Madonna Kissing Britney Spears...

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aboutduringThehotand messydayIsNothingmore
thanthat……Justbusiness…MyheartProblemsneardreams
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APARTMENTFRIENDSFROMWINDOWSVISITORSCOMPUTERCONVERSATIONS
WITHFRIENDSYOUWORKWITHCOMINGHOMETOAFRIENDALREADYINYOUR APT.
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( I erased the majority of this post. Sorry. Thanks to those who commented. That was really nice of you. I don't know, I don't really care about putting super-duper personal stuff on here. It doesn't bug me. I'll write whatever I want, but it kept on nagging at me in the back of my mind - so there. Yup. )

Five Dollar Boom Boom...

My mom's from Vietnam. Yup, I'm first-generation-born-somewhere-other-than-that-place-guy. My older brother was born there too. Why don't we have the obligatory X-Men-Cyclops eyes? Don't know. Don't care. I always look tired anyways, so it doesn't make much of a difference in the long run. I had a bad mother. She's nice and all, but sucks in a lot of departments when it comes down to the final inventory. No big deal. No bad feelings. No skin off of the Irish-Vietnamese back. Tonight at the bar, I was engaging in some type of conversation that I thought was important, when I heard my name being called...There was a small, smiling lady selling something. With my bad vision, I thought that it was roses. But it wasn't. She was lugging around a wooden display case full of bracelets. That was probably why the lady was brought to my attention. I'm one of the only guys left with a girlfriend. So everybody was directing the lady towards me. Nobody wanted anything. The bracelets were okay. Nothing special. What was special was that I bought one. That she was smiling, even though that she had to try to sell cheap trinkets of homemade beauty to a bunch or worthless kids. What was special was that she always had a smile on her face. What was special was that I could hear people making racist comments behind her back, even though two of them were black. What was special was that she danced to the live band that was playing as she left the bar. The only money that she had was what I gave her. She danced away with a smile on her face as people made fun of her. These are the same people who probably made fun of my mother years ago when she came to this country. The only reason that she was here, and the only reason that I exist is because she met a handsome white guy. A guy that gave up the job that he loved to shack up and do the nasty with a beautiful girl. Nothing mattered. All that my father wanted was what was best for the both of them. They asked why I bought the cheap bracelet. I half-joked that I was watching out for my own. I told them that that was my mother who just left. They said, why, because she was Vietnamese?

I said no...because she was a person, you fucking idiots.

Ya' Flea Bittin' Varmit!...

Watching Bugs Bunny cartoons.
Wondering why Yosemite Sam was always such a dick.
Bugs Bunny could drive you nuts, though.
He's funny and all, but an ultimate smart ass.
The smug, buck-toothed bastard.

In a real street fight, Daffy'd kick his fluffy ass.

Roller City...

How come I'm not winding down with a movie and eating that pizza in the fridge? Why am I not getting some much-needed sleep after a long, boring night serving drinks to drunks? I've got a big day tomorrow/today involving fixing up cars, tow trucks, money, getting tattoos, more late-night bartending, and Star Wars figure trades. Yeah, you heard me, Bubba. What am I doing?

I don't know, Pa. I don't know why I have trouble sleeping. I don't know why I can't graze like the rest of the herd. Life is strange. Always has been. Getting older, my movie audience is getting younger, though. It's kind of...creepy. Sometimes I feel like I'm still at a roller skating birthday party, with all of the flashing, fucked-up lights going around and around, as I, myself, go round and around, making myself feel even dizzier. The skates on my feet are metal, heavy, and clumsy. I lost one of them somewhere, and I have to keep one of my legs up very high, and sway from side to side, so that I don't fall. It's kind of tiring. I don't even know how I got invited, anyway. Nobody's paying attention to me. I always feel like I'm tagging along, and when everybody else stops to take a break, and maybe get something to eat - I'm too poor to buy anything.

When I slow skate with the girls, they don't look at me. I feel that they secretly wanted to be with someone else. Before the last note of the song, they're already gone, rolling away on brand new, un-rented pink and purple skates. Before I know it, the DJ's already called the last dance, and it's all over. I end up waiting alone in a dirty parking lot for my father. Everybody else piles into mini vans piloted by young-looking mothers. Sometimes there are five or six kids leaving together in the same car. Nobody asks me where I'm going. Finally, about an hour later, my angry father pulls up. I'm the last kid in the parking lot. My feet hurt on the ride back home. My father doesn't ask me how it was. He doesn't ask if I had fun. He doesn't ask anything. He just guns his creaking van back to our oil-stained driveway. He's already in the house by the time I get out of the car. I walk past my older brothers room. He slams the door. I'm back in my room. There's nothing much in there. No posters on the walls to look at. One shelf for toys. Two windows. The night. And silence...

I Hear Pat Benetar...

It's getting harder and harder to finish books.
It's getting harder to write important stuff.
Maybe I've been reading and writing crap, urm?

This Is What I Sang All Night...

We Like The Moon.

Give Me The Crotch, Piggy...

After a night of poker playing. Poker-NOT-playing, I should say. After a night of poker playing, more sleep and a movie sounds good. LIfe IS Beautiful with the Italian Pinnochio idiot, The Hours with hot Nicole Kidman with Robert Deniro's nose on, and Pi by that Darren Aronofsky guy. My head is fuzzy, I can't concentrate. One day, I'll have something brilliant to say. One day...

Wanna Bet?

That I suck at poker?
Really?

You win.

Social Roulette...

You ever have one of those days or nights where everything that everybody says is wrong? Or have you ever felt so fucking alienated once the words start falling out of people's mouths? I'm sorry for ranting. I'm tired and am ignoring conversations behind me. Sometimes staying home isn't so bad. Just make sure that If you go out, that nobody follows you home. Don't pick up hitchhikers. Don't talk to strangers. Candy is a no-no. I feel dead sometimes., and part of it may be your fault. Maybe I need to book a flight and crash it, so that I can wake up on a desolate island. I spend half of my time nodding my head to conversations that bore the hell out of me or that sound like a fucking prescooler uttered them. Catch me in a better mood, and I'll be able to explain. But seriously, there was nothing tonight that interested me. I was on the red carpet all night. Some nights are good. Some are bad. Tonight was crap. The older I get, the quieter I become, because this means the less I'll have to say in response to all of the shit that you're slinging to me. Le Sigh. Le Who Cares. At least for now anyway. Who needs sleeping pills when you have conversation? I'm an idiot surrounded in a world by bigger idiots. Le idiotic. Le sigh again. Sorry to bum you out. This weekend we should all cut out our tongues, but then more people would write, and if they did - it'd probably be exactly like this. Le boring. Le done.

No Spellcheck.

Title...

I drove by a horrible car accident in front of the local college today. Traffic was reduced to a crawl as a team of cops directed all of the cars. As I was waiting in line, I stole glances at the crash scene. The front end of a Dark Green Mercedes was crumpled and smashed up. It looked like a discarded snot rag. There was a blue black rubbery sheet thing draped over what looked like a body to me. I couldn't tell if I saw blood, and I might've seen a couple of pink fingers not totally covered by the tarp thing, and then I was past it.

Five seconds after that,
as I was making my way up the street,
I saw a girl waiting to use a crosswalk,
who had the biggest pair of breasts that I've ever seen,
and I slowly whispered to myself...

" Oh My God! "

Id, Ego, Han Solo, And Greedo...

I talked to my younger self today. He wanted to go outside and play. I told him that I was too tired. He asked me why. I said that I didn't know, maybe we could do something later. He's too smart for that; he could tell that I was lying. Shit, he's me - we can spot that shit a mile away. We grew up together, c'mon. Later, after I had rested a bit, he sat down next to me while I was at the computer. He asked me what I was doing. I told myself that I didn't know, just cruisin' around, I guess. Reading some things, checking my site, and others. He told me that it didn't sound like much fun, why don't I play a video game or something? I told him that I might later. He slumped back in his chair, bored. I felt kind of bad, I mean - maybe I should've entertained him. We haven't seen each other in a while, we don't talk as much as we used to. I asked if he wanted anything to drink, a soda, or some Kool-Aid, or something. He said that a beer would be nice. I told him to fuck off, that he was too young to drink. He told me that I was too, and that I should fuck off too. I told him, fine then, you fucker - why don't you go in the fridge and get one, and then grab me one while you're at it - He got up, came back and gave me a Bud. He had a water. I asked him why didn't he grab a beer? He said that he liked his brain cells vibrant, thank you very much and that water was better for him. He was aiming to live to a ripe old age. I told him that he was a smart ass. He said...smart? Yes. An ass? Sometimes. But that I was a dumbass. I said, okay, then you little fucker. You little fucking know-it-all, why the attitude? You're supposed to be on my side. You're the younger me.

He said because you never call me, you asshole.

And then he kicked me in the nose and left...

Oh, And I'm Totally Not Kidding...

A little kid just rang my doorbell and asked if a Mr. Ohm lived here. I said no. Then he asked if I'd lost any hamsters. What the hell? This is by far the weirdest and funniest thing ever. Hamsters? What the hell is that? I'm serious, he actually asked if I'd lost any hamsters? Does he know something about me that I'm not telling? Hamsters? That would of been great if I answered the door naked and with a greased up tube in my hand. Wow, it would've been my lucky day...

Hamsters. I'm serious.

Forget All That Action...

Somebody please kill today, because it sucked serious monkey goolies.

Attack Of The Clones...

Somebody kill all MTV pop stars, please...oh and tone-deaf hip-hop artists too.

Who's That Trip-Trappin' Across My Bridge?...

I want those back East to know that I'm down for the cause, so I'm typing in the dark right now. I know that I'm using electricity, but it beats writing this, bathed in the soft, illuminating glow of a pig fat candle and sending this to Blogger by carrier pigeon. After I'm done typing this, I'm going to cook up some food on the barbecue while humming Led Zeppelin. Why Led Zeppelin? Don't know, Bugsy. See? Yeah, see? You're not gettin' me alive you lousy coppers! Here, have a lead sandwich! Bratta tatta bratta tat tat tat! Ugh. You dead.

Friends are coming over and I'm gonna tell some ghost stories, Frank's bringing over some Night Train and his new girlfriend who can spit fire and eat glass. She's very cool, I guess her parents were part of a commune, freak show thing back in the day, and taught her some tricks - but only after she was sixteen, Babies eatin' glass ain't too kosher. It would've been for me, if I was one of the parents. Less trash to take out. Hee. From what Frank's told me, she does more than eat glass and spit fire, IfyouknowwhatImean. Hee again.

What this world needs, in these dark times, is an army of as million Atticus Finchs. Fighting for justice. Bein' bad arse. Everybody's all...Boo Radley-ish. Go outside. Let's go surfing now, everybody's learning how. Your parents suck, flip em' the bird, and get the hell out of there as fast as you can. Just make sure to swipe as much money as you can before you go, otherwise, get used to wrapping your backpack straps around your arm so that the homeless guy next to you doesn't swipe your half bag of Cheetos and Mead notebooks full of late night rat scratchings. I remember being stranded in a bus stop out in Montclair, California and meeting a girl with the blondest hair and reddest lips in the world. I think that she invited me in the bathroom with her, but I was so young that I couldn't spot a sexual invitation from a road-travelling prostitute if it hit me in the crotch. She eventually stole my Soda, cigarettes, and lighter shaped like a girls breasts. The flame would come out of the left boob. I miss those boobies.

Frank just called. He said that he's running behind because his gal has to pick up her friend. I don't know her friend. Maybe she's a lion tamer. Then what? I should, maybe turn on the front porch light so that they don't think that I went somewhere. But they all know that we're gonna get drunk by the light of the moon and the glow of whatever the hell Frank's gal uses when she breathes her dragon stuff. Shit, when that Night Train comes, I'll be breathing fire too. I haven't had that stuff since I was in high school. Last time, I tried to rip a tree out of the ground. I failed. Me and my back. Hee once again.

I want those back East to know that I'm down with them in spirit. Don't hurt anybody, be nice, make babies. You have nothing else to do. Your TV's busted. You have to do something, right. Plug the significant other because the tube's unplugged. It's our own damn fault, lightning or not. We take things for granted, and are way too dependant on modern magics. Lets get back down to the stone age, baby. I wanna carve my initials with a spear tip on the hide of a Bison. I don't know. I want everything back to basics, but want beer involved. That's all. That's all I'll take with me. Bison and Bud Light. Yup.

Oh, and Night Train.

Protect your trees tonight, people...

Goodnight, static.

Hello, moon.

Poo...

I mean it.

Twat's That? I Cunt Hear You. I Have An Ear Infucktion...

Comments will be back up soon.
Haloscan is working on some issues.

Yeah, Haloscan - me too.

The Olson Twinge...

This damn kitty is going to jump on the keyboard - I know it. After I get back from bartending, I feel nothing. I barely drink - that's how out of it I feel. I come in, get out of my crappy tie, and check on the galfriend. I say hi to the cats. Look around the house for psychos, murderers, and hiding mormons, and usually look for something to eat - even though I'm not in the mood for anything. I turn on the computer and usually go through a quick version of my routine. I check my email, bloggy thingy, and maybe some other sites. Then I realize that it's later than it even was when I came in, and curse myself for even turning on The Beast in the first place if I wasn't going to write anything Hollywood-wise. All of these ideas floating behind my eyeballs. All day. And all I do when I get home is check my site and yours. And porn. Don't forget the porn. But I don't feel guilty about that.

Good Morning, Baby...

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The Cure...

This is not about Robert Smith.
Anyway, sometimes when I start to tell my friends a story -
they stop me and say that they already read it on my website.
This bums me out and makes me feel a bit strange,
so I've come up with an answer......
......to get rid of my friends...

Beezelbub And Romona...

Thinking furiously,
And with a head full of flies.
Trying to get buzzed,
Before the whole world dies...

Max Headroom...

This a better day than yesterday.
It's sticky hot, though.
Peanut butter madness.
Do you feel like writing reviews or rants???
Go talk to Hard over at The Hard Artist...
Thanks, Bubba.

Ah, hell...Today/tonight wasn't so bad, was it?...

I played Star Wars Galaxies with Joe, and taught my wookie how to dance.
I just got done bbq'in' at five in tha' mornin'.
And got bitten by a spider on my forearm that I hope/pray was radioactive.

Dude.

God, That Was Stupid...

I apologize for my last two posts.
It's one of those nights.

Dude.

Leaving Las Scissorhands...

Watched Leaving Las Vegas. Haven't seen that in a long time. It makes me not want to drink...Vodka and Tequila! Ha!
Anyway, it was pretty good, and what ever happened to everybody's favorite babysitter, Elizabeth Shue? Who cares about that Melrose Place brother of hers. So, it made me think about all of the cool roles that Nic has played, and then it made me think about Johnny Depps career.

Who do you like better?

Nic?

Johnny?