Man Killed The Dodo And The Dodo Killed Man...

For every ten psychotic thoughts
I have one moment of clarity

For each bone that I break
A muscle will get stronger

Today
When bored and dull
Tonight
My dreams will become lucid

Mirthless socially
Clever in my own head

I am the earth-quaking stompings
Of a million giants with ADD
And Restless Leg Syndrome

I am a creature not stirring
I am a quiet mouse

I am continous smoldering embers
And the Napalm of Dante's Inferno

I am the sun, the moon and the stars

Eventually killed by Avian Bird Flu

Bye, little girl...I'll miss you.

how much
is too little
to make
that big of a deal of

when a big thing
that seems so small
in the grand scheme of things
gets taken away from you
are you being
selfish
unrealistic
do you straighten up
wipe your misty eyes with your wrist
or do you swim with it

when something withers

does somebody hear the tree fall in your heart

I like to shut off certain aspects
of my emotions because
I am either too old
tired
or have already
worked it around in my head

been there
done that
felt that

everything acknowledged
not forgotten
but no need to be an emotional CUTTER

scars heal
scars remain, though

everything’s just tragic
and always beautifully overlooked

everything is nothing
and sometimes
my little
nothings
mean
everything
to me

Rest in peace, "60"

Love, Kevynn

Chico...

My dog smells like a baby.

A baby who shit his pants.

Citron This...

There's something wrong about accidentally finding a bottle of vodka in your cupboard.

It's kind of like The Gods on Mount Olympus chucking down ice cream cones to retarded, screaming fat kids.

(Maybe I shouldn't have written that out loud.)

So Much Hair On His Palms, He was Chewbacca's Hand Model...

Jesus, work is boring.

Last time I did anything this repetitive,
I was ten...and then couldn't touch it again for like, a week.

George Romero vs. Barbasol...

How come you never see zombies with facial hair?

or have I not been looking hard enough?

Hello, Mr. Poetry Bastard...

and so what do you do?
you try
you try to make it better
but nothing happens
the gods on Blog Olympus don't get back to you
rain
fire
silence
are all happening at once
now that I'm forgotten

serves you right
dumbass

for feeling comfortable

Kill Me Now, Please...

It'd be cheaper, at least. My fucking teeth are always cracking, my goddamn bones are always breaking, my eyes fucking suck, my knees are shot - Somebody just kick me dowm some fucking stairs already.

Fuck.

Found On "The Office" Website...

Kevin Malone
Thursday, January 19th, 2006

"Kevin Malone, Accountant that is bald, over-weight, often scowls. Plays in a Steve Miller tribute band and is a very subdued man."

There's a guy named Kevin Malone on The Office?

I'm going to sue. He should be an Accountant that is balding, under-weight, often scowls. Plays in a POISON tribute band and is a very subdued man.

Walking After Work...

in the parking garage,
I had a hard time deciding
if it smelled like flowers
or urine.

Is this weird?

Brokeback Mountain: Starring Lenny And George From Of Mice And Men...



You know, I really wouldn't mind the whole-fuck-it-I'll-just-save-my-money-and-buy-a-small-piece-of-land-in-Colorado-or-Wyoming-and-live-on-a-ranch-thing.

A small place.

Open areas. Ominous clouds on the horizon. A couple of horses wearing sweaters.

A monkey ranch hand family to do all of the chores.

Zombies to help maintain the banana groves.

Pens of small children to feed to the zombies.

You know - nice. Peaceful.

Just a simple ranch filled with clothed horses, monkeys and zombies.

Relaxing.

Away from society.

A break from normal life.

I Need To Run My Remit Report And Get Out Of Here...

A birthday attack is a type of cryptographic attack which exploits the mathematics behind the birthday paradox, making use of a space-time tradeoff. Specifically, if a function yields any of n different outputs with equal probability and n is sufficiently large, then after evaluating the function for about different arguments we expect to have found a pair of different arguments x1 and x2 with f(x1) = f(x2), known as a collision. If the outputs of the function are distributed unevenly, then a collision can be found even faster (Bellare and Kohno, 2004).

Digital signatures can be susceptible to a birthday attack. A message m is typically signed by first computing f(m), where f is a cryptographic hash function, and then using some secret key to sign f(m). Suppose Alice wants to trick Bob into signing a fraudulent contract. Alice prepares a fair contract m and a fraudulent one m'. She then finds a number of positions where m can be changed without changing the meaning, such as inserting commas, empty lines, one versus two spaces after a sentence, replacing synonyms, etc. By combining these changes, she can create a huge number of variations on m which are all fair contracts. In a similar manner, she also creates a huge number of variations on the fraudulent contract m'. She then applies the hash function to all these variations until she finds a version of the fair contract and a version of the fraudulent contract which have the same hash value, f(m) = f(m'). She presents the fair version to Bob for signing. After Bob has signed, Alice takes the signature and attaches it to the fraudulent contract. This signature then "proves" that Bob signed the fraudulent contract.

To avoid this attack, the output length of the hash function used for a signature scheme can be chosen large enough so that the birthday attack becomes computationally infeasible, i.e. about twice as large as needed to prevent an ordinary brute force attack. It has also been recommended that Bob cosmetically modify any contract presented to him before signing. However, this does not solve the problem, because now Alice suspects Bob of attempting to use a birthday attack.

The birthday attack can also be used to speed up the computation of discrete logarithms. Suppose x and y are elements of some group and y is a power of x. We want to find the exponent of x that gives y. A birthday attack computes xr for many randomly chosen integers r and computes yx ? s for many randomly chosen integers s. After a while, a match will be found: xr = yx ? s which means y = xr + s.

If the group has n elements, then the naive method of trying out all exponents takes about n / 2 steps on average; the birthday attack is considerably faster and takes fewer than steps on average.

There are a lot of potential band names up above, me thinks.

Read On A Message Board Re: Zach Braff's Newest Directing Gig...

"Garden State was a cinematic pyrmaid scheme to get our people laid, between him matisyahu and larry david our perception has shifted to ridiculously wealthy, marijuana smoking ultra sensitive emotional sorcerers."

I can't stop reading this.

I don't know why. I think I love it, but am unsure...

Yo Te Llamo, Madre Cass...

I swear, the alcohol's eating away at my already-atrophied brain. Some mornings there are Word documents that I don't remember writing. Sometimes there are new desktop shortcuts. Sometimes I'll create a new blog that I always end up erasing.

Last week I found four pictures on my desktop of a naked woman that had to of weighed at least 800 pounds...

I'm hoping that I thought that the pictures were funny.

Seriously, because you never know about some people when they're drunk...

I Just Bought The Powers Definitive Hardcover And The DEMO Trade...

Anyway. Just read this on Warren Ellis' Bad Signal mailing list.

(I was reading older ones that I hadn't gotten around to. This might've been a month old)

This was about TV shows that he had recently checked out - and one review said:

LIFE ON MARS: wasn't as bad as I
was expecting. In fact, it was clever,
surreal stuff in places. The short
version is that a 2006 cop hit by
a car finds himself in 1973, and
still a cop. (The title refers to the
Bowie song, playing on his iPod in
2006 and on the eight-track
cassette in his car in 1973.) (I
believe there was a Japanese show
with a similar conceit a year or two
back.) 33 years extra knowledge
of criminology gives our boy a
certain edge, but the "polite" and
procedure-driven police service
training of 2006 is no bloody good
in 1973 Britain, when policing was
a lot different, a lot more ground-
level, more basic, and, yes, more
violent. John Simm, in the lead, is
a good actor, and Philip Glenister
is fine as his charmingly monstrous
boss Gene Hunt. Worth a go.

God, what a great fucking idea. I mean, it's not like fucking GOLD - but how rad is that, anyway?

I'd like to check it out, but my mind would be swarming while watching it and I'd ruin the whole experience for me. Much like I just did with my newly-purchased and soon-to-be-eBayed Ultimate Avengers DVD.

p.s. Does anybody know what the hell I'm typing about half the time? And even if you don't - do you mind?

Tuna.

Oops, sorry. I meant to say "goodbye".

Malone Shoots Fellow Hunter...



It sucks to be stuck
in a body
and not
be able
to just float around freely
like some kind of
creative Santa Claus

Some writers
are content
to treat the Internet
like sooty chimneys
but I can’t do this anymore

I can’t do the once a year thing
can’t do the whenever I get around to it thing

I am not a good writer
I am tolerable at best
you get the discounted coupon’s amount versus the overall cost

I am last year’s Tsunami
I am Katrina
I am slippery mudslides
I am city-leveling earthquakes
I am Nino
Nina
The Pinta
Fresca Soda
The SATAN Maria

I am Red Tides and methane emissions
I am Carbon Monoxide poisoning and Oxygen Bars combined

I am everything that killed the dinosaurs

I am the inevitable Avian Human Flu

My mind is the reverse SETI

I will constantly be searching for intelligent life at home in my brain

I want to NOT be the light that burns twice as bright burning half as long
I want to be the result of constantly splitting atoms

ALL THE TIME

I’m getting there

My Life As A Comic...



First time that I told jokes on stage was after high school in 1993. I was with friends at The Comedy Store in Los Angeles – I was only 18 years old at the time and got in with a fake ID that said that my name was Mario Fernando Jimenez and that I was 5 foot 6 inches, had short hair and lived in Anaheim. I had about four beers or so when the MC after the show said that an open mike night was going to start up and that you could sign in at the manager’s booth and –

No. Just kidding. The only stand up I’ve done has been everyday, reluctantly before work.

Ba Dum DUMB.

Anyway…

Seems that lately, not since the 90’s have previously deceased villains and defunct crime-fighting sidekicks been coming back to life in mainstream comic books.

We have Bucky Barnes, the once kid partner, coming back to haunt Captain America. I’ve noticed this because I’ve grown weak as of late and actually purchased some Captain America comics. I’ve always hated the Star Spangled Bastard. He represents everything that America stands for (e.g., ultimate gayness and lame dialogue and tepid stories that seem like they were written by our current administration.) Alien threats! Terrorism! (A.I.M.) The Red Skull! The Cosmic Cube grants unlimited power to its holder! Arrgghhh! Gee, Cap – don’t let the bad guys get it! Life as we know it could end! Wheeee!!!! Fart. Boring. Now that I look up at the beginning of this sentence, KID PARTNER of Captain America sounds kinda homo-suspicious doesn’t it?



Speaking of suspicious relationships – The once dead second Robin, The Boy Wonder is back now too. Remember? He was also a little boy who an older, sweaty man took as his ward. Yeah, he’s back – and nobody’s happier than Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne Manor loyal butler. That means that he can break out the old 8 MM camera again. (He was getting tired of watching all of those old reels of the both of them wrestling together in The Bat-Cave.)



Back from the dead. Now, whom else? Colossus. That big, old, metal-lookin’ Russian bastard from The X-Men. He died and came back too. He likes to draw. This means that he’s gay too.

Oh yeah – Spiderman also! Yeah, of course you don’t know that he died because you actually have a life…no…wait – no, you don’t. Here I was going to make fun of myself for getting all trapped up in soap operatic monthly episodes that sometimes deal with people that fly around and wear spandex – but YOU, yes YOU – watch TV, don’t you?
Yes. You do. And that shit is built for morons, so I take back what I was going to say. Shit, I’d rather help Wonder Woman try to find her invisible jet in the morning after a drunken night at Superman’s house than watch The George Lopez Show. Yeah, so Spidey’s back. He ain’t dead no mo’.

Hal Jordan, AKA Green Lantern – the guy who was named after an appliance. The guy who was lucky that he didn’t find a crashed alien that gave him the powers of The BROWN WASHBOARD. Yeah, he’s back too. I don’t like him either, yet I almost DID buy a comic of his today only because at the end of the story Batman tried on his Green Power Ring. The whole giving-in-to-peer-pressure that GL was giving BATS had a whole TRYING-REEFER-FOR-THE-FIRST-TIME aura to it. And…AND, check this out – I almost bought a variant cover of the issue. Variant issues are something that the comic book companies do to make you become an Uber-Geek and to further deplete your already-skimpy wallet. They might draw a different picture on the cover and only make a 1:10 ratio of it available. This means that you spent the same amount of money for something that is the exact same in the other, but same issue. Ten bucks or...let’s see? $2.50? Kids could spend the mark-up on booze. Talking about comics has never helped me get laid. Being a writer has. So, what if I were a comic book writer? Comic book writers need girlfriends. Not unless you’re into belly fat and scruffy beards with shards of Big Mac lettuce in them. Thank god that I have one. (A girlfriend – not a Big Mac.)

I heard that The Invisible Woman AKA the girl from The Fantastic Four is supposed to die soon. No big loss. Ay, now here’s the rub – I think that having an invisible wife would be great. Awesome, Fucking spectacular amazingly right-on – BUT…she’s actually supposed to be hot in the comics. If she was ugly, turning invisible while having sex would seem advantageous to both parties then, huh? You wouldn't have to get up to turn off the lights. AND Mister Fantastic does have ELASTIC powers too. Can you imagine that? Your ugly wife is watching Extreme: Home Makeover Edition in the living room and you don’t even have to get up out of your chair to have sex with her? Just stretch the ol' penis into the other room. Too bad you couldn’t erase her vocal cords either, though. I’d take a mute companion over an invisible one any day. But, do her invisibilty powers make it easy for her to cheat, though?

“Honey I called for you all day. For like, six hours and couldn’t find you!”

“Oh. Sorry dear. I was gardening naked while invisible in the backyard and had my iPod cranked up. I guess I didn’t hear you.”

Actually, who would need to cheat – when you could turn invisible? You could follow home sexy movie stars and just masturbate while standing on their bathroom counter.



The Vision died and came back, sort of like in a programmed/resurrected consciousness kind of way. He was an android from The Avengers who had a wife who turned crazy and it turns out that she imagined the whole thing and that they never actually had children anyway because she was Bat-Shit crazy. DUH. He’s a fucking robot. I’d imagine sex too if I was married to A TALKING DILDO.

Donna Troy was dead for like, a year or so and then she came back. Who cares? I’ve never read anything about her. I know that some super heroes were probably sad. And then happy again. Then she named her daughter Helenov, or something like that. (waiting for you to get the stupid joke)

Jean Grey/Marvel Girl/Phoenix comes back all the time.

Blue Beetle came back, but is supposed to be a different guy than Ted Kord. What kind of situation is this? How much of an effect does this have on the regular nerd? Would your reaction be like, a “oh my god – nobody could EVER replace Liberace!” or a “Why does Darren from Bewitched look kind of different – ah, who cares!” type-of-thing?



Firestorm died saving everybody from some big thing. Some other guy inherited his powers. Nobody reads about this guy either, so everything’s the same, so sit down, that-one-guy-in-Georgia-who-owns-his-every-appearance. SIT DOWN, NERD.

Speedball dies in the upcoming Marvel: Civil War and will inevitably be coming back sooner or (hopefully) later. The only people who care about this are the fidgety people who are parking your cars and stealing all of the change in your ashtray for their nights fix of Heroin and Coke.

Oh yeah, and Hawkeye. He’s an Avenger also, who shoots arrows and died. He’s been popping up all sly and Boogeyman-ish lately. So, he’s back. Hopefully, when I eventually land a comic book writing gig – I can have his arms and limbs amputated. And then I’ll write a whole 58 page comic special dealing with him trying to roll away as a Hawk tries to peck out his eyeballs.

Funny. I was going to write about people in my life that I never write about and it turned into this. I was going to give them codenames and everything. But this was funnier and unfortunately longer.

So this is what you get.

Whatever I was going to write about before is DEAD.

DISCO dead.

Those Def Jam Fighting Video Games Would Be Fun To Play...

I feel like a dork listening to Snoop in the office.
I will not nod my head to the music.
It just seems like it would look...wrong. Just wrong for me to do it.

Very THE OFFICE. Very guy listening to NWA in his car at the beginning of Office Space. Very...not the place to appreciate a good song. Maybe with friends and drinking, but...here?

Ugh. This place just reeks of THE WAVE:LOVE SONGS FROM THE COAST or whatever the hell that staion's called.

I need me some Kenny G or some of that John Tesh, nigga!

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...