An Ambitious Lucifer Morningstar Creates A New Cosmos Modelled After His Own Image...



Attractive lady with a kid stopped by my office asking for my help to find a medical office somewhere in the building. First thing I did was make an obligatory cheesy joke, worry if she saw the comic books by the stapler and then get up and trip over my lunch that was on the floor by my feet.

I showed her a couple places that could be the office that she was looking for. The whole time trying to help her out even though I know absolutely nothing about everything and everybody that works here never talks to each other anyway. But what am I supposed to do? Say, “Sorry, I’m relatively new to this complex and I’m still unfamiliar with this place. You can use my phone if you would like, to help you find the location that you’re looking for better?” Perish the thought that I would ever calm down for anything and think things through. Perish the thought that I would not come across like a big dork. Dorkdorkdork.

Her kid was making fart noises with his mouth. I was leading her in the wrong directions. Nobody was remembering about Afghanistan. Nobody was caring about the kidnapped Panchen Lama. Farts and wrong directions. Fartfartfart. We just wandered around until she struck out on her own again. I am writing about this for no other reason than to say that I’m a bored penis and that tripping over my lunch was the only funny aspect of this long-winded story.

Oh, and the medical office that she was looking for is…three doors down from mine.

Goodbye.

The More That I Talk To You...


the more that we'll argue
so I won't
talk
not argue

I wish that we could talk
like the other people do
but that would mean
that we were just like other people

so
if I had a choice of
us
not being able to communicate as well as we should
versus
the communicative bunch of guttural cows
then
I'd rather be the one who stirs the stew
than
be the main ingredient of it

Miyagi Walks...



Girlfriend's talking to me about shopping sales.

I'm pretending to listen.

I think that I was going to talk about Captain America, Hitler, The Red Skull and Kanye West.

The Red Skull hates black people.

Today in almost-gonna-take-a-nap-before-work shift-no.2-world, I was nippy-eyeing a gossamer image of Mike Myers on the television and realized how uncomfortable he must've felt during the Hurricane Katrina telethon. Even though Kanye was wearing his heart in his vocal chords - and even though I loved that he was speaking the truth - it was still fucking funny. Too bad I never came up with the idea of being Kanye West and a friend being Mike Myers for Halloween. All we'd do all night is just stand by the keg at parties and play out that bit. I'd stutter, "George Bush hates black people" as Jocks would try to elbow me out of the way to get to the keg tap.

"George Bush hates black people."

Girl would ask me what I was supposed to be for Halloween.

"George Bush hates black people."

Host of the party would punch me in the face for sleeping with his girlfriend.

"George Bush hates black people."

Cops would show up.

"George Bush hates black people."

Puking afterwards.

"George Bush hates black people."

Why don't I have a keychain thingy that says, "George Bush hates black people?"

Napoleon Dynamite? Feh! Kanye West, baby!

That or Pat Morita.

"Pat Morita hates black people."

On 11/25/05, I Will Be Asleep In A Cryogenic Tube Dreaming About Koi Playing Lazer Tag To The Mos Eisley Cantina Jazz Ditty...






UPDATE: I suck. The end. No, wait - there's more...If the pic doesn't show up above, I'm not gonna change it because I'm unmotivated and technologically inept. So, the red, little cross in the box thing's as fancy as it's gonna get. Question, though...Does buying something on EBAY count? Does prostitution count? Poker? iTunes? Blargh? Feh? Meh? Blah? Oi!

Fight Club...



Fight to stay awake.
Be a cordial host.
Laugh at jokes.
Offer cocktails.
Constantly clean up.
Do not pass gas.
Do not collect $200.
Go directly to jail.

Fight to stay awake.

Be a cordial host.

A Safe Bet...

If you want to get on a bartender's bad side - come to his bar after a major sporting event. Make sure you've had a lot of drinks, yell about statistics for hours and make sure that you tell me repeatedly that you're hungry, even though the bartender isn't serving food.

Okay? Thanks.

GO CHARGERS!!! WHOOOOOO!!!! BELCH! FART! WHOOOOO!!!!!

Found In A Notebook...

Sometimes I'm jealous of the Helen Keller-types.

The deaf might have it easy because at least you know that the only voices that you're going to hear in your head are your own.

Mars...

So dry today
feels like fiery chopsticks up the nose
eyes like wrinkly prunes
it's too bright
my head is the sun
my brain throbs one supernova a second
my mouth is moist like compost

Mars in November

For all of you political junkies...

Kenneth Starr came in to my work today. Wheee! I stole a couple of his french fries before he got his food too. Seriously, if Elvira or even Charo came in - I would've been more excited. Every politician just looks old and white. Oh wait...they all are old and white, huh?

That Means You, India...

Next time I'm on here, I'm going to ask all of my creepy lurkers to tell me who they are. Foreigners, of course, creep me out even more than my usual gang of piggy Americans. Prostitutes intrigue me also.

Just because.

And I Watched Oprah Too...

Farting in the office.

Not a good idea, Kev.

Hi boss!

I took a Cab Van with a bunch of friends to a birthday party on Saturday night. The GPS driving screen thing inside the van was impressive. The Tom and Jerry cartoons playing on the dvd player were also, but you wanna know what really impressed me about the whole ride?

The Debbie Gibson that the cab driver was playing and then proceeded to turn up even LOUDER as we got noisier.

Debbie Gibson. Seriously. The driver could've turned around and then vomited blood all over the front of my jacket and I still wouldn't of been as thrownback as I was upon hearing Ms. Gibsons horrifically nostalgiac Electric Youth-y voice.

So, I got drunk. er.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot...

so
you sit here STARING
duh
arghh
what are we all doing
wasting time
and eating preservatives
prolonging the inevitable
ingesting empty calories
getting fat full of nothing

while we waste away

Attention: Self

By the time you read this - you will be drunk.

Thank you.

I Hate Cake.

No, not the band. I like them. I hate cake, the dessert.

I hate when I'm at work and there's some extra cake left from a party or something and everybody else who works there hides pieces in the kitchen for themselves for later. I hate how people treat it like gold. They throw their hands up in the air, they get a fanatical look on their faces and start to run towards it.

What's it like, fucking gold? Shit, I'll make it myself. I've seen kids just practically poop themselves when you mention it. They have to be coerced into finishing their actual meal. Like their hamburger or pizza is so horrible to get through.

I mean...it's cake. Like Betty Crocker cake. You can buy it. You can get one decorated. Cake. CAKE! This isn't The Soviet Union. We don't live in the middle ages. People go to IHOP and practically eat cake for breakfast, so what's the deal? It drives me apeshit to see people going nuts over cake. Especially when they're full. Just eating cake because it exists? It's like having sex with a fat hooker because you have a free coupon. Fat hooker? Cake? CAKE!!!

I'm going to become a baker and just keep on having employees just shoot that shit right outside the building. It'll fly out of an iron chute and skid all across the street. I'll laugh watching all of the traffic accidents. SUV'S will flip over, fire hydrants will be knocked over, there'll be a pile of cars that reaches to the sky because there's FREE CAKE. FREE FUCKING CAKE EVERYONE, LOOK! YEAH, LOOK AT IT - RIGHT OVER THERE, IT'S FREE, I TELL YA' AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

CAKECAKECAKECAKE!!!!!!

I Look...

like a dork in this outfit.

BACKGROUND BAR PEOPLE have changed places some. Some new. Some the same. Some are still in the same place but have more glasses and bottles around them and are obviously drunker. Maybe the bar has more people in it. Maybe it doesn’t depend on the bar and the time.

But KEN and KESEY are getting very drunk.


KEN- Y’ know, I’m gonna make this into one of my screenplays…no – a play first because…

KESEY – Why?

KEN – If I can do it on – wait – what? Why what?

KESEY – Geez. Wait, why don’t you. Ummm…why?

KEN – Why what? What do you mean? Whymakeitintoafucking-

KESEY – Why write about shit before it’s done? Why don’t you write about something already done instead of preying on your real emotions and circumstances and just tooling around with what you already know as opposed to what you don’t? Why play the waiting game and just work with what you know? Maybe that’s why you haven’t really done anythi-

KEN – Why I haven’t done anything- Dude, I’ve done a lot of shit. I have…

KESEY – Yeah, I know what you’ve done, and it’s cool and all, but you’re getting older. Older. Seriously. You talk and talk about stuff and that’s great and all and you have a million good ideas but why not be fucking Da Vinci or Ben Franklin and just be Harper Lee or Catcher In The Rye?

Ken – What? Catcher In the Rye?

Kesey – What ever his name was.

KEN – Is. His name is…

KESEY - Whatever.

Chris T.

That would be neat to be named Chris and then have a last name that starts with T, huh? I would always just use the initial for my last name. My frends would write to me in letters, "Jesus, Chris T!"

Sorry. I'm bored.

I need to write a list for myself:
Comic book store
Return Land Of The Dead and Dominion
Organize all of that crap that you're going to ship
Get a Money Order
Call the skydiving place
Call your mother. Ummm...okay. Suuuurrrreee.
Don't be this boring ever again.

The Sad Thing Is...

That I think that I spend more time talking about other peoples relationships or just philosophizing in general about the nature of the beast than actually spending time with my significant other.

It's kind of like being a sign-language teacher and not realizing that passing motorists are flipping you off on your way to work.

Wrecking Crew...

Arghhh.

The only good thing about L.A. is the people living in it.

My Ancestors Would Be Proud...

I hate being busy. I hate doing things. I hate going in public places. I hate being around people. I don't like to do things that're proposed to me by others. I'd rather slowly stir those things around and see how I feel about them later. I feel like I've done it all before, I know what to expect and that nothing is new to me.

I don't like to exercise, walk, hike or go to the gym. I hate the mall. I hate to shop and would rather not go than to just look around. I hate parking lots and hate how people drive. I hate the internal combustion engine. I hate loud noises. I hate car horns. I hate screeching. I hate wailing sirens and people yelling out, "Fuck You's!" to each other as they accelerate away.

I don't like working. I hate stifling sparks of creativity and, if you're lucky, making do with scribbling down that amazing idea on a nearby scrap of paper and cramming it into your pocket because you can't write more about it at work. I hate rules. I hate the hot smell of paper that comes out of the copier. I hate file cabinets. I hate food. I hate tips. I hate cranky, ass old people. I hate people in a hurry. I hate fat guts. I hate having too many options when I call customer service. I hate that the same woman's recorded voice is on the phone regardless of what department I call because it's just like seeing the same commercial on the TV every single time you turn it on.

I hate. I'm unmotivated. I'm lazy. I have no drive. No will. No discipline. I hate.

Yes, I do.

But I love this post. Yes. I love it. And I love this Coca-Cola over here to my right. I love that I just wasted 17 minutes doing something that I shouldn't be doing and that nobody can take that time back from me because I've already spent it.

I love it.

And His Brother Gandalf...

Dude. Full on just saw a guy's paperwork and his name is...Merlin.

Fucking Merlin.

He's married too.

Can you imagine being married to Merlin?

What's their house look like?

Does he ever get ID'd at Rennaisance Fairs? Or maybe Medieval Times?

Merlin. So awesome. Or so mean, I don't know.

Richard Fell...



I think that the ankle's not broken
but my drunken, youthful exhuberance is
my confidence in this body is as brittle as my bones

I am now strapped to this computer
yet, I am told by my girlfriend that
we are having friends over for dinner

X-rays tomorrow
my underarms are already sore from the crutches

I feel like Mr. Glass fron Unbreakable.
I feel like Mr. Stupid-Head from October 2005.

No More Golfing For Me...

3 A.M. in the park across the street. Drunk w/ a neighbor. I fell getting more golf balls. Now I won't have a limp anymore because I might've broken my LEFT ANKLE NOW.

Yay! Crutches again!!!!!

No More Vodka Redbulls For me...



The cement fairies must've poured cement in my ears while I was sleeping last night. I can't even focus. Let alone put together sentences - but I'll try...

Saw a friend at my girlfriend's work yesterday as he was picking something up to go. He said that he was buckling down and training at a mortgage company. Kind of surprising to me considering how arty he is. I started to tell him about the new, other thing that I've been doing when I'm not serving and bartending. We talked about both getting older and needing real jobs and more money, blah blah blah. After he left, I thought about how boring our two new jobs sounded. How old and unoriginal - but totally necessary. Especially for two college dropouts. I started to think about what some of my other friends were doing too. Mutual funds. English teacher. Graphic design. Commercial insurance. Printing. Legal video documentation. Flight attendant. Fed Ex. Bartenders. Servers. Bouncers. Boring.

I tried to be good and think harder. Surely some of my friends must be doing unique and wondrous things? Okay. We had one commercial jet pilot. Ummm...a couple of people in pretty popular bands, all right. Uhhh...nothing else?

No porn stars? No gourmet chefs with popular daytime TV series? No comic book artists, no founders of cults, no dolphin trainers?

What happened? Am I forgetting some of my friend's interesting jobs? Does a friend of mine having an interesting job, somehow, in a way, validate my mundane existence? Does our being in our late twenties, stuck somewhere in the thirties or maybe passing forty years old pretty much make us old? Does this mean that this is it? Get a job, even if it's boring because the relationship, starving child's mouth or empty wallet demand it? Is an interesting life sometimes defined by what one does when out of the workplace or when one has the time to be themselves?

Do I only exist off the clock?

My head is mushy. My skin is hot. My left butt cheek aches, for whatever reason - I don't know, and my eyes aren't focusing well. I think it's time to put my brain to bed and to get through the next 2 hours and 12 minutes.

Then it's time to go home.

After the comic book store, of course. Ha. I'm a nerd.