Friday, January 31, 2003


Hey!...

I'm naked.

How do I look?



Before I Write This, I Need To Smoke...

Obssesive Compulsive Disorder and eating habits when combined are always fun. Somebody at work told me about a friend of his that only ate shapeable food from the cafeteria. Mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, etc. He would shape it into a perfect square and then scoop up a corner. He wouldn't eat another bite until he had reshaped it again into a perfect square. My friend Tony only eats hamburgers and sandwiches in a circular fashion. He'll eat around the edges until he's left with the middle and then he'll pop it into his mouth, the fairy. My girlfriend eats absolutely nothing on the bone, including my penis. I always have to say "Winston Churchill was a big fatty!" before taking a swig of beer. I say that about a milllion times a day. Really, I don't know if I have an OCD attached to an eating habit. I will never eat anything if I can't drink something with it. It's absolutely impossible for me. I won't do it. Maybe that counts.

I used to have a couple Obsessive Compulsive habits when I was young. I would constantly count things in my head. Chairs in a room, telephone poles...sluts in my bedroom. I had to force myself to stop when I got older. Especially with the sluts. I used to play that game in which if I didn't do something like make a basket, I would supposedly die. Or that someone near and dear to me would die if I didn't do something correctly. I've died about a million times.

I want a real OCD, but I would like to pick my own. Obsessive money making compulsion. Sleeping with loose movie starlet disorder. What about a pick pocketing OCD? Something helpful...

All I've got is this writing thing.
Not as fun.
Obsessive? Yes.
Compulsion? Yes.
Disorderly? Yes.
Good? No.

Thursday, January 30, 2003


What Does This Say About Me?...

I like this. I hope it never goes away. God, the animation is horrible, but it's sweet isn't it? If it had private parts, I would hump it. I need to option this story idea and make it into a movie.

There's no hope for me, is there?

Goodnight.


Wednesday, January 29, 2003


Now Hiring...

I am lacking a gay friend in my life. (No, I'm not looking for a gay partner, smart-ass.) And my friend, Chris doesn't count either. He's just confused and has a bedroom that looks like a gay man decorated it. So, I am now accepting applications for a gay friend. My new gay friend can be a girl or a guy. If my new gay friend is a girl, she has to be hot and let me watch her nocturnal activities. Short hair is okay. Motorcycles are okay, just as long as you have an additional helmet for me. I get to use your hair products and nail polish. You can only bench press ten more pounds than me. (That doesn't make any sense...my cat eats more than I can bench press.) If my new gay friend is a guy. It's okay to hold my hand, but only inside Disneyland. You must purchase me a sweater or two every month. I will only watch gay porn with you if it is funny gay porn. You must pay for the majority of my drinks and meals, because you'll have a better job than me. I get to use your hair products and nail polish.

Applications are now being accepted for this once-in-a-lifetime position...

Gay position? Oh, mannnn....

Tuesday, January 28, 2003


Everyone Hates A Clown, So Why Don't You, Bitch?...

There's two ways that you can go with clowns: They either scare the crap out of you, or you fucking hate them. I'm not really scared of clowns; I just don't ever want to meet a fat one. For some reason, the thought of a portly clown with a five o' clock shadow makes me feel all John Wayne Gacy. Believe it or not, the other half of society absolutely hates them. Let's stop this clean face on grease paint crime!

I've had a good number of strange-ass jobs in my youth, or my more youthful youth-i-ness, I should say. I think I've said it before. I've been a professional puppeteer, pizza cook, manager of a drycleaners (need a spot out of your silk shirt? You just let me know, punk.), I've written for magazines, cartoons, and papers for your high-schooler for beer money, etc. But the worst short-winded job that I've ever had, besides my two-day telemarketer job, was as a clown. You got it...a fucking clown. What was I thinking? Where was this going to take me? Did I think that eventually I'd get clown salary and clown benefits? Take winter vacations with other clowns on really big skis? I wasn't even a drunk birthday party entertainer clown...I was a shabby-ass-street-corner-sign-waving-come-to-these-new-apartments-clown. You know that series of famous black velvet clown paintings? I was sadder than those clowns.

Hold up...Jeopardy's on...

Oh my god! The President's talking instead. Damn! But wait...he's talking about mutilations, razor blade what’s? Acid?.....is he talking about drugs?...no...I'd rather have Alex Trebec quiz me about this twenty years from now than hear George Bush talk right now..." We will lead a coalition to disarm him..."

He's not talking about clowns is he?

Anyway...there I was on the first day, feeling very embarrassed but much more desperate for money. The manager of the apartment complex actually gave me the make up and some stupid balloons that hade the name of the apartment complex on them. I thought that getting the balloons printed and having me hold them in addition to the sign was completely stupid, and who could see the name of the apartment complex on the balloons as they drove by? I didn't hold the balloons. I couldn't. I had to hold the stupid arrow sign with two hands, so I tried to tie them to a skinny tree branch. One got loose automatically and a car honked. I didn't know if they we're honking at the clown with the crappy make up job and the baggy jeans on, or if they were trying to tell me that my balloon was getting away. I thought that was even stupider. I could tell that it got away. I was the one on the street corner. Only one good thing came out of the balloons. I tried to give one to a little Mexican kid who was walking with his mother, but the kid wouldn't come near me, so I had to give it to his mom. I said thanks to her as she walked away. She didn't say anything. I didn't know if she understood me or not. I didn't think that there was that much to understand. I was trying to give her brat a piece of floating rubber. I said, " thanks!" to her too, as they walked away. That pissed me off to no end. I hate when I thank people for no reason. Especially when I'm the one who should be thanked, y'dig?

The first hour was probably the worst. I didn't want to dance around, so I just kind of rocked back and forth. One out of every fifteen cars would honk. I tried to wave back, but the arrow sign would then tip down, so I stopped doing that and just kind of gave a nod that I knew the speeding cars wouldn't see.

The first "Fuck You!" that came my way surprised me. I looked around. I thought it was probably some kids. I didn't really catch a glimpse. I don't know how much time passed until somebody told me that I "Sucked!” Somebody threw change at me. It missed me and hit the curb. I was bummed, but not bummed enough not to look to see if there were any quarters in there - which there weren't. During that day I got two flip offs and one or two more "Fuck You's!" The whole day was one big, long depressing blur after that. After the car that said, "Fuck You, You Fucking Clown!", I left. I waited for the car to pass me by further because I didn't want them to see me leave. I left the balloons on the weak-ass tree because I didn't want to carry them. By that time anyway, they would've been too heavy for me to carry. All I did was drop off the stupid sign at the manager’s office that smelled like cigarettes. There was nobody inside. I checked. If there was, I was just going to drop it off around the corner anyway. I washed everything off of my face by the pool area bathroom, paranoid that the manager was going to see me. I walked home and I think I remember not being very happy, writing a couple poems about people, and drinking a lot. I could be wrong, but I think that's what I did afterward...

You know what's worse than a clown?

Being one.

Fuckers.

Richard Gere = Hamster...

You mention them both in one post, and you're sure to get a hit sometime during the day.

Yup.


Monday, January 27, 2003


You Don't Know Me, Fool...You Disown Me...Cool.

As I was waiting at a light and listening to the bad reception on my broken car stereo, I noticed " No War! " tagged on the old movie theatre that nobody's ever done anything with. I don't know how long it's been there. Maybe it was old and I just didn't notice it. I had to give whoever that did it, "props" for climbing up as high as they did, and was glad to see something other than the usual, illegible, penis-posturing, gang bullshit that people usually spray all over the place. At least it meant something to somebody.

Now, If I could only catch some girls burning their bras at school...I will be a happy, smelly hippie.




Sunday, January 26, 2003


I Hope The Dodgers Win Today...

Okay, let's get all of this football shite over with. The only reason I'm excited about today is because we're having a private work party. You would think that a work party would be something that I would avoid, unless I worked at Porno Village, or a comic book store or something, but today's going to be cool. Open bar! Time to waste! Free food! Aww, who cares about the food, but it's still going to be kind of cool. Did I say free booze?

I don't even know who's playing. The Raiders and somebody...

I hope that the team with the prettiest uniform wins...and that every couch jock in the world breaks their fucking legs...

Go commercials!

Go beer!

Go Banana!

Saturday, January 25, 2003


Typed last night by Tom...

specially priced. . . formatted to fit your television....straight from our minds to your rods and cones, flipped around, and printed on your mondula oblongata. . .auto-shaded, shaped up, MSG free, fantastical, supernatural, steroidless, pulpless, and printless. . . blunted slut princess, ciao baby! . . in through the back door, quietly, watching you while you sleep, faking feline friendliness. . . energy's armor and synergy's shield, Pat Benatar said that "Love is a Battlefield.".... put this on your piece of bread and eat it up, quit that shit eating grin, damnit, stop smiling..... Sinatra's sitting in my easy chair, smoking, sipping scotch, singing Latin in my ear. . .losing my equilibrium. . .now playing everywhere. . . while supplies last. . . call now. . .the milk's spoiled.





Friday, January 24, 2003


Getting Drunk Tonight?...

Why, yes I am.

Thank you.



Bubba Ho Tep...

C'mon, people...you drive me nuts. What's the hurry? I drive the speed limit or a little bit above it. Maybe it's some of the asian blood in me. Maybe it's the Irish in me too. That means that I drive slow to the pubs. No, I'm a pretty patient guy when I drive. I'm not in any hurry - and If I am? Than it's probably my own damn fault that I'm late. I have people riding my ass every day. What do you have to do that's so important that you have to pass me? I've seen people clutch on to my car's arse like a greedy monkey and pass me by in a ferocious roar of SUV triumph, only to see me waving at them at the stoplight. Where are you going that's so damn important that you have to make an ass of yourself? Taco bell on fire? Are they running out of Chalupas? Something on television that can't wait to catch? What's so fucking important? Baby choking at home? Dog humping your diamond earrings?

Chill, freaks. You have a stereo in your car, use it. Sing along to opera and make up your own words. Look around at everybody at the stoplights. They're kind of scary, but funny. You know what's worse than missing a green light or being stuck at a red one? Alot of things. The world didn't end. It'll just be there sixty seconds later. Take it easy, you pent up ape-y things. There will always be banannas. You don't need to be the first one to grab them. Monkeys before you. Monkeys after you. Always.

Your car is not cool or unique. Ther are tens of millions of the things out there just like yours. Your bumper sticker sucks. I don't care what you're saying. Your music is not helping. You don't look any cooler. I don't think that you have your shit together because if you did, I'd be staring at your limo driver instaed of you. The bigger your car, the more I'm going to question what type of person you are. The more you talk on your phone, the more I'm going to avoid you. You're all fucking crazy. I don't understand. don't expect to, and never fucking did...and that's okay because I don't think I'm supposed to.

Ambulance drivers are cool, though. So is Micheal J. Fox in a Delorean.

I drive a four door Toyota Camry. All black, with tinted windows. I have a license plate holder from a friend's skateboard shop. I have a bunch of trash inside and my stereo is broken. That's my car. Who cares. Your daughter is bound and gagged in the trunk. She needs help.

Happy weekend. Good night, Bubba.






There's nobody to blame but myself...

No...wait. Somebody has to pay. I was ready to write after work. I came home late. About Ten p.m. I was just beginning to write a story but watched The Bourne Identity. The only reason that I got the movie is because my girlfriend thinks Matt Damon's cute. So, instead of writing, I watched the movie instead. I hate most action movies, all spy movies and all thriller movies because they generally suck. The only good thing about the majority of them is that they make me feel like a good screenwriter and they give me hope.

The beginning of the movie was actually kind of cool. What happened after that was a horror that even Stephen King can't accurately portray on paper. So now it's late. I'm starting to shake off my grogginess. It's two in the morning. I'd like to thank the makers of the movie for making this happen. They should have an awards show where average people stand up on stage and thank the makers of certain movies for wasting their money and time...

Bastards.

And I was going to write about clowns and shit too.


Thursday, January 23, 2003


Back In The Day...

I once knew a girl named Amanda, who was nicer to me than I ever deserved. She was the type of girl who was the complete opposite of me, but never flinched when exposed to my old, barbaric habits and never once questioned me about why I acted like a complete freakazoid. Once, after some random instance of insanity that I forget, I invited her over the next night and assured her that we would spend a quiet night at my house, with no distractions, random lunatics or flying monkeys. I think we were watching tv on the couch when my roommate came home. She couldn't get her key to open the door, so I hopped up and stood in front of the door. It had glass window panes in it. I started to tease my roommate about not being able to get inside and thought it would be funny to hit one of the panes of glass with my forehead. My head went through. I heard the crash, and in mini-seconds cursed myself because I knew that I was going to have to replace the window because of my spur-of-the-moment stupidity. I drew my head back and started to laugh, but stopped when I saw the look of horror on my roommates face. Her mouth was doing the silent "O" thing. I was still laughing as I wiped my hand across my face and saw blood on my palm. I wiped it off on my shirt and put my hand to my face again and stopped laughing when I saw more blood there than before. Fortunately, my other roommate, Joe, had a mom who was a nurse. While she was putting stitches across the bridge of my nose and I was drinking beers, Amanda stood in the background, laughing nervously.

Two weeks later Amanda arrived at six a.m. in the morning to drop me off at the airport. I was flying to Texas to visit my sister. After knocking repeatedly on the boarded-up front door she found it unlocked and let herself in. She found me in the living room, sleeping with sunglasses on, and in a lawnchair. I had a 40 oz. of beer in my lap and burned out candles in a ring around me. Taped to my chest was a note written by my roommates that said, "remember to wake up at six!".

Now I don't know where she is. I lost touch with her. She was an entertainment lawyer last time I talked to her. After putting up with eccentric brats like me, she probably figured she might as well make some money with her high patience threshold.

I've learned alot since then.

Don't forget your key.
Glass can be thin.
Roommates are lazy help at best.
And some patient girls have got horrible taste in men, but mad job skills, bitch.








Question...

How is it legal that somebody can sneeze and then bless themself? How can you bless yourself? I even have a problem with people blessing other people when they sneeze. Why? I should give you my blessing because dust got in your nose? Why doesn't anyone bless me when I fart then? And if I crapped my pants, shouldn't I receive some "Hail-Mary's" or something?

The only person who should be able to bless themself after a sneeze is the Pope.

Goddamnit.




Wednesday, January 22, 2003


You've Got A Talent For Causing Pain, Hey!...

Dear reader, by the time you read this, I'll be gone. I took the dog and I'm moving to Chicago. No. It's much worse. I'm not leaving you...I have to go to the dentist. Aww, fuck a biscuit. Why? I have purposely been putting this off for awhile. I haven't gone since October? And I don't want to go...Help me, please.

Let's make this short. There are bastards like you that have never had a cavity. I have always brushed my teeth, at least once a day, but usually twice. Three times a day sometimes...and even though my teeth are straight and not bad-looking at all...the fucking things always need work. I haven't gone to the dentist since October because I went for three solid months before that. Mucho money that I don't have, Bubba. Two root canals, fillings, cute dental assistants knocking me out with Nitrous Oxide, and me waking up with teeth marks on my inner thighs...It's horrible!

I cancelled this appointment too many times and I have to go tomorrow. Create an emergency for me. Pull some "Fight Club" shite and knock out my teeth. If we ever get romantic with each other, I can just gum-love you. That's not too bad, is it? They said that the visit will only be about an hour, but I know better. I count on three or four. I'll betcha. The person who comes the closest to the total amount of time I'll spend in the dentist chair gets a surprise in the mail from me. Serious. Nobody I know, though. So suck it. I wonder if I could get a x-ray print out of my mouth? My dentist has all of that hi-tech crud. I hope they don't use that laser thing that makes smoke come out of my mouth. I might have band practice too, afterwards. If my dentist had a monkey that held my hand and read me Spider Man comics out loud, I would feel alot better about tomorrow/today.

I curse anybody with strong teeth.

I'm going to stick a voodoo pin in your anus...

Wish me godspeed.

Tuesday, January 21, 2003


Hoist Up The Nuthin'...

I don't have much to say right now. That doesn't necessarily mean that I won't be a talky bastard later, but as for now, my mind is wandering at too rapid a rate to get much down on the screen. Except now that I think of it, I didn't have much of a problem writing this, did I?...It may not be that good, but it's something, punk.

I just downloaded my three favorite Beach Boy songs of all Kevynn-time. Sloop John, In My Room, and Don't Worry Baby. Surfer Girl's good too, I forgot about that.


You know, I think I might be getting old…I was watching clips of The Price Is Right on the internet ( No, I don't know why I was doing it or how I got on the site, whatever it was, and I have no explanation for my actions, okay? ) and I saw a segment where the contestant gets to bid on three different things that they might win. They showed a motor scooter, an aquarium, and a dinette set, and I thought to myself...actually thought to myself, "Hey, now that's pretty cool."

What the hell is happening to me, Bubba?

Well, I feel so broke up...I wanna go home...

See? Like, I just thought that that was going to be an okay ending for this post. It was a sucky post, but to make it worse I tried to end it with a quote from Sloop John B by the Beach Boys? No, not the Beasties, but the Beach...

This is the worst trip...I've ever been on...


*Sigh*







Monday, January 20, 2003


In Protest Of Protests...

After work on Saturday, I stepped out onto the street and immediatly heard the sound of females screaming. I checked to see if my fly was open, but it wasn't. Nobody was around, so I forgot about it. A couple minutes later though, I found out where the screaming was coming from. Three young, skinny girls in shorts we're holding up signs on a street corner. Yes, I was disappointed that they didn't say "Honk If You're Horny" or "Free Sex". The signs said "Honk For Peace". So I thought that was okay. I'm down with pieces of poo, A Seperate Peace, pieces of chicken, buying a piece from your local arms dealer, and the good-intentioned, but imaginary "Peace" of the hippie variety. And i'm down with girls who dig peace too. Just as long as they don't smell like that pouchoulie-smelly-dirt-perfume-crap, or have more hair under their arms and down their pants than I do on my head. Oh wait...I shaved my head...whatever. Oh, and they can't slip me bad acid.

Anyway, so when I drove by I raised my hand out of the window and waved, but then remembered that I was supposed to honk for peace, but then I was driving one-handed and trying to look at the girls at the same time, so I just honked with my forearm.

And that's it, punk-ass.

Have a good day at work, and remember to send me half of your earnings for booze.





Pirates Treasure...

Never trust a man with a big ass.
Or specifically, a not-necessarily-obese-man-with-a-big-ass.
I don't know why you shouldn't trust them - but just don't, okay?

Beware the big, male booty.


Sunday, January 19, 2003


Lunch Money Conversation From Last Night...


"Yeah, I'd save up all of mine and use it for the weekend."

What for?

"A 40 oz. and a pack of smokes."

No. I was talking about Elementary School.

"Yeah, me too"






The Modern World...

It's kind of cool to be watching The Golden Globes
and have the abilty to rag on this at the same time.

Thursday, January 16, 2003


I had a bunch of ideas - but they're all gone now...
If I actually focused, I could probably write something...


Ummmm...I plan on staying up really late tonight. I don't know what I really wan't to do. I'm too tired to do anything serious. I am now going to turn up Weezer a bit. Hold on......Geez, when did my stomach start looking like this? I've got a little pouch. It's the beginning of a baby bowling ball. Time to start talking again to my old friend "Sit-up's". I'm not fat. I don't think I ever will be. I gain about a half pound a year. Actually, that's a lie. I thought I was gaining a little bit of weight, but the whole half pound I gain usually goes away in a month or so. I am 135 lbs. and 5'11 and a half feet tall. Picture it. Yeah. I wish I could show you so that you don't think that I look like a spaghetti strand. I have a scanner but never bothered to find out how it works. But then all you would get is pictures of my penis anyway. And you don't want that - Shoot, I don't know - maybe you do.

I am skinny because I have Vietnamese blood in me. My father met my mother in Vietnam. I only look like I have a little gook in me before noon. After that I open my eyes a little wider and let the sunlight in them. I don't look Ornamental at all, I don't know what happened, I guess it's my father's strong Irish genes. I grew up eating Green Rice. No, it was dog. Do you know what my first three pet's names were?

Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner.

I'm also skinny because I eat whatever the hell I want to. Steaks. Candy. Chips. Vegetables and alot of salads. I have a horrible diet and a spooky-ass-fast metabolism. That helps. I'm not even active anymore. I used to skateboard for about twelve years, and now I don't. I can, but all of my skating friends are gone. There's only Ian, and he lives in Long Beach now. Yeah, L.B.C., bitch. Home of Snoop Dog, Sublime, and uh...The Queen Mary.

I never sleep and stay up till dawn. That's another reason why I'm thin. I've always had insomnia. There's too many things that I want to do anyway. I'm lucky if I get anything done. My bursts of productivity are usually sporadic at best nowadays. If i'm forced to do something due to a deadline or a gun barrel pointed at my head, then I kick ass.

And I have 37 tape worms last time I counted.

Serious.

No. Not really.

No, I was joking - I really do have tape worms, but only 36.

Naw, I'm joking again. I don't have any. Yes I do. No I don't. Tape worm in my head? 8-track? DVD in my pants?

I'm stupid. No wonder I can't get into Natalie Portman's pants.

And do you think Molly Sims looks like a horse? That's what my friends say. I don't. I think she's kinda hotsy-totsy.

Does Molly Sims play The Sims?

Is that like me playing the Malone's?

Time for me to shut it.

I apologize. Hate me, please.




Errr...What?

I have one of the worst memories in the world.
Outside of Earth? I don't know.
How dumb of me to always say, "In the world"...
Like how do I know that?

I don't.

That's why I'm stupid.

I'm the stupidest guy in the world.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003


So I woke up today to a baby in the house...

It kind of threw me for a loop. I thought, "did I drink that much last night?" "Does my girlfriend have super ovaries?" "Do I have artificially intelligent mobile sperm?" I found out that my girlfriend's sister was dropping off her tyke for the day. Oh. I must say, that the little punk is totally cute. So, first thing I did was go on a walk with her while my girlfriend took a shower, but then when I got back my girlfriend refused to speak with me after she saw the leash around the baby's neck. What was I supposed to do, carry her? So then we decided to take it to the movies because there's no better way to enjoy cinema than with a young baby, right? About twenty-five minutes into Gangs Of New York though, we had to leave. I guess some people don't have any patience and their ears are way too sensitive, because a group of Scorcese geeks grabbed the screaming thing from my hands, ran out to the lobby, doused it in a vat of fake popcorn butter, and then kicked it out into the street. Bastards.

We decided to get something to eat after our horrible movie experience. While we were making reservations at a fancy-schmancy outdoor patio-type restaurant over here, I wanted to get a paper - but my hands were full with the little, wriggling thing. I got in trouble again. How was I supposed to know that the panhandler that I gave the baby to thought I was being generous? I guess babies go for alot on the Black Market. So we finally tracked the panhandler down. It was feeding our stolen baby some roasted rat, so I guess we didn't need to feed it. I had to trade my shoes to get it back. Great. There's fifty bucks down the drain....

We finally got home. Got in trouble again after my girlfriend caught me cutting hair and taking skin samples from the baby. I thought that If I could somehow learn the formula of and how to bottle Baby Smell, I could make a million dollars. So now the thing looks like an albino Mr. T with eczema.

Whatever. I'm done. Stupid babies.

Okay. I Have to go and chop off my penis.

Goodbye.


Haley's Comments...

See? Instead of me writing something right now, like I should have a long time ago - I can just post this and have you tell me how your day is going in the COMMENTS instead. Then, after I wake up and do some meaningless crud, I can write stuff that'll make you shit your pants due to it either being terribly exciting or terribly-so-fucking-boring-that-your-whole-body-just-lost-all-control-and-what's-a-case-of-the-smelly-pants-anyway?-I-can-just-blame-Kevynn-for-the-whole-situation-and-send-him-the-bill-so-who-cares?


It Seems...

Right now...all the sleep I never get?

Is catching up with me............

That, and the STD's...





Monday, January 13, 2003


Stupid Eyelids...

I have this problem. No, it's not the set of male/female sex organs that I've mentioned before. Just kidding. Dude, like I would mention it to you! I wouldn't be writing.I'd be humping myself - what d' ya think I am? Stupid? You know what? Now that I think of it - having a set of both male and female sex organs might be a tad difficult to afford. You would have to buy douche and condoms. A true gentleman cares about his vaginal hygiene. Condoms would be a necessity so as not to get one's own self preggers. And if you were a true hermaphrodite and had an uncanny piano playing ability, would that mean that you fluently played three organs? It would be a stretch not only in the pants, but in the wallet, like I said because you would have to spring for dinner for yourself, and drive a fancy car so that you could get into your own pants. Masturbation might prove to be a decisive battleground. What to do, how to, and with what? Looking into purchasing those electric shocky-pad-thingies that they use on dead people in the emergency rooms might be a wise investment, if you just stuck it down your pants and turned it on and off, maybe that'd do the trick. Check Ebay. I don't know.

See what happens? I fell asleep, by accident. I hate sleep. I was going to write about an old friend from high school.

Now I'm going to get even more weird web hits. In this post alone I've mentioned:

Male
Female
Humping
Sex Organs
Douche
Condoms
Vaginal Hygiene
Preggers
Hermephrodite
Masturbation
and Ebay.

Combine that with Fat Free Milk, and I'm going to have quite the interesting assortment of google searches cum tomorrow.

Mother would be proud.

Stupid eyelids.


Sunday, January 12, 2003


One Of These Days...

I want to buy a bunch of Duraflame firelogs and light them all, and spell out something to a passing plane. I dont know what. But I want to do it.

And I won't make the same mistake that Gilligan made in the episode when the castaways used Mr. Howell's brandy to light some palm tree trunks on fire. For some reason, astronauts were orbiting low, the Professor figured out that they would be seen, so they spelled out SOS. Gilligan did something stupid and messed it up so that it spelled out SOL - which was the name of one of the passing astronauts.

I could be lazy and just spell out a bad word. But then Gilligan might mess that up too, and the passing plane would wonder why I spelled out "Fork You".




I've Got A Bad Feeling About This...

You ever have one of those days when you just dont feel so fresh inside? That's why I use...just kidding. No, this isn't about douche. It may be the written equivalent of douche, I don't know. No. I was going to to say that's it's dark now. Daytime is done. I didn't do much. Little things. Nothing special. But you ever have one of those days that make you feel a little uneasy? Like you've forgotten something important? That something is wrong or that something bad might happen? It makes me feel weird, yo.

And these feelings can't be associated with poo, because I just did that - and my sense of foreboding is still here.



Friday, January 10, 2003


Aliens Don't Need Jamie Escalante To Teach Their Children Calculus...

If intelligent life exists somewhere else in the universe, have they visited Earth?
Some say they have repeatedly in the past. Some say they are monitoring us presently.
Some say they live among us. Some say they secretly run the world. Some say they want our world for themselves.

Are we being studied?

And if we are, why haven't they made their presence known in a more direct manner?
If people believe in omnipotent, all-seeing, all-creating gods, and devils with cloven feet and pitchforks - why not believe in skinny, big-eyed aliens playing on planet Earth?
Why aren't aliens knocking on our door with pamphlets containing something other than Mormon literature? Why aren't beings from another world spamming me? Where are my extraterrestrial pop up ads?

If aliens exist, why aren't they fucking the shit up?

Because everybody knows that you shouldn't knock on the glass. You shouldn't stick your fingers in the water too much - especially without washing them. It's better for the fish if you just sit back and look at them.

Because you feel a little guilty riling up the ant hill.

Because you never know what you're going to catch playing with stray animals.

Because if you pay too much attention to them, they'll follow you home.

Because if you play with them too much, the mother will smell you on them and then abandon them.

Because nobody likes to break up a dog fight.





Titles I Didn't Use For This Post...


Shop Smart...Shop...S-Mart...
My Pig Brick...
The Hitchhikers Guide To Your Moms House...
The Fucked And The Furious...
Axe Deodarant Body Spray For Men...




Thursday, January 09, 2003


Frodo Lives...

My writing has been ultimate-sucky-poo-poo lately. Even more so than usual, I mean.
I promise to do better. I swear. No, really. I mean it. I really do. I've just been busy.

My New Years Resolution is to not feed you bloggy-crap.

And to say, Penis. Tits. Fuck. Young. Old. Sucking. Mothers. Free. Iraq. Mac. Apple. MSN. Star Wars. Brittney Spears. Joe Millionaire. Download. Porn. Movies. Micheal Jackson. and. Anal.

In order to get more web hits.

Love,

Kevynn Malone





The Possiblities...

I don't remember how I found this, but it's interesting for a short bit. Apparently this guy hooked up various lights and knickknacks around his house to the internet. Too bad he didn't take it to the extreme. I'd like to see a house that was controlled by random freaks on the internet more. Imagine how annoying it would be to go to the bathroom if some freak in Kansas kept on turning the light off on you. Or if you had to wade through a sea of dildos hanging from the ceiling -everybody else has those too, right? - You know, those dildos hanging from the ceiling that give out electric shocks? What? I don't know. I'd like to see somebody's computers and tv's turned on at full volume in the middle of the night. How about controlling somebody's thermostat? How about I shut up because this was a stupid post and go ahead already and check out the guy sitting in front of his computer, turn his lights on and off, be entertained for 57 seconds and then go back to looking at porn.

Remember to send me the good stuff.

Wednesday, January 08, 2003


Work Is Good For Something...

Use their high speed internet connection and check out this...
I'd watch more commercials if I could see them this way.






Tuesday, January 07, 2003


That sucked...

I was talking about my girlfriend's reactions to the movie Wild At Heart. I talked about Sailor Ripley smashing that guys head at the beginning. My girlfriend said, "oh!" I talked about the soundtrack and how good it is and how I always loan out crap to people and they never give it back. My memory is horrible, so I tend to forget. So I said that I gave up trying to share things with friends. Let them focus on their overcooked McDonalds hamburgers and pregnancy test results instead. I told you that I went to the grocery store after work and that I've noticed that I spend most of my money on liquids. Cleaning products, liquid detergents, bleach, beer, cigarettes don't count even if it is expensive-lung cancer-air-stuff. Beer? I'll stop buying it when you stop watching J-LO movies, beating your children, and smoking your crack.

And...i forget what else I was talking about before blogger made my previous post disappear. (I have a horrible memory, remember?)

So...got any old receipts from your last grocery store visit?
Or what did you buy last time you were there?

No. Porn doesn't count Fucktard.





Shong Story Lort...

Woke up.
Work.
After, I had about fifteen minutes until friends arrived for our spur-of-the-moment-dinner-thingy.
We ate.
We drank.
We played UNO.
We talked to my robot.
(he's included in my LINKS section, y'know.)
Then our friends left.
Then WE ate...
I drank...
and then told you about...
When I...
Woke up.
I said talked about...
Work.
Then I said...
After, I had about fifteen minutes until friends arrived for our spur-of-the-moment-dinner-thingy.
And then I told you about how...
We ate.
And how...
We drank.
And how...
We played UNO.
And how...
We talked to my robot.
(he's included in my LINKS section, y'know.)
Then our friends left.
Then WE ate...
and I drank...

some more...


Mommy.

Save me.








Sunday, January 05, 2003


Mein head...

How do you say "head" in German? Forget it. I don't want to know how to speak German anyway. I'll never go there, and the only German people that I've ever known were friends of my neighbors. They wanted to take my cat home with them.

Today, I was taking out the trash. I was walking to the backyard and one of my neighbors was walking down his steps. I said hi and scared the shit out of him. That's normal because I walk like a ninja and can be quite stealthy, but he had to stop and compose himself afterwards. I guess the night before his roommate had to call the cops because a couple of white-trash transients were hanging out in front of the Hollywood video threatening two little black girls, calling them Jigaboo and telling them that they had a gun. So the cops came, etc. I guess he saw the same white-trash car across the street today, so they were both talking about it, then one of my neighbors goes outside and sees me with my newly shaven head. Mr. Speed Freak Lookin' Skinhead. Giving him a heart attack.

Do skinheads smoke Marlboro light 100's?

I think not.
Carry on.

Go away, Hitler - there's no Germany here...






Saturday, January 04, 2003


God(s), Help Me But...

Wouldn't it be alot cooler if strippers gave you ham sandwiches and an ice cold Coke too?




Y?...

Do I get the feeling that I'm going to hate every single moment of today?

And why do I get the feeling that I might get devoured by rats in my sleep?


Thursday, January 02, 2003


Ewok Village...

I don't live out in the sticks. I don't live in a small city either,
but damn-we have some big, fuckin' racoons here.
They must live in the monstrous palm tree that I've got by the side of my house. There's four of them. All are about the size of a medium-size dog. I'm not kidding. Last night they woke me up four times because they were playing on the roof. After the last time, I went outside to scare them away. There were two of them. They flicked their cigarette butts at me so I went back inside.

I'm scared they're gonna mug me and take all of my shiny objects.






Wednesday, January 01, 2003


Wake Up, Donnie...

I suck. I have eleven HBO channels.
It was cheap though, so shut it.
Anyway, certain movies are always on.
Some are sort of recent, like the first Harry Potter, Sexy Beast, etc.
But this morning they had Donnie Darko on. I've seen it once before and liked it alot.
But, check this out? I like the movie, okay? Strange that I've never seen HBO play the movie before on any of its million channels. Why New Years Day out of all days? And guess what they followed it up with? BOOTY CALL! Hmmm...so does this mean that somebody up in Content or programming thought this up?

- Okay. All of America will have a hang over, so we'll put on a good movie while no one can see it.

- Yeah, that sounds great. And then after it's done, we'll put on something with Bell Belamey.

- Perfect!

HBO, explain your choices please.


It Looks Pretty Good, So Far...

Standing in the middle of a blocked-off street in front of a bar last night. Fireworks going off. Looking at how bright the whole shindig was. Wondering if something was going to catch fire. Looking at the cops. Wanting to wish them a Happy New Year, but thinking that might make their night worse and that they might think that I was being weird.Tons of bozos at a bar across the street making fools of themselves. The whole celebratory New Years thing is stupid. Amateur drinkers not-counting down in unison and blowing horns because 365 days have passed. My girlfriend wishing everybody a Happy New Year on her cel phone until I told her to turn it off. A couple of young boys on roller blades sped by really fast. They had on glowing head bands and backpacks. The taller one tried to duck under a police barricade and fell on his ass and broke the whole barrcicade, The cops stood there looking at him while the bar across the street laughed like a bunch of monkeys. I could see it happening and was so glad that it did. I could smell a riot coming on, so I made my girlfriend go back inside. We then wasted more money on drinks.

After all of the bars, friends went to Tony and Chris' place. It was winding down. Various folk and my girlfriend asleep in various spots around the apartment. I was playing video games with Joe. I got up. Went to the bathroom, and then came back out with no hair and a shaved head that looks like a monkey's ass.

Then we went to Denny's.

Like I said, It looks pretty good so far.


Tuesday, December 31, 2002


Who Changes Baby New Years Diapers?...

This year I managed not to get mauled by a pack of wild dogs. That's good.
I rarely kicked anyone in the crotch.
I managed to infuse my body with just about as much booze as oxygen.
I fought balding for another year.
I lost weight. Now I weigh 135 instead of 136.
I read things other than porn.

I stopped visiting your mom.

She says to write her, by the way. And to send money.

Happy New Year, you bastards!


Monday, December 30, 2002


I have something(s) to tell you...

I curse IKEA for what it does to my girlfriend.

Please cry me a river. I can't get that stupid
Justin Timberlake song out of my head even
though I've only heard it reluctantly in the last month.

New Years Eve means more work for me.

I hate car insurance. I'm scared of cops right now.

I have a new record player and am playing Perry Como.
Does that make me hip, or a complete, fucking idiot?

Should I post a picture of myself on this site? I'd be scared to do it.

Have you scrolled down to my links and talked to my new-and -improved-gothic-Hives-lead-singer-robot?

I'm going to play Castle Risk tonight.

And I'm gay.


Thank you for your support.









How's It Feel, Bitch?...

Huh? Nose back to the grindstone yet?
Need some coffee?
That fat whore from QA is still wearing her perfume too strong,
except now she's wearing her new Christmas perfume and it's vanilla-scented.
The obnoxious, fat tech guy is talking too loudly about what he got for Christmas.
Your supervisor left you a fat stack of shit to work through before you even took your coat off.
You are in debt.
There are new rules posted somewhere about...something.
Seeing the Two Towers still did nothing to erase your memory of this place.


Welcome back to work, you fuckers.


Why Is It Always Cats And Dogs?...

Tom's always chasing Jerry.
Itchy and Scratchy.
Not Ren and Stimpy.
Rex chased Heathcliff.

Who else?

Let's stop this cat on dog and dog on cat crime.



His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy
There's vomit on his sweater already, mom's spaghetti
He's nervous, but on the surface he looks calm and ready
To drop bombs, but he keeps on forgettin
What he wrote down, the whole crowd goes so loud
He opens his mouth, but the words won't come out
He's chokin, how everybody's jokin now
The clock's run out, time's up over, bloah!
Snap back to reality, Oh there goes gravity
Oh, there goes Kevynn, he choked
He's so mad, but he won't give up that
Is he? No
He won't have it , he knows his whole back city's ropes
It don't matter, he's dope
He knows that, but he's broke
He's so stacked that he knows
When he goes back to his mobile home, that's when it's
Back to the lab again yo
This whole writing shit
He better go capture this moment and hope it don't pass him


And that's my post.

Thank you, yo.


Sunday, December 29, 2002


Choose Your Sides Carefully...

It's better to drink at a bar than to be the bartender behind it.

I'm tired.

good morning.




Thursday, December 26, 2002


Horrible Crap Part 1...

The Never Ending Story.

I know you all like it
- especially you girls -
but I could never stand that fucking film.
My father always used to stick me in summer school
when I was in the elementary grades because he was afraid
I'd kill somebody while he was away at work.

It just made me want to kill everybody who went there. The teachers looked tired. They didn't want to be there either. They treated you like shit. It was hot. They tried to use ice cream parties as treats. Gee, 50 cent ice cream. Roll over. Play dead. Who cared? Everybody except me. That's why everybody's fat now and I'm not, I guess. Anyway, on Fridays, regular lessons would be cut short and we watched movies in the dark. Which was better than the normal routine. Classrooms always looked better with the lights off, I'd always get disappointed when they turned them back on. Where were all the staff? Smoking pot in the teachers lounge? Making out in the photo labs? I hated going to summer school for no reason, but hated the movies that they'd make me watch more. Fuck, even in classes during the regular school year - they'd throw movies at us on rainy day recesses. Is that all that they could think up? Why didn't they stick us all in the gym and give us sticks and watched us beat the shit out of each other? Movies? I know, kids eat up anything on the screen. Even if they've seen it a million times because it's different watching it at school. But, c'mon. Condor Man? All the Herbie/Car movies. The Apple Dumpling Gang. Witch Mountain Whatever. Sucky.

But in summer school it seemed like they showed it every week. The stupid Never Ending Story is right. I'd be in agony. Stupid boy. Stupid flying dog. Stupid talking rocks. Stupid movie. Now The Dark Crystal! That was cool. How come they never showed Star Wars at my school? Only the same movie every week. The same soon-to-be pep squad girls crying at the end of the movie when the boy, Atrau something or other, had to save the universe and read from a book and some princess girl was doing something. Talking. Looking like a princess in a crappy movie. I hate it. I'm gonna buy a copy just to douse in lighter fluid.

The Never Ending Story was horrible crap.


Thank you and good night.



Angels Are Just Fat Ass Babies With Wings...

So if you took away everybody's cars and gave them
a Colobus monkey, Rhesus monkey, Spider monkey, and a Chimpanzee,
All on leashes - and armed with Samurai swords...

Do you think the world would be a different place?


Santa Hates Santana, But Likes Satan...

Nice, but I'm glad it's over.
After all of the stupid New Year crap is done,
then we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming, won't we?

Good.



Wednesday, December 25, 2002

Tuesday, December 24, 2002


Legolas Land...

Why haven't I seen The Two Towers yet?

I don't know.

But I do know that I am now done with my Christmas paintings.

I'm the man. Now tell me not to mess with them anymore.

I don't want to ruin them.

Tell me something. NOW.


Your Skin Makes Me Cry...

My knees are giving out.
My hands are covered in rainbow colors.
I'm still not done.
Almost. I hope.
It's late.

Penises take a long time time to draw.


Now I Know Why Van Gogh Cut His Ear Off...

I have to paint three Christmas paintings for various folk...

So it goes...


Monday, December 23, 2002


The Grand Ennui...

Not only is it well-written, it is funny.
Not only should you post a comment on his site-
But you should thank him for having hot chicks on his web site
AND for giving me the best present in the universe besides
the pet monkey that my girlfriend is going to give me...

The mad genius responsible for The Grand Ennui sent me a copy of this in the mail for Christmas...

Fuck Santa Claus...

He ain't got shit on this guy...





Friggin' Christmas...

It's coming up and I am NOT prepared. Financially or mentally.

I've got one question, though.

How's my girlfriend going to wrap up
the pet monkey that she's getting me?



Saturday, December 21, 2002


My Girlfriend's Birthday Is Tomorrow...

And she's mad at me because I had people over last night. I need to poo now. Goodbye.



Friday, December 20, 2002


I Feel Sorry For Those Of You Who Don't Drink...

because when you wake up in the morning, that's as good as you're going to feel for the rest of the day. DINO

Now I will give you updates all night, as long as I'm in the house, as to what's going on at the moment...

Just Finished:

Beer 1 - 6:42 pm - I've talked to four or five friends on the phone. They're gonna stop by for some drinks. So that means I better do whatever I want to do soon before anybody gets here. I need to brush my teeth. Stanky.

Beer 2 - 7:41 pm - Girlfriend just called. I'm supposed to call her back when she's drunk. Now me and Mark are slow dancing.

Beer 3 - 8:20 pm - I've already managed to knock the two stupid cat towel holders off with a pink ball I was throwing around. Mark is now playing a drum set that's in the middle of my living room. Courtney's coming over. We need film.

Beer 4 - I just finished playing drums to Micheal Jackson's BEAT IT, and as I sat down to type this, the ASH from ARMYS OF DARKNESS doll that I have next to the computer said, "Groovy!" Not yet. It's still just me and Mark. Another beer done. God save the queen. The cunt.

Beer 5 - 8:55 pm - We're trying to get our rock star friend luis over here. He's mexican, so I told him to fly over here on a tortilla-but he said he's going to show up somehow. I don't know why he can't drive. License suspended or something? Joe's bringing over the film for the camera. I hope Luis doesn't steal it...

Beer 6 - 10:33 pm - Somebody's shooting me with a toy gun. Mark posted " I Hate Jews!" on this site. I had to erase it. We're looking at pictures of Luis' tour in Scotland. My girlfriend is not answering her phone. I put out chips for everyone and I saw Mike Myers ( not the actor ) stick his finger in his nose and then rummage for more chips.

Beer 7 - So now I'm defending myself. There's a crowd around me as I type this. Let me state this...right now...I am not a RACIST. by the way....They say that I'm typing too fast...p.s.....I'M not a racist...

Beer 8 - 11:57 Amy is now opening up Anne's xmas invite. People are shooting balls at me. No, it's not sexual. There's some super-model here. Who the hell is she? I had to take out the trash. And Amy just shot out the toy balls from Mark's xmas present to me from her vagina. Or at least pretended to. Who's this playing on the stereo? The Stones? Somebody smells like Pepporoni...aw fuck it. How do you spell it...it's meat, yo.

Beer 9 - Okay. We're going to play a couple of songs...even the guy from the comic book store is here right now....UPDATE...Camback just asked me if it was okay to plug in his vaporizer? I had to have him explain what it was for...fucking pot smokers....I've never heard that b4...okay I have to play now....

Beer 10/11/12 - Hey, where'd the comic book guy go? I lost count, sorry. Too much has happened. Too much noise and too much foolish shenanigans. Somebody just breathed in my ear. I might give up soon. We played a couple of songs. That was a mistake. Drums in a living room is not good when you have people over. I bought gum at the store too. It was Big League Chew. It reminded me of Little League. Crimson and Clover is playing. Apparently it's a hit because now everybody's making more noise than before.

Beer 13/14/15? - 3:50 am - After the neighbor...is that how you spell it? showed up...I've tried to keep it down. Luis is playing babies breath drums and Ryan is just playing.

Beer Infinity - 6:01 am - All humans must hate me. Her I'm trying to have a conversation with my drummer, who's curled up in one of my nappy ass blankets and all that he wants to do is go to sleep. I'm wide awake, of course. Doing NOW exactly what I wanted to do before, even though I had fun tonight. Not too much fun-but mellow fun. Before sleep, I'm thinking about tomorrow. I will have a smile on my face. I'll have a hard time explaining the night to the girl when she gets back because not much happened. But everything happened though, didn't it? There were a million funny-ass, hilarious conversations and small, smatterings of important life blurbs that made all of tonights nothingness...worth something. Me and Tom reading an old story that we both wrote together, to what? A bunch of small nothing stories. That's it. Breakfast at noon. Goodnight....

punctuation and spelling be damned.

Good night...sweet bastards.










Giving yourself to the TaunTaun...

How the hell do you spell that anyway?
I'm a Star Wars geek, I should know.
Looking up the correct spelling on the internet
would make me geekier though, so I wont.

My girlfriend is in Vegas. I am home alone.
I said I wasn't having a party. I have changed out of my work clothes.
I visited the Toilet Man. He eats your poo poo and your pee pee, y' know.

I will give you a beer report.

Good bye.


December Is Horny...

It's trying to paw me. It claws at me. Grabs my ass and stares at my chest. December's a fuckin' pig. I wish It'd go away.

When this month is over, maybe monetary obligations and all of this freakin', friggin', fuckin' craziness will end. My girlffriend is leaving for Vegas tomorrow. What to do? What to do? I'm not going to Vegas with her because it's birthday thing that she's doing with some of the girls and because I have a penis and I'm not allowed to go. I swear though, one of the girls that she's going with has one, but I'm used to hypocrisy. Mark has been talking about having a party at my house. He always talks about having a party at my house when my girlfriend leaves. I don't know why. He can do whatever he wants here all the time and usually does. Which is nothing. So why a party? Strippers? No. Too expensive. What then? My girlfriend got freaked out and asked what I was going to be doing. I don't think that she understands that my greatest wish, that my greatest desire-is to be trapped on a desert island that resembles my home. I like to write. Do nothing. Stare off into space and think crap. Life crap. Comic book crap. Crap crap. I like to read. I like to masturbate. I like to read about masturbating and read comic books about masturbating. I like to type...M-A-S-T-U-R-B-A-T-I-N-G-...while masturbating. When I masturbate, I like to think about the masters of masturbation. I think about The Masters Of The Universe while masturbating.

SO, I'm probably going to get drunk.
Hang out.
Go out?
If I'm here...tomorrow night maybe I should post after I finish a beer.

Damn, I better go to sleep then, that's about 19 beers...

Then I'll go masturbate.

Thursday, December 19, 2002


Poof!...

Is anyone else's archives gone? I've noticed that I cant republish them and get them to show...

What the hell, muthas.

Yet, another boring post...


Ah. Forget What I Said...

You know what's even more boring than writing about books that you haven't finished?

No. Me either.


Before I Go To Bed...

I must do your mom. No. I must remind myself to write my next post on what books I have that I can't finish...YOU SHOULD TOO, IN THE COMMENTS. Whether It's some that you've tried repeatedly or one that was just plain fucking dissapointing after you got all worked up about it...

Actually...kind of like your mom.





Wednesday, December 18, 2002


Today...

Woke up reluctantly. Should've put in a cartoon or Empire Strikes Back and then just relaxed. Got up. Did some shite on the computer, I don't remember what. Went shopping, bought some presents for the gal friend. The we went to her friends sister's house to pick up a rug for our living room. It looks nice. You could stick a dead dog on the floor and I would say the same thing, though. I'm not too picky about that type of stuff. Her friend's sisters house was cool, though. I'd met her and her husband before at some party that we had here. They have a couple of small, wee, little chillun's that are cute as hell and I hung out with while the women were jabbering away about god-knows-what. The little girl. About Three, I think? Showed me her Disney magic mirror with the hair brush and the lipsticks. The mirror talked to you. She read me a couple of books, and tried to scare me with a frog puppet and then a bug mask. The boy-a little older, I think. Five maybe? Showed me all of his Star Wars. I was impressed and tried not to rub it in his face too much that all of my shit was better than his. But his room looked cool. I was jealous. The father was giving away some movies too, did we want any? Ummmm...HARD BOILED? THE KILLER? BLUE VELVET? THE STREET FIGHTER? RETURN OF THE STREET FIGHTER? and BARTON FINK? Uhhhh...yes? Then we went to the comic book store and I bought a bunch of Spider Man comics. Peter Parker's the shit, yo.

Went home, talked to my sis. Now I've got band practice coming on at 10 pm! Fuck. But it's a joyous fuck, though. Then I'll be back home, putting off sleep and a the following loooong-ass work day.

Soon, I will be rocking out. While visions of sugar plums dance in your head, I will be playing a cover of William Shatner's cover of Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds. Just Kidding. I'll be slamming heroin while fifty groupies rub my...feet. Just kidding. I'll try to kick some ass, maybe. Well see.










The Poo-Slinger...

You ever think that Spiderman has to cut
web-slinging or a fight short due to a intestinal emergency?

Those microwave burrito's will kill ya.

Do you think he carries a travel pack of tissues with him?







I'm A Big Jerk...

Because I havent read The Two Towers. I can't get through it. Two page long descriptions of mountain passages bore me. I liked the first movie and vowed to finish the second book before this movie came out, but...I suck. It sucked. I don't know. So, I'm tempted to sneak away and see the movie right now. It makes me feel guilty that for years geeks had only the books and wished for a movie to come out, and I couldn't get through the second book...

So about The Two Towers...

I have one question about this movie before I see it...

Is there any nudity?
Elven boobage?
Gandalf's crotch?
Frodo's pubes?


Mail Today...

Package from my Pa. Every year I get a check for fifty or a hundred bucks that sadly goes to some emergency bill, rent, or porn situation. Last year, I think i got a sweater, which my girlfriend was quick to snatch. This year, though. Oh this year. I got...check it, A phone card. Which I think is my father's way of dropping a hint. A thirty dollar card gift certificate thingy for the Olive Garden Restaurant. Which is awesome. Everybody knows I'm emaciated and bone-thin. Maybe I'll get some meat on my bones? Yeah, right. Suck it. I like being thin. I'm a wispy god doing whatever the hell I want. I'm going to save the card and put it towards their bread sticks and salads. It'll last me for eight months. I should be a supermodel. And a check too. What the hell? It's for...hold on....50 bucks. Wow. I'm a little nervous. Last time I got this much from him, he kicked me out of his house. This is making me paranoid. What's happening, Roge? And there's more!

A Santa Claus Pez and three...THREE Simpsons Burger King watches. I didn't even have to eat there.

Now this is where it makes me totally grateful and happy, but nervous.

I've written both about my affinity for Pez and my desire to purchase those Pez watches here. He has never heard me say anything about either of them.
Now what does this mean? Is my father reading this site? Did my sister tell him? Cuz' she wasn't supposed to. And he doesn't know I have this. Not that I care, but I don't like people peeking over my shoulder when I write. I know that people read it. Shit, I want them to. C'mon-you guys are going to help me get rich and famous, right? But under no condition should I ever stop to think what somebody else will think about what I just wrote. That destroys it all.

So father. If you're reading this. Tell me. So I could boot you the hell off of this thing or switch the name to Mr.stinkass.blogspot.com or something.

I love you and all, but you need to go away.

p.s. I love my presents too. Send more.

Monday, December 16, 2002


Magilla Gorilla, Top Cat, And Yo' Mama...

Yogi and Boo Boo. GAY
Fred and Barney. NOT GAY.
C3PO and R2D2. GAY.
Scooby and Shaggy. GAY.
Sylvester and Tweety. NOT GAY.
Tom and Jerry. NOT GAY.
Batman and Robin. SO GAY.










Hey, Look! My Turtle Is Actually Sitting On Top Of His Rock...

So my girlfriend asked me to buy her a magazine yesterday when we were at the store. It's called "Shape" magazine. The girl on the cover's pretty cute. In "Shape", I guess. Fit. Attractive. Blah, Blah, Blah. Why my girlfriend wanted the magazine, I don't know. My girlfriend's hotter. But anyway, It got me to thinking. So if this magazine cover girl is what magazine publishers, the media, and the entertainment industry deem the norm for beauty and physical fitness-and every girl secretly wishes they were this magazine cover girl...does this mean that I'm supposed to want to look like the guy on the male equivalent of a "Shape"-type magazine? Doesn't it seem that women get pissed off about female performers/models/actresses more than men do? Do you get what I'm saying? I guarantee you that if a supermodel, actress with big tits, or any horrible crap actress is on the screen, a girl will have something negative to say about her. A guy will only say something about a male actor if he kills somebody, has sex, or lights a joint. Is there only a small percentage of males who look at male models or actors on magazine covers and then try to look like them as much as possible? Besides all the men in L.A., I mean. Why does it seem that more women want to be the societal stereotype of beauty, while men are just either too lazy to aspire towards anything, or just content being the fat ignoramuses they are?

Who has a copy of the Star Wars Christmas special?
Who likes Beautiful Stories For Ugly Children?
Who took all of my underwear?





Sunday, December 15, 2002


Brad Pitt's Character In Oceans Eleven Is Always Eating...


I recieved a CD in the mail from Boz, the purveyor of The Grand Ennui, that we agreed upon as part of our "Exchange Things We Already Have, and Want to Get Rid of, Instead of Polluting the World With More Useless Christmas Gifts, That We Probably Don't Want or Need in the First Place" program.


- Neil Young With Crazy Horse "Broken Arrow"

When I opened up the package, I was kind of like all...(See that? That was authentic California speech) Anyway, I was like...Hey! Neil Young? He's not that bad. There's two or three songs of his that I like, maybe more. I had to go though, before I could listen to it, but did today. It lasted five seconds before I popped it out. In Boz's note he said that it sounded like it was recorded in a bowling alley bar, which I think is hilarious because he means that it doesn't sound like it was recorded in a bowling alley, but the bar or a bowling alley. That's funny. Bowling alley bars are scary. Limbo-Awesome, but scary. As a test I'd like to become a patron of a bowling alley bar for two staright weeks. For no reason. Two weeks. Eating lujke warm nachos and playing electronic darts. I like bowling once or twice a year, I guess. I like bars better. I like bars once or twice every one or two days. If I watched a bar and a bowling alley get in a fight, I would hope that the bar would win. I knew that I would be the honest fucker that I am and write exactly what my first listen of the CD was like. I promised to myself listen to it later when I had more time, and now I can, but my girlfriend is asleep on the couch, so I'll have to tomorrow. You know what? I'm gonna do it anyway...just real low...hold on.............wait, ill put it in the computer....hmmmm....let me take out the stupid video game out....

And I'm an idiot. I spent the last five minutes looking for it by the stereo-and it was right by the computer....

Okay...you know what? I put it in and skipped the first song after a bit...but in the last 10 minutes or so, the CD was playing and I didn't really realize that I was listening to it. This Neil Young album sounds like a mosquito. On a camping trip. But you have the flu. And you're too weak to wave the mosquito away.

You know what? Maybe Boz meant that this sounds like music that you would hear AT a bowling alley bar. That makes sense too. Hmmmmm....

I would get shot if I tried to play some of these songs in front of people. But I bet you could do all punk covers of these songs. See? Like this one sounds SO much like a Ramones cover tune.

Done. Album bad. Operation a success. Wow. That was a really bad album...

Now, can anyone else tell me what one of the worst albums are that you own? And why haven't you gotten rid of it?

And why?...oh nothing...what a long day this was...





Friday, December 13, 2002


You Don't EVEN Understand...

You think you know-but you have no friggin' idea, punks.
Grand Buffet's in town tonight. Two white guys rapping, dancing, and lickin' lollipops.

Be jealous. Be very jealous.




See What I get?...

For trying to be all Christ-massy?
I bought some Xmas cards in a Hallmark store the other day. A bunch of cards in a pack. The design on the outside didn't have any Jesus-stuff on it. The price was ridiculous, but was the least ridiculous compared to the rest. Underneath the card display it said that they'd print one free line for you. I bought the cards and had them say "Love Kevynn and Dawne" on the bottom of the card.

I picked them up before work today.

At this beautiful time of year,
we want to express
our appreciation for your business.
May your holidays be filled with
HOPE and JOY
and your new year with success.

Love, Kevynn and Dawne

Business.
BUSINESS.
BIZ-NATCH?

Fuck.

It looks like the liquor store is getting a Christmas card this year.





Thursday, December 12, 2002


So Yesterday...

After the fight, or at least round one-I went to...

The Post Office.
Toy's R Us.
In N Out ( Thats a burger joint for those of you who don't know).
Stopped by a friend's house.
Found a new thrift store.
Went to the library.
Bought stuff at the grocery store.
AND had band practice.

We should argue more often, huh?

Wednesday, December 11, 2002


Even Her Cat Isn't Talking To Me...

So Did You Catch The Fight Last Night?...

No, I didn't. Who won?

Not Kevynn.




Yet Another Reason Why I'm A Bad Boyfriend...

Girlfriend asleep with a cold that I gave her.
Me awake at 1:37 am.
Eating Pez out of Chewbacca's neck.

Tuesday, December 10, 2002


Say Hello To My Little Friend...


Go to my links on the left hand side of this webby/bloggy/thing and talk to my robot...

Let me know what you think, yo....

Bzzttt!!!



Monday, December 09, 2002


We should...

Exchange presents. We should trade crap that we have in our houses. If yopu really want to...yopu? What the hell is that? A Pokemon character? Use this comments section to propose a Christmas trade. It's not that hard to stick some junk of yours and send it in the mail...no feces though. I want none of that. No ebola virus, no monkeys paw either...

Leave a comment and your email too...

We should...It'd be fun-you never know what you'll get from me...

Oh wait. I said no feces, huh?

Damn!







Sunday, December 08, 2002


Just For Today...

It's hard to think that one day we won't be here. Tomorrow. Eighty years. Tonight...you may die. Maybe one morning your significant other will wake up, wondering where you are, grasping the empty section of the bed next to them, and then cry...realizing that you'll never be back. You're gone. Maybe a friend will be at work or driving down the street and be struck with a fleeting image of your face or reminded of something you said. A passerby will remind them of you and they'll think how long it's been since you left. Your dog or cat will always wander by the door, making noise, wondering when you're coming home. What will happen to everything that you own? Inherited? Tossed out with the trash? Separated and dispensed between different people? Sold? Will your writing eventually be lost? All of your precious books scattered? What happens to pictures and photo albums a hundred years from now? Do a couple of them wind up in a thrift store? One found in between the pages of a book? What will the person who found it think? Will he toss it or spend time looking at every detail? Wondering exactly where and who you were?

What do we do with today? What did I do important? Maybe nothing big. Maybe my whole life just changed in the last minute. Just as long as you can absorb any notable moment. No matter how big or small-isn't that something?

So, what do I do know? Me with these feelings and this not societally acceptable awareness that I've had forever that will never go away? What do I do with it now that I'm getting older and the days seem to passing by even faster than they did before? What do I do when it gets a little harder to tap into that wide-eyed, open wonder that used to be constant? How do I dismantle the filters that I installed inside my brain through time?

Writing, I guess. Any activity. Remembering to look up at the sky like I always used to. Saying hello to the weeds growing in between the cracks of the sidewalks. Giving my cat an extra pat on the head and spending even more time with my girlfriend. Laughing louder. Driving faster? No, maybe not. Looking forward to tomorrow and to the last moments of tonight. Realizing that this crazy, expensive month, this Christmas, and all of our supposed worries that we had today are actually blessings that we're taking for granted. Damn, look at the stuff we're arguing or fretting about right now. Everything is...I don't know. Everything just...is. And that's it.

Someday I'll be forgotten and everything around me will disappear. Covered up, changed, overlooked or ignored. Everything so important won't matter. All that matters is that I did it. Whatever that was. Loving. Life. Raising children. Raising havoc. Raisin chickens? I just wrote Raisin Chickens...they come from grapes, you know...

So.

Just for today?...

Have fun. Be nice. Smack somebody around who's being stupid or mean to anybody undeserving. Be aware of your surroundings and become an addition to the beauty of it. Whether it's by saying hi to the neighbor's dog out loud or by blowing up the Death Star, Luke...Save a rain forrest or go to a bar and introduce yourself to the opposite sex as Forrest. Forrest Guuummmp.

So...just for today?

Breathe deep.
Open your eyes.
Have intercourse with your heart and soul.
Time is passing, folks...so catch it, punks.

And don't poop your pants...because that really smells...and it's a bitch to clean up.






Revenge Is A Dish Best Served With Phlegm...

Whoever got me sick deserves to be kicked in the crotch. Well, I'm not really that sick, I've just felt like crap for the last couple days. I know it was one of you I-Don't-Cover-My-Mouth-When-I-Cough Cretins. You suck. Bastards. Makin' me all sniffly and poo-headed. Eat it. I'm already getting better though, so there.

I need another beer...


Friday, December 06, 2002


Not to be mean...

But Strom Thurmond just turned 138 or something, and in the paper there was a picture of him now, and a picture of him from 1957. Hey-is that how you spell his name? Really? Strom? Or is it really Storm? Is he one of the X-Men? Did he attend The Xaviers Institute of Higher Learning? Ummm....

Anyway. He's old. Like I said, not to be mean-I'll be lucky to live that long and he's probably healthier than me. I bet I pee my pants alot more than he does. I started to feel a little guilty for ragging on the guy-I don't even know what he did/does...until I read this..."Strom holds the record for the longest-ever speech in the Senate, a 24-hour, 18-minute magnum opus filibuster in opposition to the 1957 Civil Rights Act. He was also the author of the 1956 “Southern Manifesto” against Brown v. Board of Education." Say goodbye to my guilt.

But, have you ever seen a picture of someone...your parents, an actor, anybody-and been amazed at how different or how good that person looked? Especially if it's a black and white photo. I almost typed porno. You notice alot of similarities between the old and young pictures, but sometimes the person looks hot or pretty bad-ass. My parent's don't count because they looked like movie stars in old photos I've seen and still look pretty good. My father especially. Sorry mom. Not that you can read this anyway. I sound like Eminem.There are a small handful of people who never seem to age. But they don't count because they're weird and most normal mortals will never get the chance to trade their soul to the devil, let alone meet him. To be accurate, there are some people who have always looked like shit. These can't be helped and we don't need to talk about them. They're in the McDonald's drive-thru lane honking their horn at the car in front of them, telling them to hurry up.

I know I was rambling and really didn't prove any point. All I'm trying to say is that it's amazing sometimes how fifty years, sometimes even five years can really affect a person's looks. So, lets look at ourselves in the mirror. To be honest, im not entirrely dissatisfied with what I see in the mirror, some days are better than others. Geez, some months are better than others. I know both of my parents have aged well. But when my Satan-Spawn-I mean, children look at pictures of me from this year, are they going to freak the fuck out? Are they going to think that I once actually looked okay? That I looked like I used to actually do things and not just sit around the house all day losing my teeth and my fucking marbles? Are they going to find it hard to believe that I used to talk to people? Because first thing I'm going to do when I become a senior citizen is to shut the hell up. If I want to communicate with people, I'll just draw them little stick figure doodles. They can try to figure it out if they want.

We'll see, I guess. But it sucks cuz' half of you wont be around to laugh at me when I shave my head and paint my face purple. I'll wear a shirt that says "Mr. Pruney Jack Ass."
Or maybe I'll just walk around the mall with a shirt that says "I got to third base with your grandmother!"

Or maybe I'll just fly uninvited to any of my grown up children's houses and when they answer the door, I'll point my finger at their faces and start to cackle. Then toss my cane in the tree, throw my fecal matter at their dog, do that leap where you click your heels in the air, strip down to my Depends and then run down the street...

Or maybe I'll die in my sleep tonight and we won't have to bother with any of this...

Bye.




Thursday, December 05, 2002


When I Had Long Hair...

People used to say I looked like that guy Nuno from that crappy band, Extreme. Damn. Or that I looked like Lou Diamond Phillips or that I just plain looked like shit.

Now I get Harry Potter all the time or a skinny Clark Kent.

Better than people telling you that you look like Ellen Degeneres, I guess...



Wednesday, December 04, 2002


What A BeeYatch...

No, not Michael Jackson or his spider nemesis. So, my girlfriend just came home from visiting about eight stores to look for kitchen stool satan seat covers or something. Nothing in her hands. I asked her how the affair she's having is going. She asked me how my other girlfriend is. She's fine. Forget about that, check out what she just told me.

I guess my girlfriend and a woman were both looking at the same cream seat covers except that there was only one pack of three left. Four come in a pack. Somebody must have taken one out to look at it, like people do in stores sometimes. My girlfriend found the stray one from the pack a little later and...HID IT.

Yeah, tucked it away somewhere. Later she ends up seeing the lady in the store again and they have a long conversation about seat-thingys and tells my girlfriend that she can have the last pack if she wants because she can't find the other one. Then my girlfriend went outside to the pay phone to ask her mother some question about something and then ended up going home because the girl on the pay phone next to her was screaming fuck you and restraining order into the phone repeatedly and at top volume.

My girlfriend left.

Someone's getting coal in their karma stocking this Christmas...




Yeowwwww!...

If I ever meet the spider that bit Michael Jackson, I'll give it a sugar cube and shake its...hands.

That's gonna be the name of my new band...Michael Jackson Spider Bite.






Something To Remember...

Even if the double shot of tequila is free --
You Dont Have To Drink It.....




Tuesday, December 03, 2002


I Love The Damn, Fuckin' Library...

Oh, and thrift stores too. After work I bought a crapload of cheap books, but I won't tell you what most of them were because you'll laugh at me. Hey, they were only a quarter each...I also got a couple of books at the library. Prey by Micheal Chrichton and the Nanny Diaries by some crap head. I rented two movies also...Portrait Of A Lady with Nicole Kidman and...Zero Effect with Ben Stiller. I got two comic books also. See, I'm spoiled...my library has comic books.

I also saw your mom.

She says hi, and to send more money.

She needs new shoes.





Monday, December 02, 2002


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...



Sunday, December 01, 2002


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...









Saturday, November 30, 2002


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.

Thursday, November 28, 2002


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...