panel, I made something else come loose too. It's brains and nervous system were all too complicated and web-like - so, I guess I have to find somebody to help me lug that thing to a TV repair shop. Then I will go back home and work on my screenplay about demon conjuring, binding spells, Hell and The Necronomicon...

Malone On Babies...

What sucks about baby pictures is that time passes and then you look at the picture afterwards and then realize that the kid looks nothing like the baby picture anymore and it’s not as fun. Then, maybe, like, twenty years go by, and then you get all astounded by how young the baby was.

Yeah.

Dork...

I just got done making my car payment over the phone. I always talk to the same girl. She's nice. We shoot the shit and fill each other in on what's been happening lately. After we were done talking, I told her goodbye and then said, "Be good".

Be good?

What the hell is that all about?

Oh. Now I remember...I'm retarded.

Shrtst. pst. evr.

.

John Constantine…





Waking up can be a mistake. Some days, I feel like I’ve made a bad choice. People who die in their sleep may be geniuses. Maybe they found out something in dreams that I never will. Maybe they had a divine moment of REM clarity and said holyshitfucknowigetitwhatthehellwasithinking? Then they’re done. Pop goes the cork. Bright burns the light. Sink the ship. Fries are done. Game Over, Ms. Pac Man. Fireworks. Smoke in the air. The crowd leaves. Holiday over. Laughing all the way to Narnia, Hogwarts, Orange County, Krynn, Hoth, Middle Earth, Oz, Hollywood, and to that place where The Brothers Lionheart went.

I’m quiet now. Maybe I cashed in all of my emotional stocks way back in the 80’s and 90’s. I’ve made some bad investments. Now, I just seem to float around all gossamer-like. Kind of like the one, thin spider web that seems to stick to your face no matter how much you claw at it when you go out in the backyard to water your lawn late at night. I won’t go away – but I’m not as big as I could’ve been. Just a tad bit annoying. Making my presence known. Not doing any real damage. Somebody once compared Jimi Hendrix to the thin wire filament of a burning light bulb. The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long. That’s how I feel. Like the slow parts of a good movie. Like radioactive waste. I know I’m still young, but you really should’ve known me before. I was crazier. I fucking either wanted to be left alone to scribble away in the darkness, to think, to break things…or wanted to question and tear the outside world apart. Now, I wish that everything was quiet. Silencio, por favor. I don’t think. And when I do. It passes through my brain like caffeine. All energy dissipates as soon as it’s fleetingly conjured. I smile a little, but always look like I’d be happier somewhere else. I wish I knew where that place was. It’s definitely not in front of a computer screen. It’s definitely not outside. Definitely not inside my head, or out of it. What makes me feel happy now? I’m not depressed or anything. I’m just talking. I know that a lot of my biggest changes have happened in small amounts of time and sometimes the smallest change can happen in a long time. I know that if love and life played by our rules, then that pretty, little picture in our head would be a reality.

Slow, progressive, Earth-shaking change was cool back in the day. Spending a couple years here or there doing the same-ass things - but making adventures in the meantime was nice – but we were a lot younger then. What happens when the amount of time starts stacking? What happens when the amount of decay overpowers the fresh growth?

You get the fuck out of town. Okay. Where and for how long? Guess you have to find out along the way, eh? Change yourself? Duh. Whatever. Instant change is like ramen noodles. Unsatisfying and shitty.

This might not make sense – but like I care. Keep your snide, little comments to yourself, or go visit a clever BLOG. Say what you want. Just don’t be funny, because I’m doing all of the fake, unreal cleverness here.

You know why I liked Bukowski so much? Because he was honest. He was ugly. He was the poetic John Merrick. He was sad. Depressed. Brilliant. A pig. He wanted to be left alone, but needed love on his own terms. He went postal before postal was postal – but he went postal on paper. That last sentence makes sense if you slow it down.

Jumanji’s in my heart, but the Hellraiser Cube’s in my pocket. I don’t know what to do.

I really do wish that I could meet Han Solo and have a drink with him. He’d understand, and just say a coupl of gruff sentences that WOULD MAKE SENSE TO ME AND SUM UP THE WHOLE DEAL. Then we’d have more blue drinks served in Tupperware glasses, and double-team a gal with tentacles for hair.

After work today, I was at a stoplight and saw the mayor of my city walking across the crosswalk. I leaned my head out of my car and said hello. He said, Hi Kevynn! That’s nice, even if he is a politician.

I like my cats, my friends, toys, comic books. I also like porn, threatening mean people with violence, and fucked up music. I’m writing about absolutely nothing.

I need to live on a ranch and just make all of this stuff go away. Trust me – I’m not trying to be all complicated and deep. I’m far from that and I don’t want your sympathy. Your condolences are like cheap crack. It strings you out in the end. No caloric value to it. Ample amounts of empathy does not make a healthy diet. I need direction. Something other then TAKE A LEFT AFTER THE STOP SIGN or GET A NEW JOB. I need something … I need it like Dracula does. I’ll know it when I taste it. I used to watch my mother suck the marrow out of chicken bones when I was young. I tried it a couple of times. I remember her chasing around a couple of geese that I thought were pets. I remember her chopping their heads off with a cleaver, Wally. Feathers floating in the air and headless bodies flapping on the ground.

People talk too much. They need to just stop for a bit. Most of my days are like one, sticky, continuous conversation ball thrown at my head. Im too tired to dodge em’ and just let em' roll down my face. Nodnodnod yesyesyes. Big Bump. Everybody just calm down, shut up, and leave everybody else alone. Walk around, play with your kids, walk the dogs – but, still … shut up. You’re about as original as ME. Which isn’t much. I’m an ungrateful bastard. I’m the ugliest beautiful person you’ve ever met – I deserve to be hunted down like Frankenstein.

He’ll tell you…

Waking up can be a mistake.

My Friend...

Brandon has a new dog about the size of two tarantulas.

Cody?...

Visions of the drunk ass girl at the bar last night, puking tequila in between her fingers still haunts me...

Ask Me A Question...

Besides why I'm so gay.

The reward for your participation will be my next post.

I think It'll be fun.

And gay.

Meaning happy.

Meaning GAY.

Kevynn Can Mend A Broken Heart When He Gets All The Pieces…

Sometimes…when I approach a person, I don’t know whether to stab them or to hug them. Sometimes, I’ll hug them first and then stab them – but I’d rather stab a person after a good, long hug any day.


"Since light travels faster than sound, is that why some people appear bright until you speak to them?" -Steven Wright

Clementine Kruczynski...



Today at work, I asked a table if they wanted fresh ground pepper.

The man said, "Give me three turns."

So I spun myself in a circle three times.

When I was finished, they all just looked at me.

So I left.

Hitler Mouse...

The Walt Disney Company is blocking its Miramax Films division from distributing Michael Moore's documentary "Fahrenheit 911," which criticizes President Bush, according to a statement on Moore's Web site.
The film is highly critical of Bush's handling of the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks and his actions leading up the attacks.
"I would have hoped by now that I would be able to put my work out to the public without having to experience the profound censorship obstacles I often seem to encounter," Moore wrote in the statement.
Miramax spokesman Matthew Hiltzik did not immediately return calls for comment Wednesday. Disney spokesman John Spelich also did not return calls early Wednesday.

Moore attributes Disney's decision to concerns that the documentary will endanger tax breaks the company receives from Florida and anger Bush's brother, Florida Gov. Jeb Bush.
Disney has a contractual agreement with Miramax principals Bob and Harvey Weinstein allowing it to prevent the company from distributing films under certain circumstances, such as an NC-17 rating, according to The New York Times, which first reported the story.

"Some people may be afraid of this movie because of what it will show," Moore wrote. "But there's nothing they can do about it now because it's done, it's awesome, and if I have anything to say about it, you'll see it this summer — because, after all, it is a free country."

The often confrontational director won an Oscar for his 2002 documentary "Bowling for Columbine," about the Columbine High School shooting and U.S. gun control policy. He's also known for the 1989 film "Roger & Me," which explored the effects of General Motors on his hometown of Flint, Mich. "Fahrenheit 911" will be one of 18 films in competition next week at the Cannes Film Festival, Moore wrote.

She Looks Out The Portal At Solaris.

RHEYA
Is it a planet?

KELVIN
Not exactly. It exists in a
continuum that wasn't proven until
ten years ago, a higher
mathematical dimension superimposed
on top of the Universe. An
infinite number of them, in fact.
It was a violation of all of our
various laws regarding the
Universe, Space, or Space-Time. It
was completely counter-intuitive.
We had to unlearn everything.

RHEYA
Is it intelligent?

KELVIN
Intelligent beyond our
comprehension.

RHEYA
Then it's God, right?

KELVIN
It's something.

RHEYA
You still don't believe in God?

KELVIN
The whole idea of God was dreamed
up by a silly animal with a small
brain called Man. Even the limits
we put on it are human limits. It
can do this, it can do that! It
designs, it creates!

RHEYA
Even a God that wasn't active, that
just created something and stood
back and watched?

KELVIN
You're talking about a man in a
white beard again. You're
ascribing human characteristics to
something that isn't human. Human
beings look for causes and
patterns. How could we know what
Solaris is up to, if anything?

A beat.

RHEYA
But what if Solaris is what there
was before The Big Bang?

KELVIN
As I said, it is beyond our
comprehension.

RHEYA
As I said, then it's God, right?



I was going to write about my trip to Austin– but then erased the beginning of it because I don’t know how I can fit most of the highlights in and because I’m a very lazy guy. I had something funny to say anyway, but now I’ve forgotten it.

I did see the biggest goldfish that I’ve ever seen. AND I also watched a dog hump a keg. I tried to take pictures of a little kid with a mullet, but his mom was watching so I didn’t get any spectacular pics. I drank constantly.

With the mullet kid.

So, I Leave For A Week...

And I come back to NO new comments and an Internet virus.

Lick it.

Stone Cold...



I leave for Austin tomorrow morning. Maybe I'll write less, maybe I won't. Maybe I don't really care much. It's hotter here in THE OC than in Austin. That's kind of strange. usually it's the other way around for me. Yes, I said THE OC. I'm gonna pull a Paris Hilton and trade in my comfy life. I'm ready to milk some cows. Give me your tired, your weary, your cow manure. I'm tired. I should go to bed. I need to forget to pack things.

This is why I need to get away...

Writing like this...

There Must Be An Unwritten Rule...

That the more keys a man has jingling from his belt...

The creepier he is...