If You Were To Die Right Now, How Would You Feel About Your Life?

Tyler Durden just said that. I asked Tyler what he was doing in my living room and he punched me in the face and told me to stop asking sissy questions. I spit out a tooth and said that I wished that he’d blow up all of the credit card company buildings in real life like he did in Fight Club, I could benefit from a little Project Mayhem to eradicate my credit history. Then he kicked me in the eye with his boot heel and said, Kevynn, you have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don’t need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don’t really need. We don’t have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression. We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them. I told him that he was scaring me, and then he grabbed me by the balls and dragged me into a corner of the room.

Right about that time – Charles Bukowski came into the room. He just walked on in, downed a can of Schlitz, crumpled it, and threw it towards the corner that Tyler and I were in. It bounced off of Tyler’s shaven head, and I thought that Tyler was going to beat him up, but Tyler just smiled, swatted Buk on the back as he walked on by, told him that he was a big fan, and that he loved Post Office, and then left.

I could hear noise coming from the fridge, and groaningly got up. Buk was already polishing off one of my beers. He stripped down to his boxers and asked me where all the goddamn real booze was. I told him that was all I had, and that did he really believe in a god? He grabbed another one of my beers, kicked off his shoes, and said, I have more faith in my plumber than I do the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing…and then he disappeared into my bathroom.

I shuffled over to the phone and was about to call 911, when there was a knock at the door. I didn’t want to answer it, so I peeped through the peephole. It was Frank Sinatra. Shit, it was Frank – so I opened the door. He looked great. Sharp. His pinky rings twinkled in the moonlight. I invited him in. He grabbed a seat by my fireplace and asked me how my bird was. I told him that I didn’t have any pets, except for a bunch of cats. He rolled his eyes and said, no, man – how’s your bird and pointed to my crotch. That confused the hell out of me. Why was Frank Sinatra asking about my dick? So, I just told him that my bird was flying around. That seemed to please him immensely. I relaxed a little. Frank was pleased. I was pleased. Maybe Frank could swing me a room in Vegas? Bukowski came out and stank up the whole place. He grabbed another one of my beers and then sat down at my computer. All of my cats instantly congregated around his feet and purred. He asked if I had any decent classical music in the place. I looked at Frank. He nodded slightly, and I tuned the radio to a station that Buk seemed to not mind. Frank asked me how everything else was goin’. I said that I guess that everything else was okay, nothing that exciting. He said that it was good to not be one of those complicated, mixed-up cats looking for the secret to life… just to go on from day to day, and to take what comes…

That seemed to make sense to me. I politely excused myself and told Frank that I thought that I needed to spit out a couple more teeth; did he want me to pick him up some stuff for martinis, or get him some whisky? He told me that he was okay for now, he was waiting for Ava . I got the feeling that he’d be there for a long time, and I left out through the front door to wiggle my loose teeth around. Tyler was in the parking lot of the park across the street, fighting somebody. I didn’t want to attract his attention because I was afraid he’d tell me to duke it out with a Puerto Rican busboy. But I ended up walking over to him. Something was bugging me. I needed to tell him something.

He just got finished, and was wiping blood out of his eyes with the heel of his palms.

What do you want, Malone?
You want me to take you shopping or something?
Do you want me to politely ask the world to get off your back?
Are you finally sick of your life;
are you ready to sacrifice everything
to become the type of person that you’re supposed to be?

No, not really, Tyler. I just wanted to answer your question.

What fucking question, Malone?

"If you were to die right now, how would you feel about your life?"

Yeah…and...?

I’d feel fine.

Excelsior!...

Check out Hard's post about Boomp! Brpppttt! Bomp! Bomp! at The Hard Life.

Yup.

Nerd Support...

How the hell does one increase their virtual memory on Windows XP, damnit?
If the little boy can't play his game properly, then little boy ain't happy.
Then you ain't happy.
Then I get bored and write stuff like this,
or start throwing heavy objects at your crotch.

Tell me now, you cow...

Aunt Beru, Uncle Owen, And Carnie Wilson Nude Pics...

Real quick. Sunday night I got out of the bar early. Wow. Met friends at another bar for drinks, kept one friend out too late who shoulda been home to wake up early for work. I buy him a shot when he starts to look tired because I'm evil. Bartender poured himself a shot when I ordered it and was waiting for me to take mine. I told him that I wouldn't drink the crap, it wasn't for me. He gave me the finger and walked away. Then at my friend's house I watched all of the other friends drunkenly taking running jumps into a huge pile of those big orange road construction pole thingies. They started to throw them around into the street like the responsible twenty-somethings that they are. I thought that it was really funny, then thought that it was only a matter of time before they got hauled away by the coppers considering my friend lives down the street from the P.D. Yeah, right down the street. So I ran downstairs to clean up their mess. My friends ran upstairs when I ran downstairs. I was thinking that with my luck - I'd end up getting blamed for the whole deal. Surprisingly, nothing happened to me. Weird.

One friend poured a bunch of water on me - the ho bag. I opened up my friend's desk in the apartment and threw all of his pens, pencils and matchbooks all over the apartment. It was fun. Next time, I'll buy some more pens of my own, so that I have more to throw. I watched the water throwing ho bag hump one of those construction sandwich board blinking like doo dads that another friend took upstairs with him. I eventually went home when the drunks got tired.

I got in an argument with the gal friend. That lasted until daylight, so I slept through a lot of the morning, which meant that I missed my counseling - I mean, counselors appt. at the college. Cat peed on the bed. Did laundry. Went to the video store. Toys R Us. Bought crayons at Target. Went to comic book store and asked the comic book owner guy about a copy of Fantastic Four #49 that I saw in a pawn shop the other day. He got really excited about it and told me to buy it. I felt like a nerd. I don't think I'll buy it; the one that's worth a lot of money is the one before it. Super dork, yup. Called gal friend on payphone (Yup, pay phone) and asked her to a movie. Saw the piratey movie. Liked the piratey movie. Am going to trade my gal friend for Keira Knightley. Sorry, gal friend. I hated the three. Yes, three baby-toting couples that were in the theater at the time. I will tell you this - if I ever see another baby in a theater, I will pluck em' from your arms and chuck it out the emergency exit door. I'm sorry - but fuck off. Parents should not be allowed to ever try to have fun when I'm around. Especially when I'm trying to figure out what the hell Johnny Depp is mumbling.

I came home and relaxed, did nothing productive, went out in the backyard and thought about watering the backyard. Twenty minutes later - it started to rain hard. I should've thought about a million bucks. The gods answering water-based wishes only works in the favor of drought-stricken farmers and Indians. Huh?

I forgot what else I did today, and now I'm pissed because it's getting late and I'm getting hungry again. Didn't I just eat? I hate eating. Blah. Nutrients, my arse. Have a good day today. I'll be working...bringing food to people's tables, thinking about comic books, writing the great American novel, and cat pee.

Good night, Keira.
Good night, folks.
Good night, Bob Hope.

Lava Soap...

Watching Taxicab Confessions on TV makes me feel dirty.
You dont ever emerge from a viewing with an elevated sense of respect for humanity, either.
Yes, exactly like the mall.
Yes, exactly like going to the fair.
Yes, exactly like going to Toy's R' Us in the bad section of town.
Yes, exactly like reading this site...

Sorry...

Man, Oh man - I just did something that smelled really bad...

It's Just Wrong...

To have to go to a friend's birthday dinner in Seal Beach.
Especially when it's expensive.
Especially when it's far away.
Especially when there's no actual seals at that beach.

I Do Not Like Computers Anymore. Nope...

Yes, I am staying up to watch Angela Jolie on Carson Daly.
Carson Daly is hot, isn't he?

George Jefferson And Wheezy...

When I was much younger than I am today, I used to think that if I concentrated hard enough - my latent telekinetic powers would emerge. I thought that the problem was that I just wasn't concentrating. If I could just focus, then that fucking thing on the desk would move like I wanted it to. I hoped that I wasn't really a madman, that all of the crazy thoughts that I had in my head were normal. But how could they be? I thought of some really sick stuff. I was scared that somebody would be able to read my mind. Sometimes, I'd look around the room and see if anybody was looking at me with a look of abject terror on their face. I lived in fear of somebody finding out all of my deep, dark secrets. I had my head in the clouds more than on planet Crap-Earth. I would catch myself talking out loud based on whatever day dreaming scenario I had cooked up in my tiny, little brain. Sometimes whatever I was thinking showed up on my face. People would ask me what was wrong - I usually wouldn't know what to say because I wasn't even aware what I was thinking was evident. Fantasy worlds know no boundaries. I never wanted certain books to end. I would conduct interviews with myself. I could imagine the cameras, and how I would look on the TV. I humped things a lot when I was younger. Bed posts, basketball poles, anything taller than me. Try to pass off that shit to your older brother after they walk into the room. I used to spend hours playing with my Star Wars figures, and if I was feeling particularly ambitious - I'd try to set em' all up on a big ol' chalkboard that I had. It takes a long time to make all of your limber figures stand up at the same time without falling over. My nerves sucked even back then. It was hard. These sessions usually ended whenever my brother came in, because he'd pretend to accidentally knock them over. What's worse? Him coming into the room when I was humping my bedpost, or when setting up my Star Wars figures? Then, I'd say the figures. Now, I say the Star Wars. Cuz' that's just plain wrong. It's not like dominoes, the games over once they're all knocked over. Young boys can always find something else to hump. Wait; am I talking about my early years, or the nineties? Shhh...shut up, myself. Yeah, you heard me, me.

I'm getting older. Yeah, I know - you're older than me. Blah. Lick it. You have your life, and I have mine. I'm finally hearing the ticks of the clock that I've noticed in the background - but now, they're getting louder. It's hard enough to appreciate something that you just saw a second ago, let alone trying to keep up with the pace of your day. I don't know what that meant, but that's okay. I think I lost track of where this was going, but it wasn't supposed to go anywhere in the first place. It doesn't matter. I gave up a long time ago trying to solve things through verbose definitions, I gave up trying to make marks, I gave up trying to get it all down. I haven't developed a sense of apathy - I just got tired of running in circles. It's all been said before anyway, and better.

Now that I'm older - I'm more apt to save my breath...

Young Kid To Me In The Comic Book Section At The Library Today...

You like comic books?

Yeah. I've read a lot of these, though.

How old are you?

( I concentrated harder on the titles of the comic books in front of me, because I didn't want to see the look of astonishment on his face when i said... )

Twenty-Eight...

...Yeah, I like comic books too. You wanna see what I got already? I just checked it out.

Sure...wow, that's cool. I like Spider-Man. He's probably my favorite.

Really? That's funny cuz' you look like Peter Parker...just taller.

Looks Like Lex Luthor. Writes Like Gandhi. Or Was It The Other Way Around?...

Everyone visit The Hard Artist. Tell him that you love him.
And, no...his site has nothing to do with guys that paint
with their penises instead of brushes...

One Word...

The mall is a poor substitute for the movies. By the time that I recovered from my bartending madness, it was too late for me to seriously consider anything that required effort. Yes, going to the movies was too much for me when I woke up. By the time that I got it all together, and the girlfriend was so sweet to make me a sandwich, and by the time that I got distracted by the Woody Allen movie, and I watched it even though that he's a pervert, and fucked over Diane Keaton, no, wait-that was Mia Farrow, right? And he used to take naked pictures of his adopted daughter and then he married her right? Anyway, it was a good movie. I didn't mean to watch the whole thing, but even though he's a freak - it was very clever, and I like how he writes himself into movies, and he's always the romantic interest even though that, sometimes his wife / gal is hot - but I guess that I would do the same thing too. I fogot what I was going to say, but I need to disconnect this computre because it's going to the doctoe tomorrow. I'm not really that priveliged. I can't write on this anywhere else. I wish that i could write again on the notebooks with blue ink. Ny stuff was better than, and it made a lot more sense. But I used to write for a couple of magazines and al i got was hate mail anyway. No, not really. Actually, some people sent me action figures and money. that was nice.

So. I went to the mall instead of the movies. I fucking hate the mall. I haven't been there in awhile. there were a bunch of new restaurants. Wow. Young girls. No comment. I was only there to get a new battery in my punk rock watch and to have them take three links out of my grown-up watch. My wrists are little boy wrists, so the grown-up watch never fit. Mission acconplished. Then I bought a shirt that I shouldnt've bought. No spell check.

End of story.

But Everytime I Pin Down What I Think I Want, It Slips Away - The Ghost Slips Away...

So many things to do today.
Write and call people.
Fix the damn computer thingy.
Pay bills.
Mail in rebates.
Finsh the cartoon script.
Finish something.

But, I don't know...going to the air-conditioned movies,
and enjoying all of the candy and cokes that you hid in your pockets sounds great to me.

" F " all of that other stuff.

Fitter. Happier. More Productive...

Mrs. Computer, I was very disappointed in you today. Why won't you do what I want? All I want to do is play a videogame. Is that so wrong? I don't have to be married to you for 45 years to know your wants, do I? If you're hungry, shouldn't it be simple for me to feed you? Why can't I be your pusher-man? Why won't you tell me what you need? I'll get it for you. I love you. All I want to do is take care of you. Can we make this work? Tonight, when I was installing new RAM and a new video card - I saw a part of you that I've never seen before. You showed me your soul. It was like I could see through you. I'm sorry. We'll talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep and can approach this problem with a clear head.

I love you.

(Coughs and mutters under breath)

Bitch.

Just Letting You Know...

Rum is nasty.

WARNING: People Who Have Had Photosensitive Seizures, ( A Seizure Reportedly Induced By Flashing Lights Or Patterns ) , Or other Symptoms From Being Photosensitive, Should Not Play This Game Without First Seeing A Doctor...

Okay, enough of that crud. I was really going to take a week off and focus on the cartoony scripty thingy, but progress has been slow kiddies. I need to clean the dirt out of my ears. I can't help it. This isn't even real writing. This is like kind of like writing, but it doesn't entirely qualify. It's like being a professional dancer at Disneyland. Yeah, you get a paycheck and all, and maybe you throw your heart into it - but it isn't really like you're dancing on Broadway, is it? What the hell did that mean? Broadway? Paid? I don't get paid for this claptrap. Blaargh, maybe I really should stick to taking a week off. I’m all frustrated too, because I got the new Star Wars Galaxies Geek game, and after all of the initial excitement, downloading, and whatnot, I found out the fucking thing won't work on my computer. I need to get a new video card and to increase my RAM. I was up till three trying to figure out a bunch of crap that I really don't know much about - and by the time I was ready to go to bed - I was ready to ram the game up George Lucas' arse.

It's not too hot right now, and I'm on beer number three. Money crud is getting so burdensome, that I'm probably going to have to ditch a couple of shifts at work and work for my friend who does contracting. Two to three hundred bucks for a couple of day’s worth of manual labor? Sold. I'd rather shovel a bunch of concrete around in the hot sun with my weak-ass body than have to talk to people anyway. And I might get to eat off of a Roach Coach, smoke a lot of cigarettes, ruin my back to compliment my fucked up knees and still-recovering gimpy broken ankle, and I'll get to whistle at women that walk by.

Sounds good to me, Bubba.

While I Work On A Cartoony Scripty Thingy - Celebrate Customer Appreciation Week...

cheeks
panjan
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boz
true
marci
boredhowi
paul
melissa
pam
don
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1 of 6
bing
kirk
nedra zeal
ang
anna
jennifer
rosa
saara monk
petey
stacey
deev
mott
shanti
pee
lf jeebus
auntie sarah
spig
jimbo
chez
undie
h
gina
br
sass
kyle
jen
lauren
prose
anti
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lori
raymi
grrl
nessa
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danee
mad
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jr
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chop
nev

He Will Bring Balance To The Force...

Ummm...sometimes I get drunk and write things on here that make no sense.
Well, they make no sense more than usual. Huh?
So, sometimes I read them in the morning and have to erase them.
Cuz' sometimes, the writing blows Hardy Boys hard.
What?
Take a nap, boy.
Okay, pop.

The Spice Mines Of Kessel...

Fucking shit balls.
Joe just got Star Wars Galaxies.
I'm jealous. I want that game.
I know that it sounds all super nerdy, but I don't care.
It's cool, so lick it. I just may have to go over to his house.
Than I'll chop off his head and take the game.
That, and his beatles CD's.

Chris Is Queer - I Mean, Here...

I don't really have much to say. I've been itching my right eye. Now it's all red. Combine that with my sick-ass light brown eye on the left and I look like I've been shot in the head. We have to go to Courtney's house at 9:30. My friends start everything late. I think I'll show up later than everybody else. I'm tired. I watched Punch Drunk Love. I liked it. I'm drinking a beer. I like it also. I drink a lot of beer. I feel no guilt. The new Spider-Man cartoon is going to be on MTV tonight. I feel a tingle in my crotch area.

Damn Harpies Keep On Stealing My Food...

Now this is just getting ridiculous.
Time? What the hell?
Why you frontin?
Being all gangsta' and shit,
robbin' me?
I'm gonna bust a cap in yo' ass.
Leave me alone.
Why the hell is it so late?

Give it up, bitch.

Arf! Arf!...

Damn, how does one relax in the heat?
I know it's hotter in other places, so I'm not going to whine.
A beer, a breeze, mellow music,
and some comics in the backyard sound good to me right now.
And I'm not talking about David Cross and Carrot Top.
I meant, COMIC BOOKS.

She Wasn’t That Hot – But Had Nice Titles…

Ashing out my smoke, outside - I spit on the table by accident. That kinda sucks, but these things happen. 60, the outside, sometimes inside cat, jumps on my thigh. Claws. Fucking ouch. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Me OW!, indeed. One of the things that sucks about these summer nights has nothing to do with Danny or Sandy, it has everything to do with how quickly one's beer goes warm. For those of us who are wusses, and can't stomach the likes of Guinness, various stouts, and lagers, etc...it don't make fo' no fast beer drinkin'.

Today will be shuffled off and filed away, never to be seen for years. Uncovered by historians, librarians, heads of estates, or aliens studying what the hell happened years and years from now. The editors will glance it over, and chuck it - thinking that it slows down the narrative pace. I'm cool with that. I understand. No hard feelings - just make sure that you don't let them use my image in a Coors Light or Vacuum cleaner commercial. That's just plain wrong.

Kitty on my back right now. Not a monkey, thank god. I guess I do have some monkeys; they must be invisible, though. And I guess that they're not too heavy, and I guess that they don't smell too bad, because usually I can't tell that they're even there. I can deal with invisible monkeys on my back, little kitties are the coolest - I just wish that they’d remain small. But, then...our parents probably said the same of us when we were small, didn't they? And where would we be if we were still five years old?

Taking dumps in sand boxes, eating kibble, and meowing too loudly, ergh?

Oh, wait...some of us still do that...

What's Wrong?...

I’m just tired…is one of the biggest, lying statements ever used.
Pay attention next time that somebody busts that out as a response,
and realize that it’s quick and easy, used a lot, and means absolutely nothing, right?
They're just tired. Nothing's wrong, yeah? Bullshit. It means something.
It means that you’re not really telling the truth. Pay attention. I do it all the time……

Pussy...

Was under the car in the driveway. My girlfriend found him. Now he is in the bathroom. Little pussy is meowing loudly once every two seconds. Pussy is cute, but pussy is driving me nuts. Pussy will have to be bathed and picked of fleas tomorrow. Then pussy can roam about the house freely. Does anybody want some cute, furry, young pussy?