A Lack Of Color, A Little Soul, A Mess Of Blues...

Girlfriend cries out

I stop typing
....
...
..
.

Honey what's wrong? Look at all these animals around you...

they woke me up

I'm right here honey. Over there. Writing. (puts covers closer to her shoulders)

(she makes sleepy, pouty face)

I'll turn out the light. (then kisses her forehead)

(Her pouty face subsides. Her eyebrows become unforrowed)

Good night, sweetheart.

(mumble, mumble)

Good night, honey.
.
..
...
....

I start typing.

Girlfriend dreams.

This book is made up, of course, but the story I had Bonnie tell actually happened in real life - in the death house of a penitentiary in Arkansas...

MALONE, KEVYNN T

TITLE: ( y'know? I was going to make a list of what I got at the library today - but I stopped due to a combination of my laziness, the existence of efforts for minimal hee-haws, the soup that I'm making on the stove, my lack of focus, my guilt for not paying attention to the girlfriend after she was so understanding after I've spent the last two hours re-writing and re-typing my small play that won't be included in Joel Beers' play that I should've given to him a week ago and now she's fallen asleep, movies to be watched, comics to be read, early hour employment nastiness, thoughts to be thoughten, bringings to be broughten, beers to be forgotten...)

I'm here.

Trying to waste time how I want to.

Oscar And Felix Should’ve Worked More...

In the last three days my girlfriend and I have barely seen each other.
Roommates see each other more.
This is how it’s been for the last five years between us.
BUT, I do work two jobs now.
But, anyway – I had a quick question –
When people ask me how long we’ve been going out – should I say, like, two and a half years to be more accurate?

My stupidity is purposeful and extremely well crafted...

I dreamt that my friend’s mother and her mother’s friend had read this website and I freaked out because I had previously written in an entry saying that the mothers friend was tall, fat and ugly or something like that.

And then the mother’s big friend kissed me.

So, say that you made ten bucks an hour somewhere. Anywhere. What’s that break down to? I’m horrible at math, but what would every ten minutes that slowly ekes by be worth to that working person?

So, say that this working stiff spends an average 8 hours or so-or whatever amount of time, looking at the clock until he gets to go home.

This person’s exhausted. Their job is hard or boring – maybe both. This person now wants to relax. This person likes to go to bars and so then goes to his neighborhood tavern, sports bar, etc. thispersonthisperson

He likes beer. Lets say that the average price of a bottle of beer is 4 bucks. How many beers does this guy drink in the first hour? Let’s also just say that he’s being social on an average level and that this person is not interested in a member of the opposite sex that night. (Drinking would be more expensive and their duration at the bar would increase also)

He has three beers in that first hour and then four more in the second. (Does that sound like a lot to you? They’re Amstel Lights and he’s an alcoholic.)

7 beers total @ $4 a pop = $28

+ $10 in tips (cheap bastard) = $38 to drink for the night.

So the guy made $80 bucks at work – take out $12 for taxes and lets take off three for various SS and all of that crap. $65 bucks for his workday then.

This means that the guy worked 8 hours for $27

Is that like, $3.37 an hour?

It’s basically, a crappy fast food hamburger
A comic book w/tax
A tip
Change you get back from buying a big box of kids breakfast cereal
A small coke at the movie theatres
3/4ths of a pack of cigarettes
A side of bacon
A movie rental
A Library fine
That’s almost the price of a beer! Without the tip. (You cheap bastard)

What does this all mean? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m bored at work and can’t wait to get some drinks afterward.

I don’t like Amstel Light, by the way.

And I drink way more than that and am never by myself and I tip a lot better.

I Want To Be As Famous As Pat Sajak But With Beautiful Hair Like Nuno From The Band, Extreme...



That is totally not true.

I DID once, have long hair - sadly, yes...almost exactly like his.

This was 68 years ago.

Anyway.

...Oh yeah, an hour ago I was offered to be an extra in a movie right down the street from my house through a friend. They said that they needed a tall, handsome guy to be in the background or to stand around shivering drinking hot chocolate that tastes like tepid donkey diarrhea or something like that. Thank you for pretending that I'm handsome. Thank you for thinking that I'm tall too, Brandon-Mr-Six-Foot-Two.

I said no. He really didn't believe me that I didn't want to do it. I said that I had a writing project that needed to be done (which is true). He asked me if I had a deadline. I didn't lie. I said no. That I just didn't want to do it and that I'd rather write instead.

This, ladies and gentleman, makes me feel like a million dollars. Years and years ago, I would've dreamt for the opportunity to be "discovered" or to just even be around small productions, blargh, blargh, etc...I had pictures taken once. Which still get pulled out every now and then by drunken friends and screeched at HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!! Gone to extra casting calls, etc.

NOW? I just want to sit home write, read comic books and drink light beer.

Acting? Gross. Vomit. Poo.

Writing? Excellent. Virgins await me in heaven. Candy for everyone.

Just kidding. Fuck that. Of course I would still like to act. Hell yeah. I'm a complete idiot on stage, on camera and in front of a microphone. I'm every Easter ham ever ingested. I am Jack's lack of dignity. I am Jack's expired prescription of Ritalin.

But writing is easier - and you're just as much of a helpless whore by doing it.

This just means that I'm lazier.

And, by the way - I just got done emailing a friend back that works for a famous Talent/Lit agency in L.A. and that wants to help me out with submissions, etc.

I like this.

BUT, still - if comic book companies would ever pick up the scripts and synopsis' that I've sent them - than I wouldn't need all of the kind bastards all across the universe to help me turn into a butterfly, now would I?

Gay butterfly.

Now watch Brandon get a speaking role and then become as famous as Kevin Federline and then never speak to me again.

And then I'll be a fat, baby endangering Brittney Spears.

Anti-Media...

Okay...let's pretend that certain dumb TV programs, movies, music, etc. don't exist.

And once we nominate something, it actually WONT EXIST ANYMORE due to our combined magical powers.

It's that easy. So that the next time that you're bored or stoned off of your mind and watching a sitcom that you've always hated, or forced to see a movie that sucks or exposed to somebody else's crappy music - you can remember and say, hey - I forgot about Fat Free Milk Anti-Media! I'm NOT really watching, listening to this, etc.This is a figment of my imagination!

You can yell at it - I KILLED YOU! YOU'RE NOT REAL!!!

That's all it takes.

People don't count though, bitches...

I get to nominate one first...

Ummm...

Say, Thank You...

I just wrote something ten thousand times
more boring
than this sentence

I erased it
because I don't want you
to feel ten thousand times more unsatisfied

Than now

I Only Went To Target To Get Toilet Paper...

DRESS SHIRT FOR WORK -
ST. PADDYS DAY MENS SHIRT
ST. PADDYS DAY MENS SHIRT FOR MY GIRLFRIEND
TOILET PAPER
3 PLAIN WHITE T-SHIRTS
X BOX SALE VIDEO GAME
WHAT THE HELL IS SCOTT MGA RL?
A DVD FOR THE GIRLFRIEND
A TEA POURER
A TEA CUP
STATUARY 2 @ 12.99
STD? (WHY IS IT CALLED THAT? GROSS) PILLOW 2 @ 2.99
CASTROL GTX
PHOTO FRAME
SHADOW BOX
STD PLLW CVR(S)

TOTAL? $126.86

I AM A GAYWAD, HOPELESS, BROKE LOSER...

Here's a copy of the email you sent through the International Campaign for Tibet...


















Message: Dear Google,


As a Tibet supporter and someone who wishes to see increased human rights and
democracy for Tibetans and Chinese living in China, I am dismayed to read about
your decision to begin actively censoring the content of google.cn on behalf of
the Chinese government.

Your decision to support the repression of Chinese and Tibetans seeking
alternative information and voicing alternative views is a sad day for the
people of China and Tibet and makes Google complicit in the Chinese Communist
Party's shameful distortion of the truth of its own history in Tibet.

I have read your Company Principles, "Ten Things Google Has Found to be True",
and would like you to read "Ten Things You Won't Find to be True on Google.cn":

1. The consistent non-violent efforts of the Dalai Lama to bring peace to Tibet
through understanding between Chinese and Tibetans.

2. That Tibet was independent before invasion in 1949 and has not always been a
part of China.

3. That hundreds of thousands of Tibetans have died as a result of the Chinese
occupation.

4. The abuses of human rights, the imprisonment of hundreds of nuns and monks
and the destruction of monasteries in Tibet.

5. The abduction of the 6 year old Gendun Choekyi Nyima, 11th Panchen Lama of
Tibet, by Chinese forces in 1995. He has never been seen since.

6. The UN Investigator on Torture's Beijing statement of 2/12/2005 that there is
a "consistent and systematic pattern of torture" against Tibetans in China.

7. The number of Tibetans who die every year trying to cross the Himalayas to
escape into exile.

8. The damage being done to the Tibetan environment by projects the Tibetans are
forced to accept from Beijing.

9. The destruction of large parts of the holy city of Lhasa to make way for new
Chinese development.

10. The population transfer of Chinese to Tibet, making the Tibetans a minority
in their own land.

The internet is one of the few ways the Tibetan people can seek justice, voice
their opinion and have their view heard by others inside China. Google has
joined the Chinese government in robbing them of that opportunity. I ask you to
reconsider your decision to be a partner in this evil act.

Kevynn Malone
kevynn75@hotmail.com

I have no idea what a meme is, but I saw Sarah Brown doing one - so I thought that I might do one also because I'm a follower/lemming/automaton/poo-head...

Four jobs I’ve had:

Puppeteer at an amusement park for toddlers
Pizza maker (like, three times - I think)
Content writer for an internet animation team
Bartender

Four Movies I can watch over and over:

True Romance
Empire Strikes Back
Fight Club
Shadowlands

Four Places I’ve Lived:

Alta Loma, Ca.
Placentia, Ca.
Fullerton, Ca.
My Own Sick Head, Ca.

Four TV shows I love:


The Twilight Zone
The Real World
History Channel
Discover Channel


Four places I’ve vacationed / Who’s Almost 30 But Has Never Left The Continental United States Except For The million trips to Mexico...

Austin, Texas
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Park City, Utah
Fullerton, California

Four of my favorite dishes:

Bud Light
Pickles
Olives
Processed Meat

Four sites I visit daily:

Fat Free Milk
Golden Fiddle
Things Overheard In New York
Newsarama.com

Six places I would rather be right now:

Downtown Sante Fe, New Mexico
Echo Station, Hoth
Market City In Austin, Texas
The Tower Of High Sorcery At Palanthus, Krynn
Brooklyn, New York
Wayne Manor, Gotham City

Four bloggers I’m tagging/slightly alienating:

Wil Wheaton
Warren Ellis
Kevynn Malone
Maddox Jollie Pitt

Dear MY COMPUTER,



I’m glad that you’re feeling better now and that the nice man fixed you. You’d been gone for a long time and I was starting to get worried. At first I was lonely, but then, as time passed – I realized how much more I was reading and then didn’t really miss you as much. I realized that you were a leech and like a technological equivalent of a fat bag of weed on a coffee table.

You are a tool of convenience, MY COMPUTER. Nothing more. Effective immediately, I will not talk to you, I will not play with you or shoot the shit with you. I will USE YOU for email, writing assignments, eBay, iTunes, Fat Free Milk and for porn. That’s it.

Thank you.

Kevynn Malone

Four Year Old Niece Says To me...

Her - Say, "Ow, my hip!"

Me - Ow. My hip.

Her - You're not hip. You're old.

Like Fallujah Mortar Fire...

I have a farting problem.

I honestly think that there's something’s wrong with me.

I’m scared.

What if my ass pops?

Percent Daily Values Are Based On A 2,000 Calorie Diet...

I hate feeling nostalgic.
I remember when I was younger, and I didn’t hate nostalgia so much.
Man...those were the days.

Teddy Roosevelt said:



"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause, who at best knows achievement and who at the worst if he fails at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

And my worthy cause will be to get very drunk tonight.

Thank you, Teddy. *clink*

Reverse Medusa Meets The Man With The Achilles Brain...

Girl cut me off this morning. My car almost slammed into hers. I started cursing at her and ended up at the same light as her. She was going to make a right at the light and I was going to go straight.

Her window starts to go down. I start to get excited because I think that for some reason, she’s going to say something to me. Yell at me. Why? I don’t know – but I’m about to whip up a verbal shit-storm when –

I see her and…she’s really pretty.

Doink.

And she says, “Excuse me. Do you know where I can find Chapman Street?”

And do you know what I did? What I said to this distracted, horrible bitch of a driver that only seconds before had put my well-being and maybe my whole life in jeopardy?

You got that right. I totally changed in an instant.

Before I knew what was happening, a big smile crept up on my face, my voice changed and I became very, very helpful. I even apologized because I couldn’t give her better directions.

Yeah. (sigh)

Now...there’s nothing wrong with me. This is wrong with all of us. You, me and everybody, dogs and cats included too.

Pretty people get away with EVERYTHING.

And we let them.
We run faster to help them.
We pretend we’re interested in what they’re saying.
We marry them.
We have kids with them.
We watch movies with them in it.
We let them cut through us with fiery swords.
We let them walk all over us.
We let them into our lives and we love it.

We let them.

Yes, we do.

And I must not be that pretty then...because people give me shit all of the time.

In Da Office. Word Up, Sucka.

I am doing so much nothing today that it's messing up my shit.

The Slow Assassination Of Kevynn Malone...

I swear to Zeus that the girlfriend and the various domesticated animals in the house have conspired to not ever let me have a proper sleep. I'm an insomniac, Restless Leg-syndrome Nerd, and all together Mr. Nightmare-sweaty-scream-in-your-sleep anyway, but...how many times can a guy be woken up when he's savoring that last two hours before he has to get up?

Throw a pillow by my head?
Fucking cats using my head as a Twister mat?
Dog burrowing in the sheets Like Cheney does for Oil?
Landlady measuring windows outside?
Girlfriend deciding to ask me questions? Now?

I AM ASLEEP.

Was, actually.

It's hard enough to get anything that mimics human speech patterns when I'm awake.
When I'm asleep? You get what it sounds like when live baby piglets get thrown in campfires...

Go away and let me be Jabba The Hutt.

Fuckers.

The Sky Looks ILM Fake...

he checks his pockets for scraps of paper
he swears he had things to do
but there were no papers

so now what
he thought
what am I missing

will these things
hit me in the head when I'm at home
will I have to get back up

are they that important

no
no no no

out of sight
out of mind
or out of mind
out of sight

no

no no no

ATTENTION:

Men over 40 that wear colognes that smell like fish, ass, grass and the cigarette smoke of dive bars?

STOP IT. Thank you.


Also, I earlier had put my half-eaten submarine sandwich in the office fridge. Later on, I went back to grab a Coke and noticed that the whole fridge now smelled like my sandwich. I wondered if anybody had taken something of theirs out of the fridge and then were grossed out by the now over-powering smell of my Sub.

I felt like I had just silently farted in a crowded elevator.

At Least They Have Jillian Barberie...

You wake up this morning from having horrible nightmares to Kevin Federline being interviewed on The Fox Channel. You try to go back to the nightmares. The day can only get better.

1,2,1,2,3,4
[whistle]...


It's kind of funny.

I've been bored at work and reading, reading, reading various crap on the internet.

I think to myself, "I should write something, but then I'll have to go back to Blogger, type in my password, wait, and then blah, blah, blah, It takes too much time."

So I go to Blogger anyways and...Oh shit - DON'T have to type in my password because last time I was on it, I checked the little box that asked if it wanted it to remember me. Which, apparently, I guess it did.

And so there I was with a blank space in front of me, no delays, everything that I complained about in my head didn't exist and...so I typed...this.

This?

Hmmm...It's kind of like somebody giving you a free pass to Disneyland, but then when you ride the Tea Cups - you shit your pants.

The White Mountains...

The phones are acting weird today. Calls disconnect. I can hear a click when I get on the phone – kind of like somebody else is getting on the line right after me. There is also a faint hum in the background that I never noticed before. The computer’s are sluggish and I can see the silhouettes of shuffling feet from beneath the door, but every time I yank it open, there’s nobody there.

When you drive home tonight – watch out, try to keep your eye in the sky, avoid being tailed, lock your doors and turn out the lights when you get home.

My Car Smells Like Cat Pee Too...

It’d be convenient if I had a computer attached to my head. Then I could write about stuff while it was happening instead of sporadically firing away when time allowed.

But considering how much I fall down when I’m drinking – I guess my Head-Computer would be broken a lot.

I also never carry eggs or light bulbs in my pockets for this reason also.