Word...

Writing, like all forms of expression, can be a pain in the Mons Pubis. The first story I remember writing was when I was five, I think. I was sitting cross-legged in front of the Christmas tree while my father tried to be sneaky and take pictures of me. I have that picture around here somewhere. Beatles mop top hair, khaki pants, skinny as hell. Writing a story about a giant, red robot named Maxmillian. I read it to my shitty-ass older brother later that night and he accused me of stealing the idea from the movie Black Hole. I denied it. I lied, but who cares?

Writing kind of sucks. Once the sick urge infects you, there's no getting rid of it-you're always going to feel like you should be doing it. You'll feel guilty for not doing it or for wasting ideas, and if you're like me, you'll go through intense, sporadics periods of productivity and then slog through a desert of uncreative poo.

Like now. I'm in the desert. That's okay, though. I don't care as much as I used to. I can't sit in a tiny rented room and write twenty to thirty pages full of shit anymore. I try to focus on the quality not the quantity, I tell myself now. That's bullshit, I think. I just don't write as much. I'm not as angst-ridden, I'm more patient and more willing to write when I can, and accept the day as a success if I just wrote anything. That's why writing all of this crud is good. If I'm not going to tackle the big Kevynn Malone projects then at least I can still tackle something when I'm being a lazy punk. It's like getting sacked in a football game and then hitting the waterboy over the head as you make your way to the bench to recuperate.

My spelling sucks. Syntax horrible. I have Frankenstein punctuation. Actually, If Yoda was a writer-I'd be him. Writing, of yours...good-it is not...yesssss? Why does Yoda sound like a snake? I don't know. I've ditched all of my schooling. My earlier literary influences didn't help much either. Mr. Kerouac-No-Punctuation-Don't Stop. Bukowski's poetry. Morrison poetry. Allen Ginsberg-Miasmic-Mess-Of-Form. Hustler reader responses. Ah, but I've done all right considering. I've done some good stuff. I like my ideas and what I've done with them. I'll never be the best writer in the world and who would want to be? I'm content to excrete my own shit and fertilize my life the only way I know how...slowly and with relish. Grimacing and feeling pleasure at the same time...

I'll be rich and famous one day. Everyone else can erase my mistakes. I'll just keep on creating them. After puking my guts out and visiting my harem, of course. And if I ever run out of ideas, I'll just write about Star Wars...

Bye.

Awww, Saara...Just Send Me A Check...

For THIS. All payments accepted.

Thank you.

Now What The Hell Was That All About?...

Checking this before work and I couldn't get it to load.
My web site would come up as the archives for Que Sera Sera.
Not that bad, I guess. At least it was linking to something good.
It could've been embarrasing and linked to my midget porn picture link.

Nothing against midgets and porn...

Small Friggin' World...

Video Store. See Michelle and some guy. She ran up and scared me as I was perusing the childrens videos. I had a Hamtaro-something-or-other thing in my hand. No, not in my butt-thank you, Mr. Gere. Where the hell did the Richard Gere hamster/butt thing start anyway. How, I mean? Damn, that rumor's old-but is there validity to every rumor? It has to start somewhere, right? He was probably shopping for a pet and an employee probably dropped one down his pants by accident. I don't know. Saw Amanda and Mark. I didn't think it was her. I started to run up to her and scare her but then put on my brakes and stopped in the middle of the new releases because I had second thoughts. I back-pedaled and started to cough her name out really loud. It was her. I put a Grease DVD in her hand and told her to buy it. After the video store Dawne and I went to the grocery store to pick up Beer (me), cigarettes (me), and aluminum foil (us). As we were leaving we saw Amy. Made fun of each other. She said I smelled like tuna. What the hell? Do I? Tell me. Do I smell like tuna? As we were leaving I spotted Amy's car and fucked with her windshield wipers, like I always do. I love my annoying humor. Too bad nobody else does. Went home, Mark (another one) and Nadia came over and gave me glasses from Spaghetti Factory. We watched a bunch of horrible, old movies that I made. They left. Amy called and left a message saying that she knew that I would see her car and fuck with her windshield wipers. Yup. That was the last couple of hours.

So now, what should I watch?

Reign Of Fire or Attack Of The ClonesAttack Of The Clones?

Tell me now or I'll kick you in the crotch...

Platypus, Cookie-puss, and Sisyphus...

Sunday is for sleeping, but trying to get up early.
Ummm...probably not writing, even though I want to.
I have to call April and have her come over so that I can rub her pregnent belly. I want to whisper dirty things into her navel.
Not turn on the t.v. unless it's Star Wars related.
Not turn on this computer unless it's really late.
Feed my cat.
Fuel my fire.
Quench my desire.
There's no band practice cuz' Ryan's in France-the bastard.
I'll need to pick up an L.A. Times.
Pick up some lollipops to give to random children.
I need to let it loose.
Lay low.
Aim high.
Eat pie in the sky.
Skate.
Wear something other than black.
Pretend I'm black.
Pretend I'm white.
Waste the day.
Get wasted.
Create waste as a consumer or fecal-wise.
Listen to music.
Play music.
Play in the park.
Play with myself.
Play Bocce ball.
Play dumb.
Play dead.
Playfully tweak your nipple.

Thank You.

Lick me til' your tongue hurts. I'd appreciate it...

When The Time Comes...

We will need to see this movie.

Ouch? What the hell was that? Jeezuz! Pain in my chest. Damn, I'm too young to die. Conan's on-not the conquerer. The talk show host. The body's kind of weird. Slapping you around every once in awhile. Pain here, eye twitch there. Zit. Rash. Erection.

You know, all that stuff, right?

It's Time To Start Thinking About...

These things...

Greedy? Yes.
Ashamed? Hell no.

I Suck...And I Don't Care...

So, I talk about trying to not eat meat.
I Rag on fat people, fast food culture and I hate t.v.

Well, I just saw a Burger King commercial advertising talking Simpsons watches.
All you have to do is buy a value meal...

Hell Yeah!!!

I am so there, Bubba!!! I'm going to order five of every single version and run around the store yelling, "THIS" and punching obese people in their bellies.

This is a good thing.

To Cleanse The System...

Of your Thanksgiving festivities...there's this.

Enjoy.

Hail To The King, Baby...

Whoomp! Here I am. Finished my last post-based-on-reader-comments-thing. Fun? Yes. Glad it's over? Yes? Was the last one a good one? No. Do I care? Ahhh...no. I'm glad Thanksgiving is over. I'm a waiter. I suck. I used to have a good writing job for a fancy-schmancy company and got treated like a baby. Fed for free and flown on skiing trips. A bunch of good shite. No more. Now I pretend to care how your $150 meal was. So, today I worked. Left as quick as I could. Went to the store. Came home. Called Father Malone. Talked about various stuff. Called my sis, Sindy. Read. Wrote. Played on the computer. Girlfriend came home. Now I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. Drinking a beer, Phantom Menace is on t.v., and I'm pretending to write. This is a good ending to an otherwise poo-filled day.


Love my butt, please. Thank you.

Penguins...

1 . Most scientists recognize 17 species of penguins (del Hoyo, et al., 1992):

• Emperor Aptenodytes Forsteri -- Class of penguin that helped sway Anakin Skywalker to the dark side...


• King Aptenodytes Patagonicus -- Made good music. Got Fat. Produced a kid that could kiss Micheal Jackson...


• Adélie Pygoscelis Adeliae -- Was Early Grace's girlfriend in Kalifornia...


• Gentoo Pygoscelis Papua -- Lesbian penguin that has to bring her girlfriend everywhere...
  
• Chinstrap Pygoscelis Antarctica -- Football Jock Penguin.


• Rockhopper Eudyptes Chrysocome -- Lives in New Mexico, does psychedelic drugs...


• Macaroni Eudyptes Chrysolophus -- Smokes alot of pot, still lives at home with his mother...


• Royal Eudyptes Schlegeli -- Penguin who dies in a tunnel or writes this website...


• Fiordland Crested Eudyptes Pachyrhynchus -- Ummm...like a penguin that enjoys water and land bridges and stuff...sorry...


• Erect-Crested Eudyptes Sclateri -- Viagra penguin


• Snares Island Eudyptes Robustus -- Likes to set traps penguin? Sorry, again...


• Yellow-Eyed Megadyptes Antipodes -- Penguin with Jaundice...


• Fairy (also known as little blue) Eudyptula Minor -- Penguin who dresses real nice...


• Magellanic Spheniscus Magellanicus -- Portugese penguin who first circumnavigated the globe by sea...


• Humboldt Spheniscus Humboldti -- Penguin who grows the best weed...


• African (formerly known as black-footed) Spheniscus Demersus -- Penguin who still thinks Spike Lee is a good director...


• Galapagos Spheniscus Mendiculus -- Vonnegut Penguin...

Lame, yes...Sorry. I was going originally going to write about The Penguin from the Batman comic books and then talk about what a psycho Batman is, but this was easier-so lick it, Brian!...

Okay. No more. That whole 'write me a word' experiment was harder than I thought it would be. Next time I'll just ask for nudie pictures in the mail...

Chow...

Chow reminds me of Chow Yun Fat, the not-obese, Chinese action film star, and Chow reminds me of food. Hey, Thanksgiving, yoyoyo! I know that all of you are going to scream-especially all of my fellow fat ol' Americans. Especially Southern Californians, but...I...HATE...TO...EAT...( no, I'm not a super model, but I will be if you pay me ). Everybody likes food. Loves food. Food can't come fast enough for us. We all wish for bigger mouths so that we can jam as much shit in there as possible.

Okay. Dogs, right? We've seen them eat. They gobble, they inhale their food. This is an instinctual behavior. If they didn't eat their food fast enough in the wild or out on the prarie, another wild dog or Laura ingalls would grab it. I think that's why human beings and all of society gets so crazy, possesive, and fat about food. We're programmed to hoard and eat as much of it as we can. Yes, I know we also had to hunt, preserve, and store our food back then, but that was all learned behavior.
I am not the biggest fan of food. Yes, there are things to eat that I absolutely love, but I won't go all ape shit over it. Ill buy it. Maybe. There are preferences that I have. I will knock you over the head for your steak. Maybe your beer too. But otherwise? Feh! Food and the whole obligatory act of ingesting it is a necessary evil to me.
It's something that we all have to do, but I make a meal last as short as possible to me. This doesn't make me a fast food eater, I actually don't like the majority of the chains out here-it usually makes me feel ill or lethargic. Putting beef flavoring in the meat because it's lost it's natural taste in the processing doesn't help them either. Deforesterazation and excessive water waste too.

Eating is such a social behavior, no wonder the majority of us look like Alfred Hitchcock. Ask people what they did today ( not counting this day/Thanksgiving ) and they'll say, "Oh, Ryan and I went to McShitBurg" What does that mean? I didn't ask you where you went to eat, I asked you what you did today. Did you ride your skateboard around town?, offer candy to kids?, dangle them over a balcony? If we didn't do anything-then we should say nothing. But we think that we're doing something by engaging in the act of eating. I know, I know, some of the greatest times that I've had have been around some table somewhere over something-but I don't count it as an activity. I count it as trying to make something out of nothing due to the hilarious conversations of my friends. Dates? Eating. Meetings? Eating.

I like to poop. Serious. Sorry if this is too gross for you, but I love to poop. It's fun. I'll stay in there forever. Reading, thinking, whatever. Defecation/evacuation ( Alright everybody, evacuate! hee hee! ) is just as natural and enjoyable of a process as eating right? That's just as natural and necessary of a process. So why don't we hold business meeting in communal bathrooms? Because you can't order the poop that you want and it never comes when it's supposed to, huh? Why don't we ever have a first date in a bathroom with some nice atmosphere and some fancy music and then maybe catch a romantic comedy afterwards? "Gee, Kevynn-thanks for taking me to the bathroom tonight-it was great!"

Now this is making me hungry. I have to go. Girlfriend has to use the computer...and don't send me freeze-dried poop in the mail. Yam-chips are okay though...and...uh...yo mama...

Thanks, Chewie...

Existentialism...

Great. Thanks, Ichi-wawa. What a word. All that I needed to know about philosophy, I learned in kidney-garden-to kind of quote that Robert Fulghum guy. I remember that I had a cool teacher in philosophy. He was funny, bald, and happened to miss his classes the same weeks that I did. Yes! It was World Philosophy. What, as opposed to New York City philosophy? Orange County philosophy? Actually that does make sense, doesn't it? There is a difference.

Existentialism? Making me did up the old books that aren't around now that I need them. Existentialism evolved as a school of philosophy, borrowing from others, while never completely rejecting past ideals.
Kierkegaard -- humans suffer a deep anxiety because they cannot be certain of anything, of any meaning.
Nietzsche -- not only is there no logic to existence, but the truly strong person rises and masters the absurdity of life.
Existentialism is a paradox, as Sartre came to describe it -- an attempt to live logically in a universe that is ultimately absurd.

So what does this mean? Nothing. It means...enjoy yourself on Thanksgiving Day. Enjoy the moment. Everything will be back to it's crazy-ass self the next day or when the relatives leave. Don't eat the yams, either...because they suck...

Yams...

Stupid-ass yams. Yams are retarded. Yams are wrong. They're sweet! What the hell? If it looks like a potato, it should taste like one. I am God, and that's my new law. That'll be my eleventh commandment. Thou shalt not eat nasty yams. I'm gonna buy a yam tomorrow and burn it in the backyard in protest. Do you only eat free-range yams? Yams are like the distant, red neck cousin of the wonderful potato. If I had a gun, I'd shoot a yam next time I saw one. I'm a yam racist. I'm anti-yam. I'm going to buy the web domain Godhatesyams.com. I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam...stupid Popeye.


Thanks, Diz...

Love, Jean Claude Van Yam...

Plethora...

Was there ever a man named Plethora? Was he the inventor of excessiveness? Was his house a mess and full of useless crap like my room is? Was he friends with Pythagoras? Did he drink much? If you asked him for a book of matches, would he pull out a drawer filled with them? He must've had a HUGE porn collection...

Alpha Blondy...

First I was going to write a story about me on a hunt for sexually-starved blondes. Then I changed it to a story about piloting a ship towards a planet called Alpha Blondy. Then I was going to tell a tale about fighting a wrestling jock. I just couldn't get passed the "Bloody" oops! not bloody- I couldn't get past the "Blondy" spelling. I wanted "Blondie" even though it's not really a word-but I really shouldn't mind because I make up my own words when I write anyway. So I found the real Alpha Blondy's website and it's not bad at all. Well, I only heard the song that plays at the beginning of the website. It made me realize that I don't have jack-shit when it comes to reggea in my music collection. Not even the obligatory Bob Marley's Greatest Hits CD. Doesn't everyone? But you don't have any Atari Teenage Riot, do you? Nope. I'll get this guy's CD. Now everybody get Atari Teenage Riot...

Attu, this is the fucking funniest thing I have ever seen...this thingy.

Foment...

Sad Story. Years ago I once needed money so bad that I sold a whole Darth Vader case of Star Wars figures to a guy who placed an ad in the paper. I think that I sold them for two bucks a piece, which netted me about forty much-needed bucks, but is still very sad when you think about it. Two bucks for a Power Droid? How? Two bucks for a Gammorean Guard? Why? Two bucks for Mon Mothma? Weeeeeelllll...that seemed about right.

Mon Mothma sucked. She was one of those weird-ass figures that they had that no kid really wanted-but somehow managed to get at Christmas or on a birthday. Mon Mothma looked like an action figure of somebody's really religious, anal-retentive stepmom or something.

So she might have been at the top of all time shitty Star Wars action figures to have. God, she was boring. I don't remember her having a weapon-maybe just a gay-old staff or something. She wasn't even hot looking, so Chewbacca humping her in the back of the Millenium Falcon wasn't even a redeeming option for her plasticky existence.

But I guess as far as Star Wars geek-dom goes, she wasn't pretty looking, but still pretty much a bad ass in the whole Star Wars universe. To the big ol' bad and evil Empire, she was a problem. She became disillusioned with the Empire and left to foment a rebellion against them. Enter Luke, Leia, Han, Chewy, your mom, etc...to save the universe.


Thanks, Elizabeth...

C'mon Punks...

Anybody who writes ONE word of their choosing in the comments section of this post will get the next post(s) written about their ONE word.

I hope that made sense because I'm not going to write it over, baby.

It'll make me stop reading these damn, old comic books anyway...

Stupid Winds...

Go ask Wil-He'll tell you too. We get these winds out here that suck my big fat one to quote Stand By Me. What did he say in that? Suck my fat one, you cheap dime-store prick? Was that it? Anyway, these stupid Santa Ana winds ( I don't know why they call them that-Santa Ana is a city out here-what, do they come from there or something? ) They're the kind of winds that wreak havoc on those with sensitive noses like mine. It feels like somebody stuffed a couple of chopsticks up into my brain and turned on the snot faucets. Sorry. Gross. I tend to sneeze alot. I'm not the type that sneezes once either. Or like a little mouse like some of you-that always drives me crazy with jealousy. I sneeze HARD. FAST and FURIOUS. Yeah, if Vin Diesel was a series of about five sneezes in a row followed by thirty others...that'd be what his next movie would be called...I don't care if that made any sense. My nose is buggin' the crap out of me.

Stupid Winds...

So A Customer Asked Me The Other Day...

Where I would want to live in the United States if I didn't live in California.
Somewhere like Montana. Definitely. Even though I've never been there, it just sounds good. Looks good to me from what I've seen. I want a ranch in Montana. A modest one with some horses. No cattle. Some chickens. Some Werewolves to fight. I want to walk around my ranch. Help my hired man out with some of the chores. Sit around on the front porch and smoke and drink and write. And I'll use "AND" all of the time in my writing. And I won't use proper punctuation-I'll have the fancy-schmancy east coast editor do all of that. I'll fly in friends whenever they want, or they can just raise a ruckus in the guest house. I want some lemon trees too. I don't think that's possible there-but I'll want fresh lemonade. AND to do that-I'll build a geo-dome thingy. Yeah, that's it. And I'll run around naked, dressed in war paint. With all of my dogs, who will help me fight all of the Werewolves...

Sounds good to me...

Friggin' 80's people...

Have you noticed all of the recent "celebrities" that have been in trouble the last couple of weeks or so?
Pee-wee Herman.
Principal Rooney.
Micheal Jackson-he's kind of an 80's icon, right?
Anyone else I forgot?

Who's next?
Hulk Hogan getting arrested for prostitution?
Alf for tax evasion?
Martha Quinn...um...I don't know...doing something? Anything?

I hated the eighties. I really did.

So, I Think...

That the "X" in "X-Mas" is a greek definition for Christ. So what does the "Mas" mean? Well, I know that it means "more" in spanish. So does that mean that if you're from a greek/mexican background that you're wishing everybody a Happy CHRIST MORE? More Christ? Mount Christmore? I don't need more Christ in my life, thankyouverymuch...

Anyway, I'm not that excited about Christ More coming up. I had some cool Christmasses (sp?) when I was young and when my weirdo parents were still together. Everything pretty much went to hell after I turned seven. A cute thing about my mother and father was that they thought that you had to have all of the Star Wars figures that were displayed in a little action panorama on the box. So they wouldn't quit until they found all of the figures. Every once in awhile, they couldn't find one and would apologize to me or my older brother and promise to find the figure after Christmas. My brother and I would say okay and give each other a look that said. Shut up. Don't tell them.

We all became pretty poor after my mother left. Then Christmas was always either a long-ass road trip to Texas or quiet mornings at our house. My father is a 5 a.m. riser. My brother and I were not. My brother was such a sleeper that if I tried to wake him up, even on Xmas-he'd tell me to fuck off and to leave him alone. The house smelled like coffee. My father always did the stockings kind of cool. Tangerines, Walnuts. Candy. Toothpaste, and as we got older underarm deodorant too. And a barbeque briquette. Ha Ha. Coal, get it? That was my Pa.

i'm gonna sneeezz.......ee....oh...okay maybe not....

Um...as I got older, I just started to ask for simple things because all kids want totally expensive shit when they start to grow up and most of us knew that we weren't going to get it. So we all just asked for a specific sweater, boardgame, skateboard-whatever. My father played Christmas music. That was always nice.

As I got older, older. I don't remember any Christmasses from sophmore year of high school on. I, by then, would usually try to get out of the house as soon as I could, to go hang out with friends. We'd wander around the city and not really do anything. I got booted after I turned eighteen ( did you see that coming? ), and all holidays became different. My older brother was already gone. I don't know where he was by then. My older half bro and sis always lived on the east coast. My father and sister moved to Texas. If I didn't visit my sister in Texas, I always spent the holidays in whatever dingy-ass apartment that I was staying in. My roomates would always leave to go to their parent's house and I had the place to myself. Which I grew to like. The day before, if I had the money-I would stock up on videos, beer and porn. No, just kidding-no porn. Maybe a t.v. dinner. A turkey one just for the poetic aspect of it. I'd write. I'd drink. It was actually kind of peaceful. My apartment complex was always deserted. Eerie, but nice.

After about seven p.m., a stray friend or two would start to filter in, usually laden with heaping amounts of leftovers for me. Friend's mother's always ask about me during the holidays-but my friends knew me so well they'd just tell their ma's that Kevynn likes to be alone for the holidays. It was never my choice, but I grew to like it. LOVE it. See, when my friends always came over to my place they were always tired because they had to drive some long-ass way away or put up with all of the family bullshit/talk/problems, etc. They were always itching to have a beer or something and by that time I was already drunk or happy that I got to go on a walk or write alot or watch a couple of movies.

So Christmas to me was never about family, it was just always a day ot two off of work and the chance to have a private Kevynn party. That's why I'm so low-key about it. I don't have to buy many presents. Just friend presents and that usually doesn't break you. Holidays are mellow times for me. Which is just the way I like it.

Now it's changed. I have a girlfriend. She has a family and now her family is my family. That's the way that it goes with them. And I like it. Im not ungrateful. They are all really cool and are very close-knit. I'm not used to it. Definitely not used to having to talk to grandparents and stuff for hours and having to eat around everybody and make polite talk and what-not. There is no way in hell I will ever be able to spend the holidays by myself anymore. Unless she breaks up with me or I chop off her head and throw it in a ditch or something. Like I said, her family is my family now, and I put up with her past and her crazy-ass upbringing-she has really put up with mine...
So I miss the old ones that meant nothing and now look forward to those that do, right?

I bought myself a Christmas present already...

You wanna see?

I'll Say This Before You Get All Busy On Me...

But I'm not excited about Christmas. Have I ever been? I don't know. Like all of us, I was back when I was a kid. But my yule tide cheer was probably due more to my expected Star Wars presents than anything else.

You know what?

I'll write this tomorrow...or in 10 hours or so. It's 4:18 a.m., "Herculoids" is on Cartoon Network. It's late. I'm glad today is over, I want to get back to that dream that I had last night. I was flittin' around, gliding more like it-like a vampire in a big mansion and had to sleep in the basement. I had a couple of close calls where I almost died in the mansion by falling off things and I remember that my friend's mother was in charge and didn't wan't me to be there. I remember looking at her butt and thinking that it looked out-of-shape.

Oh. I bought a big pack of candy canes at the store yesterday, That was my Xmas contribution. All of the grocery store employees were standing right by me and started to make fun of me because I had the candy canes, a 12-pack of beer, gummy worms, cigarettes, and cranberry juice. One guy asked where the vodka was and I said that it was at "their mama's!" One guy laughed. The other two didn't say anything. The checker girl just looked impatient.

I want to float around again.

bye.

I Swear....

I was going to sleep....

But There's an earthquake going on right NOW....

Whole lotta shakin goin' on, bee-yatch....



hmmmmmmmmmmmm......
i'm not kidding. This beer to my left is shaking....
That's why you should never go to sleep....look! the lamps are swinging a bit....
See? You miss all of the good stuff....

Insomnia Is Not A Stephen King Book Or An Al Pacino/Robin Williams Movie...

It's my life...BUT-

I am

Getting Kind Of

Tired, Doody-Fresh...

Thank You...