The Days Run Away Like Wild Horses over the Hills...

I didn't want to wake up, but I had to. Last night was one of those nights where everybody drinks too much and makes plans for the next day. What we don't realize is that most won't remember, and the ones that do won't find anybody to go to breakfast, lunch, or dinner with because the other person is probably sleeping. Don't exchange phone numbers with a newfound friend because it'll just be cleaned out of the wallet in a month. Realize that you'll be eating fast food before you go to bed. You won't even remember it until you see the empty wrappers in the trash. I laughed a lot last night. Ha Ha Ha. I did. Really.

I didn't want to wake up, but I did. I went to the batting cages. Everybody else flaked out except for Joe. Not Joe Mama. My back is sore. When I hit em? Great. When I don't? My back gets all twisted like spaghetti. I have bad knees, okay? They've been bugging me bad for the last coupla years. You should see me walk up steps when nobody's looking. That's what skateboarding will do to ya' kids, look out. So, one ball I hit, smacked me in the knee. My left knee, thankfully. My right knee's the worst. I didn't want to hit anymore because I was in so much pain. Later, I did the same exact fucking thing. Instead of quitting, we logically went to the fast pitch cages.

We played Laser Tag. Me, Joe, two moms, and 23 kids. I got in a fight with one who was bugging the hell out of me. I took his wallet. I played video games. I ate pizza. I went outside to smoke. I sat on a rock. Little blackbirds were pecking at the lawn in front of me. Maybe forty of them. They got closer. And closer. And closer, until they were about five feet away from me. I sat still. My cigarette was developing a grandma ash of mass proportions. A young girl started to look at me. Was it the close proximity of the birds or my natural, boyish charm? Was I a Bird Whisperer? I played more video games. I saw god. No. I went to the video store. I got nothing. I think that is sad. I went home to take a shower. I didn't. I talked to one of my older brothers. I need to go to Baltimore when his baby is born next month. I'm the Marlon Brando of his kid. Wait, I'm the fat-once-brilliant-actor of his kid?

Joe and I were waiting for Chris so that we could go to dinner. I was smoking in the backyard. No birds. Too cold. No worms? I don't know. I heard a crunch. I could tell it was a car against car crunch. Let's stop this "car on car" crime. I heard glass tinkling. I ran to where I heard the noise originate from. It was coming from where my car was parked. The hit and run, drunken-or-just-plain-stupid driver hit the car parked behind mine. Joe and I talked to the irate owner who told us that he fargin felt like cussing, and the cop. I hoped he didn't see my expired registration. I thanked the god(s). We ate food.

I came home. Watched smatterings of the Grammys. Why aren't they giving out awards to grandmothers? Read. Tried to type. Waited. Watched the end of ALI. Uhhh...fine, I guess. It's no When We Were Kings, though. There is a fat cat asleep by me. She is on her back. She is disgusting. One arm is in the air. One is curled down like she's saying, "Aww Shucks!". I think she ate all of the birds that I hung out with today.

I'm glad I woke up.
Now I need to go to sleep...

Smells Like Teen Spirit...

First concert. I was sixteen, I think. Kyuss, White Zombie, Danzig. Why? I was into Danzig. That's it. Halloween night. Lied to my father. Told him I was staying at Tony's house. Costumes. Freaks. Joel lost a whole eighth of pot and we spent the first half hour looking for it. Why? I don't know. I never liked it. I had an older brother, so I know what I'm talking about. We started a mosh pit. We floated Mike across the crowd, and then lost him. We didn't see him until the last part of the concert. I lost my earring and my mask in the space of the first mosh-minute. There were bonfires. I saw long-haired freak's hair go up in flames. A big guy that was standing and watching right by me nudged me and gave me his pipe. I smoked it. Why? I don't know. I got stoned. I hated getting stoned. I lost track of time. I saw a guy with a bloody eye in the bathroom yell what a great time he was having. There were zombies, witches, vampires, and idiots. It was fun.

My next concert was at the Orange County Fair.

I saw The Everley Brothers.

Even scarier.

The Wheels On The Bus...

Time is passing, things are changing. After work I played with my girlfriend's sister's daughter in the park. Does that make sense? If my girlfriend and I were married, which we will be when I'm 87, Rosie would be my neice. She'll start to hate me later on, but she thinks I'm pretty cool now. We point out animals in my books. I pay attention to her. She's the only girl I hug and kiss besides my girlfriend, and I don't have to figure out bills with her, so it's a perfect arrangement. After I got off of work today, my girlfriend asked if I would take Rosie to the " P.A.R.K?". I agreed so that my girlfriend and her sister could talk about family/girl stuff in peace. We went to the park by my house. I had to carry her in my arms all the way there. That was the agreement. If I had it my way, I probably would've let Rosie drive me there. Not my kid. Not my rules. If I had it my way, I'd instruct Rosie to act like she was a midget and ask adult questions to the adults. I'd give her a cel phone and dress her up in a jogging suit. I'd tell her to scream into the phone and ask people, "What the fuck you lookin' at?" when they were staring. I'd tell her to say, " Haven't you ever seen a midget with sloooow speech before?"

The park was empty when we got there. We climbed on everything. We slid down the slides. I made the mistake of teaching her how to play, "Store" in one of the play houses. I would give her wood chips as money and she would give me hamburgers. Consumerism, anyone? I'm glad I didn't call the play house, "McDonalds". Then I would've had to pretend to puke all over the place. Rosie never grew tired of the game, I was sick of putting my hands in all of the woodchips. I kept on thinking about what drunk teenagers do at parks late at night. I tried to tell her that we should go on the slides again. See? Kids aren't bored doing the same thing over and over again. I am. That makes me the kid, I think. Then I thought that if I told her that I was going to play on the slide instead of asking her, I'd get my way. It worked.

The playground started to get filled with small little kids. About eight little things and four mothers that I knew for a fact were younger than me. I live close to a home for troubled, young, pregnant mothers. That explains the kids. One little dude with dreadlocks started to follow me around and wanted to do all of the things that I was doing. Nobody seemed to be watching him. He'd just squeek at me, but I was afraid of lifting him up on things and getting funny looks from the mamas. I had my kid, though. That was my defense. Little dreadlock boy started to follow us everywhere and so I helped lift him on a platform and tried to not make Rosie jealous and make it seem that it was perfectly natural that I was devoting half my time to her and a complete stranger. Little dreadlock boy started to eat the woodchips after sticking his mouth down into the ground. I was afraid of him choking, so I looked around and saw nobody paying attention once again. So, I did the only thing that I could. I stuck my fingers in somebody's baby's mouth and started to pull out the wood chip slivers. I was waiting for the scream from a mother. " What the hell are you doing with my baby?". I was picking fucking wood out of saliva, okay? I shouldv'e thrown some chips in his diapers for fun. That would've really tripped them out later.

Babies were everywhere. When I was helping Rosie climb up a rope ladder. A little thing about the size from my foot to my knee came running up to me as I was climbing. She had a big smile on her face. I had an abject look of terror on mine. I blocked her to stop her from falling about four feet to the ground. I saw some of the mother's start to pay more attention then.

I felt like a father, a little bit. I was standing around watching Rosie with eagle eyes. One of the teenage girls/sitters was shadowing one of the munchkins around. I had a smile on my face and my eyes were darting around, looking for any potential obstacle or danger. Isn't it funny that parents in parks never really look at each other? They can't. One glance away means a busted kid head. I don't know who said what, it was something about one of the slides. I said some thing like, " Yeah, she really likes those." The mom said, "Oh yeah, mine too!" Ummmm....I'm standin' here in my bluejeans, scary black skull t-shirt, wristbands, and scary hair. I don't really fit, okay?

But I guess I do. Because I could be a father now. And I've always dressed however I wanted to at the moment. My uniform is pretty basic. Black shirts when warm. Collared long sleeves when cold. Hair always dumb. Me father now? No. You taking care of mine when I have em'? Oh yeah.

I'll teach my kid how to spellcheck too.


Poop head.

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

Watching the last episode of The Bachelorette.
My girlfriend turns to me, teary-eyed, and says, "Are you crying too?"

"Uh, no. I was picking my nose."

Richie Rich And Almost Famous...

I am now working on becoming rich and famous. Rich in what? Famous for what? No, you ass - I just wan't to be rich and famous. Not J-Lo rich and famous. Not F. Scott rich and famous. Not George C. Scott rich and famous. Not Scotland Yard. Not The Yardbirds. Not Charlie Parker. Not Trey Parker. Not Parker Bros. Not The Brothers McMullen. Not a mullet. Not Macauley Culkin. Not Coldplay. Not At Play In The Fields Of The Lord. Not Traci Lords. Not Lord Vader. Not Vapo Rub. Not, " Ay, there's the rub!". Not The Three Men In The Tub. Not Crockett. Not Davey Jones. Not Grace Jones. Not George Burns. Not cigar Burns. Not Smithers. Not Alan Smithee. Not Morrisey. Not The Lizard King. Not John Densmore's tinitus. Not Titus, The Faithful Padlock. Not Paddington Bear. Not Aslan. Not Pennywise. Not He-Who-Should-Not-Be-Named. Not Admiral Thrawn. Not Elijah Snow. Not The Fourth Man. Not Aimee Mann. Not a man. Not a woman. Not Peter Parker. Not Johnathan Harker. Not Parker Posey. Not a fat head named Rosie. Not Zoloft. Not Phillip Morris. Not Kerouac. Not Palahniuk. Not Orson Scott Card. Not Harry Osborn. Not Warren Ellis. Not a crook. Not tired yet. Not smart, eh? Not enough time in the day. Not too html savvy. Not responsible. Not normal. Not a bad guy to know. Not taking anything for granted. Not a healthy liver. Not a good guy to stick in Vegas. Not into TV. Not taking out the trash. Not done with the screenplays. Not sure what that noise was coming from the turtle tank. Not sure why I think gothic girls are attractive. Not at all gothic myself. Not to touch the earth, not to touch the sun. I had the day off today but I had to cover for a guy whose brother died. I'm not kidding. I am not the god of hellfire. I once met a person who was attacked by a Vampire. I like Werewolves. I hate all Werewolf movies. I like all Spiderman comics. Please send me some. Not Werewolves. I need to go smoke now, can you hold on a sec? Why, thank you. You're the greatest, Bubba....I attract ghosts in almost every house that I live in. I once wrote a drunk email to Sarah B. and don't remember what I said. I recently wrote a letter of complaint to AT&T. I like action figures. I like Gary Oldman. I like the Dalai Lama. I hate China. I like Radiohead. I like Beer and nothing else. I am romantic. I am agoraphobic. I like the beach but hate open water. I like dogs but only have cats. My hair is growing back. I like to poo. I tried to get tickets to see Coldplay at The Hollywood Bowl but they sold out in the first seven minutes. I'd like to tell everybody that got them to suck it. I am listening to Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond. I like to sing, and do almost always. I play bass guitar but not as much as I should. Good times never seemed so good. I like Bruce Campbell. I'd like to link to everything that I've talked about. I like eggrolls. I hate mexican food. I hate mexicans and love eggs. Not really. I need to get new car insurance. Larry stopped by tonight. He looks like Snoop Doggy Dog. I once saw Charlie Sheen and Anthony Keidis in the same hour. I have one brown eye and one light brown eye. I am afraid. I've got a bad feeling about this. I want to see Popeye, the movie. I don't miss Shelly Duvall one bit. I think Jennifer Garner is cute but shouldn't work out anymore. I don't watch wrestling. I lke to read. I don't like to read about wrestling. Ernest Hemingway blew his head off with a shotgun. I had a good Valentine's Day. There is still mistletoe hanging above the front door. I am not going to spellcheck this. I like you. I need a digital camera. I need to be adopted please. I live in California. I need to drop off my eight rolls of film tomorrow. I need to pay the cable bill. I need to go to the comic book store. I need to go now.

I need to be rich and famous.

Hop to it, punk.

Jesus Worked Out...

My friend Baxter says that Jesus had a swimmer's body. Then did he play water polo? I don't think that there's a chance in hell that Jesus swam. He obviously didn't like water. Have you seen him? Not lately, I meant in pictures. He looks kind of dirty. Some of that weird soap that I just bought would've done him good. Jesus needed a good razor and a gay hairdresser friend.

See, now look at Buddha. Nice. Clean.

I bet Buddha smelled good.

Who Put The Boop In The Boop-Dee-Boop-Dee-Boop?...

And who put the Jesus in my soap? Okay, get ready...I bought some steaks and green beans for dinner, right? I also needed some more soap to wash my stinky butt with. So I went to the healthy hippie section where I get my Toms Of Maine toothpaste from and picked up "Dr. Bronner's Magic Soaps All-One Hemp Vera Baby-Mild Pure-Castille Soap. serious. That's what it's called. Figured it was worth a shot and better than all the usual perfumey crud I usually buy that drives my skin nuts. I opened it up in the shower and started to read the label...

Cruelty free, not animal tested, post-consumer recycled paper, blah blah.

And then I started to read the inside of the wrapper. Notable quotes from the Moral ABC? What the hell? Edison? Booker T. Washington? Mohammed? Confucius? And Bronner? Who the hell is that? And how come most of them were god-ish quotes? That sucked! And of course, the soap sucked. It felt like I was rubbing somebodys heel against my arm. What did I just say?

Screw the Jesus soap. I've been had. I feel dirty now.

*Update* Well, maybe not. I don't know.
You've got to read this article. It's crazy.

Apathetic Nnyvek...

Oh. I get it.
Once, I stop caring about the comments section -
it starts to work again. I see now.
Well, I also don't care about money

...eh?

Nothing happened.

As If It Being Fucking Monday Wasn't Enough...

I bring you this...and I apologize in advance.

p.s. AND I am very close to ditching stupid-ass-never-working Haloscan because my comments never work. What the hell am I paying them for? Oh wait, I get it for free. Well, who cares? They can suck it. All a bunch of bastards, they are.

Transvestite. Schmanzmestite. Comic Book. Nothing Else Of Importance...

I like Planetary and Eddie Izzard.

Not at the same time.

Thank you.

Walt Disney’s Head Part 3...

Time went by quick too. That never used to happen before. I was standing in line at Star Tours. I was at the part where you're waiting to step into the "spaceship". When I was young, the whole minute you used to have to wait until the doors opened was agonizingly slow. I would watch the time tick away on the tv screen. Every second seemed like an eternity. Now, what's a minute to an adult? We know the DMV, okay? We know what it is to wait to speak with a human when calling the bank. One minute to wait at Disneyland? Lick it.

I spent a lot of money, but not that much. That's another thing that's different now. I've spent six bucks on a domestic beer in L.A. What's a $2.75 soda? Dinner was $25.00, not bad for two people. The only thing that I bought was this. My girlfriend didn't buy anything. She just went snack crazy. Did I mention how fat everybody was? Did I mention the myriad assortment of stupid hats that everybody was wearing? Did I mention the lap dance I got from Walt's head? Did I mention that I need to go back soon drunk?

I'm bringing cigars.

Walt Disney’s Head Part 2…

So. Everybody’s fat. Their children too. You can’t pay me enough money to wear mouse ears. I didn’t see Mickey Mouse, so I couldn’t punch him in the asshole in front of a crowd. I had to duck down into the shops in Adventure Island because the store awnings kept hitting me in the face. A young employee girl asked me to put out my cigarette please, this was a non-smoking section, there were smoking sections marked throughout the park. I said okay, thanks. I asked where should I put it out? She said, where do you usually put it out? I looked at her to see if she was trying to be sassy. I said, in an ashtray? And gave her a look. She said maybe I could just throw it on the floor. I said that I didn’t want to litter. I should’ve punched her in the asshole with a fistful of cigarettes.

Mo’ Later…

Walt Disney’s Head Part 1…

So I went to Disneyland and survived. I wasn’t bombed. A plane didn’t crash into the Matterhorn. I was searched when I entered the park, but they felt me up with Mickey Mouse gloves, so it was actually quite pleasurable. First thing that we did was not go into Great Moments With Mr. Lincoln. After that she bought a big pickle while I looked for a bathroom for my big pickle. It was weird. I expected a crap load of people to be there considering it was Valentine’s Day, but the crowds were tolerable. Lines were short.

It was a strange experience, though. I live pretty close. I don’t want you to think that I live in Anaheim because Anaheim generally sucks. I try not to go into the city because I don’t ever really have a need to. I’ve probably only been to Disneyland eight times in my life. The last time I went was probably seven years ago.

Here’s a thing. It seems weird, but this is what I felt when I was walking through and going on the rides and stuff. Everything is a lot smaller than I remember. I guess, I haven’t grown that much since then. I’ve still been the same size. Mr. Kevynn equals the same 5 foot 11, 135 lbs. off messy mess as always. Why would everything seem smaller to me? I don’t know why, but it did.

Mo' later today.......

If I Was A Scar...

I'd want to be Tina Fey's.

John Cusack And Molly Ringwald...

Did they ever do a movie with each other? Just wondering. Maybe I'm forgetting.

Where's John been anyway? What has he done for me lately?

And Molly? I saw her in Not Another Teen Movie...she still looks the same.

Is that good or bad?

I still do too, maybe I should ask myself the same question...

Take on me...

Two Worst Things In The World...

The Disney Corporation and Religous fanaticism.

I'm going to Disneyland tomorrow.
I hope my girlfriend and I don't get blown to smithereens in a terrorist plot.
I would like to see Mickey on fire, though.

So, if you never hear from me again, you know where I went.

I'm Going To Hell...

Coming back from the comic book store. I walked out and heard a crunch. I looked around and saw a big red truck pulling out of its parking space and it crunched a purple truck as it was coming out. I started to walk towards the red truck and then it took off. I thought I may have imagined the sound, but why would I think that? So then I went in my car and to the video store. I rented The Good Girl, Igby Goes Down, and My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Should I have tried to chase down the red truck? Asked anybody in the comic book store if they had a purple truck? Should I have actually checked it out to see if it really got hit? I didn't do anything. So, was I an irresponsible citizen? Did the rain distort my vision? Will karma kick my butt? Am I going to hell?

Or am I just going to hell because I rented My Big Fat Greek Wedding?

Reverse King Midas Effect...

First pet, I think? Was a dog back in Texas when I was a wee lad, and my father was working for U.S. Customs Border Patrol. His name was Jesus, but we just called him Chewy for short. The dog. Not my father. he was tiny and black. The dog. Not my father. I don't know where we got him from. But he escaped. Either that or my mother ate him. The dog. Not my father.

We also had some pet ducks...I remember chasing them around the backyard. One day, I saw my mother running after them. My older brother and father were laughing. Funny thing was that my mother had a meat cleaver in her hand and was trying to grab one of them. I remember seeing the ducks trying to fly. They can't really go that high. Finally, my mother got a hold of one of their necks. My father told me not to look. I did. She walked towards my father with the ducks heads in her hands. The bodies were flapping behind her. I'm not kidding.

My Grandmother, Bubba...I'm not kidding here either - died when I was fairly young. But I remember Bubba staying with us when we moved back to So Cal after she had a particularly nasty fall at her house in Texas. She brought her two dogs with her. Bonnie and Laddie. Nice Collie dogs. My sis, Sindy, wasn't allowed outside because she was a wee bitch and would get knocked the fuck out by the dogs whenever she stepped outside. Eventually we had to give the dogs away. Bubba cried. I was sad. My mother was still around and was probably mad that she didn't get to eat them.

After the divorce and when my father was single, pets were out of the question. All of us kids would've been too, if he could've gotten away with it. No dogs. No cats. Even though we lived in a neighborhood around horses, ponies, more ducks, peacocks, skunks, possums, crows, and coyotes. We eventually got a couple parakeets, which my older brother let, fly away. We had a big Oscar fish that ate all of the others. We had Neon Tetras that got sucked up in the water filter. We had an Angelfish that stuck it's fucking nose up to the heat lamp and got stuck up to it, burned, and then died...My mother wasn't responsible for the death or consumption of any of these. She was too far away. Thank god. I'm not too keen on eating things that taste like aquarium water.

All attempts to get a dog were shot down by dear ol' dad in my teenage years. I did have a lizard that we captured in the backyard and put in a tank, but then we went on vacation and I came back to watch all of the ants crawl out of his eyes. His name was Snake. I named my lizard, Snake. I call my penis a lizard now, though. So I guess it all makes sense in some weird way...I think.

When I moved out on my eighteenth birthday...Oh wait, did I say moved? Sorry, I meant to say when I got booted the hell out of my father's house, I could own all of the pets that I wanted...but who wants to hear about my young, dating history? I had a lot of roaches in the first couple of houses. They weren't like pets, though. They were like very, very, bad dogs. Just really tiny and a lot scarier. You never have to feed them, though. That's cool. They can be nibbling on your skin flakes while you're eating cornflakes in the morning.

Various roommates had pets, but that doesn't count, because they weren't mine. What was my first pet? MY pet? Besides your mom? I was living at the Amerige House. No, that's not a boy's home or a mental institution - It's just what me and my various roommates called a house that I lived in for two or three years from...19-21. That's when I met Hannah, my roomie April got her. I had a Beta fish that I felt sorry for when I saw it in a Dixie cup at stupid Pet City. His name was Jabba The Fish. I used to keep his bowl by the floor heater when it got cold. A drunk girl kicked him into it. Goodbye Jabba. Hello fish smell for months. Another roommate had a turtle named Melvin? He got wedged under his little floaty thing in the tank. He died. I buried him in the backyard and we had a funeral. I played a song for him on the guitar and tipped my 40 0z. of Coors onto his grave. My turtle homie. Then after the Amerige House, I moved into The dumb ass Streams Apartments and April lived in the same complex. She'd bring over Hannah for visits and then when April broke up with her boyfriend, I had to keep her. The cat. Not April. When April wanted her back, she couldn't have her. My mom either. Hannah the cat was mine.

My older half brother, Chris, and I, were coming back from The Museum Of Tolerance in L.A. Traffic happened to stop on the freeway. My brother started to yell at Chris to Pick it up! Pick it up! Nobody was dancing or doing military drills in the car, so I was confused. Chris got out and came back with what I thought was a little piece of gray clothing. It was a bloody, pregnant cat named now...60. See, I'm clever, eh? Not really.

Anne couldn't keep her cat Salvador when she had to move to Long Beach. So, I had to in this house.. Salvador was big and dumb, but lovey dovey cool for a shit head. I woke up one morning to a jogger at my doorstep. Do you have a black and white cat? I croaked yes and spent my remaining morning hours digging through tree roots in the backyard that I have now. Poor guy. I had to install an electric fence around his grave just in case my mother ever decides to visit me.

Hannah was too crazy to keep inside. So I let her roam around the backyard and the neighborhood. Sometimes I wouldn't see her for a bit, but all I'd have to do is call her name and she'd eventually come back to me and kick back. One day it came to about a week and I started to get worried. She's gone now. Maybe a coyote got her from the park across the street. Maybe it was one of the Raccoons that we have living up in the palm tree. Or the Possum family? I hope somebody adopted her, but I doubt it. You couldn't keep that sweet, little bitch inside for more than a day. Maybe my mom has a cat whistle.

Now I still have 60. Who is dumb. Great, but dumb. Sweet, though. I have Jane, my girlfriend's fat ass cat. She sucks and is the stupidest thing that I've ever seen. She's on a diet. We have a turtle. He's boring. We have plants. I have my friends. They're just about as animalistic as anything can get. I don't have to groom or feed them, they fend for themselves. So it's all Kool And The Gang.

I have my girlfriend. She requires lots of attention..

I do miss Hannah, though.


That's it.


*sniff sniff *


Pigfuckers.

Pet Sounds...

Ruff!
Meow!
Moo!
Hissssssss!
Snarf!

Just Kidding....

My Drunk Post...


Does anyone else fall asleep to Empire Strikes Back?
I'll be dreaming about Amazing Spiderman issue fifty that's going to be coming out soon.
Trying to keep warm?
Dreading work?
Thinking about death?
About life?
About money?
And your sweet ass?
I want to dangle babies over balconies in my dreams.
I want to forget about your face.
I want to forget about your feces.
I don't ever want to face your feces.
I don't ever want to eat Reeses Feces.
If I ever met E.T., I'd expect him to be rich and to buy me a drink.
If I ever met Elliot, I'd ask him where Gertie was.
If I ever met Tom Green, I'd probably skate with him and never ask him anything after that.
If I ever met you, I'd be scared.
If you ever met me, You'd be scared.
If you ever met me, you'd know that I never get enough sleep.
If the world was a light bulb, I'd be the thin, wire filament glowing and fading in the center of it all.
If time was any faster, I'd be pissed.
If time was any slower, I'd be pissed.
I am aware that Gene Hackman played Lex Luthor.
I am aware that Billy Dean Williams was in both Batman and Empire Strikes Back.
I am aware that The guy who played Jek Porkins in Star Wars was in Batman also.
I am wary of the new Daredevil movie.
I am horny for Jennifer Garner.
Jennifer Garner is not horny for me.
I am in fear of Valentines Day.
I am scared of fat cupids.
I am scared and sacred.


Goodnight/day, punks.

Sorry.

Hey Pig...

I know it's really bad for me, but I really like bacon.

Porn too, but porn isn't high in sodium...

It's just lacking in moral fiber.

Big-Headed Monster...

I'm spoiled. I don't have to get up as early as I'm used to for my current job. I sleep in on weekends now. I must be getting old because I like to watch Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons, but I just can't do it no mo'. This morning I slept away, whined at my productive girlfriend's noise level, and then finally moved all of the covers from the bed to the couch. She was watching some horrible Charlie Sheen movie. Like there's only one, right? Then she left and I watched The Majestic. I didn't expect to like it, and wasn't going to watch it - but I was too lazy to get up. I actually kind of liked it. Then I started to watch an Ashley Judd movie, but grew tired of trying to figure out if she was hot or not. I wrestled various human food products away from our fat ass cat. Talked on the phone. I dried my girlfriend’s laundry for her while she was at work and realized that I was daydreaming in the backyard with a handful of her panties in my hand. I took out six bags of trash. Six. I don't know where it comes from, but I swear, we seem to accumulate more waste than your mom. I read some of my Chuck Palahniuk book and performed a movement in the bathroom Beethoven would've been proud of. I returned some phone calls, but still managed somehow to not call any of family. I'm bad; it takes me weeks to get back to them.

So when I called back Joe, he asked if I could do him a favor.

I just bought a TV off of someone from work. Do you think you could keep it for me for a while?

Two hours later, during the NBA All-Star game, Joe and Chris came over with it. It's thirty-six inches and now in my living room. After I hooked it up, I screamed because I saw a commercial with John Madden in it and his unusually gigantic head was now even bigger. I started to cry, but then Joe told me that his co-worker also asked if he wanted any free beer. I shut up. Then we ordered a pizza and watched an HBO special on cannibalism.

Hmmmm...do you mind if I use up your space with a big TV, give you forty beers, and buy some pizza? Remind me never to complain about anything.

To quote Ice Cube - Today Was A Good Day...

Cry Me A River...

Yes, I've been listening to that song by Justin Timberlake.

I'm sorry.

Please forgive me.

Toon Town...

Yes, I did go out last night. And yes, I did go see Bridget The Midget from The Howard Stern Show play in a punk rock band. Yes, I did drink way too much. And yes, I did have tons o' fun.

And no, I didn't really see her that well.

She was too short.

My God!...

It smells like farts in here.
My girlfriend made deviled eggs this morning.
Why do eggs smell like farts anyway?
Why don't beans smell like farts?

Do you have any Spiderman comics lying around?

I'll trade you something for them.
Maybe I'll draw you a picture or write a horrible poem.

Really. Cross my heart.

Cool Keith...

Greatest influence in my life?

No, not Liam Gallagher, Rama, Osiris, Gwen Stacey or Boz of The Grand Ennui.
Not that big guy up above either. No, not that jerk - I was talking about Charles Lindbergh. That was a stupid joke.

Anyway...the single, greatest influence I've ever had in my life, was a friend that I had when I was five or something. Ackward sentence? Yes. My father used to drop me off at his house and Keith's mother would babysit us. I don't remember how my father knew Keith's mom. Keith's mom was pretty cool as far as I can remember. And what really qualifies as cool to a five year old? Did she let me watch shitty kung-fu movies? Did she make me grilled cheese sandwiches with the crusts cut off? Did she let me make out with her? Did she teach me how to write? Obviously, no. Whatever. She was cool, punk.

I had so much fun with Keith. He had alot of energy. We'd run around in the backyard, play hide and seek, bulid Lego towers and smash them down with our heads, we would scream alot. Out loud, out the window, at the mom, at the moon, whatever. She'd just laugh.

My father never understood me for the genius that I was. He'd get mad at me all of the time. I was always in trouble for something stupid that I did. I'd chop some furniture up with a kitchen knife or rip off all of my clothes in the night. I had an older brother to egg me on. He thought I was funny. So, if somebody else thinks I'm funny, that makes me funny, right? And I should continue, right?

What this boils down to is that my father started to notice that I was starting to act even stupider than normal. He said that I started making up my own language and then I taught it to my older brother. Now, not only did he have one idiot speaking idiot nonsense - he had two little idiots running around speaking gibberish. We stopped playing with our toys normally. We would just nudge them around or stare at them. My father had to re-teach us how to speak and how to play with toys like normal children. My father finally found out that Keith was retarded and I slowly stopped being dropped off at his house. And that was it. i don't know what happened to Keith or his cool mom. I don't know what type of explanation that my father finally gave. All that I know is that Keith was more fun than many of the people that I met years after that, and more honest.

Yeah, he was retarded.
I am too.
So are you.
My girlfriend has been vacuuming the house.
This story was poopy.

Goodbye.

Can You Hear Me Now?...

Watching a commercial for Sprint? with Little Richard. Not to be mean or anything, but I was thinking...why Little Richard? He's wacky, cool and all, and wrote some kick ass songs back in the day - but if I had the chance to see a rock and roll legend in a commercial, I'd rather see tons of different people. Morrison, Tom Waits...George Harrison? Shit, even Ringo Starr...wait, what am i saying?

God bless Little Richard.

I Like To Climb Trees...

Listening to The Pixies and waiting for The Michael Jackson two hour special on ABC...

Very content.

Okay, I Have An Idea...

I will write this post, and then when you comment - I will assign a movie for you to watch based on how well I do or don't know you based upon your website or my uncanny Charles Xavier-like psychic powers. Then...nothing, I guess. Just let me know how much you hated it. My girlfriend is asleep on the couch, also......Reese Witherspoon is being really short on TV, My teeth hurt from the dentist today. Remind me to cancel my appointment for next week, because we have to go to Disneyland to take pictures for our annual passes. It was a gift from me to her, so now I have to get one.

Oh, I'm going with my girlfriend - not Reese Witherspoon. She can go if she wants. She just can't bring her punk-ass husband.

I'm gonna punch Mickey in the asshole too.

Peter Parker...

Call me geeky...c'mon...okay...I managed to get back the comments that were erased by Haloscan's server bullshit. It took some time, trust me. Am I a genius or not? Probably not. BUT, I managed to erase all of the comments you posted today. Oh well. Sorry. I know it's not that big of a deal. We all need lives, but it does suck when you take the time to post funny "ha ha" on somebody else's funy "ha ha" and then come back to nuthin'. It's not my fault. I changed the color of the comments box-thingy too. That's what probably erased the most recent crapola. As a trade, I think it's not that bad. You can post again or I can tell you what you said. No I can't. I am devoid of recollective thought processes.

What am I saying again?

Oh yeah, sorry for the geeky post. This is not my thing. Neither is your mom.

Wubba Wubba Wubba, Downtown Julie Brown signing out.

Kind Of Sucks...

I have no idea why my archives are screwed again. I have no idea why half of the comments got wiped and don't work half the time. I have no idea why my B Stats aren't recording hits in the last 24 hours. I have no idea why everything is slow.

I have no idea.

Sucks.

I'd Love To Beat Her With A Stick...

In bed or in a deserted police station...

I.
Don't.
Know.


Really.

Clear...

I met Crystal through a friend of hers/neighbor of mine that worked with her. They worked at a flower distribution center thingy. I was game, I guess. I wasn't interested in much back then. I knew that relationships took too much effort even though I was unqualified to pass that judgment considering that I had never really willingly thrown myself in the commitment pool much. We started off with email. Then arranged a first date. Then I caught myself watching cooking shows in her boring-ass living room constantly. I watched all off my friends totally ignore her after seeing her drink a bottle of beer from in between her boobs. She talked constantly when she was socially nervous. Her favorite band was Counting Crows. She used to collect Crayola Crayon merchandise. She was an orphan. She didn't have silver dollars for eyes...she only had...me. It only lasted for...seven months? She got in a fight with my girlfriend before her, I got a new job that intimidated her. Ummmmmm.......

There was no particular reason why it didn't work out. It just didn't. There was no bad blood. No huge fights. That's kind of scary too, isn’t it? Shouldn't every great relationship have some major differences? But there wasn't anything. She was nice. I was too. We never talked about marriage or where the relationship was going to take us later. I really don't remember any significant moments with her. I'm not being apathetic. I just don't. We broke up amicably. She tried to come back to me later. I didn't bite. She left disappointed a small number of times. I didn't call back. That was it.

No bad blood.
Nothing wrong.
No horrible stories.
Boring story.

Great relationship, don't you think?

Michael Jackson, Spider Bites, Dangling Children Off Of Balconies, Nose jobs, Chimpanzee Molestation, And Sleeping With Young Boys...

I didn't say anything, did you?

Let's go climb a tree...

Cat Scratch Fever...

After the cigarette, I came back inside my house and saw three cats inside.

Only problem is...I only have...TWO.

Ouch.

Real Quick...

Sorry. Watching the Osbournes-but MTV sucks, doesn't it? It has for almost all of my life...

Gotta question though....

How can they justify blurring out someone's butt crack when SNL was showing a plumbers butt crack in the late seventies-early eighties...

Seemed kind of stupid...

But it's MTV.

My fault, sorry.

What The Hell?...

I'm so confused. I just found out that my old grade school has a website. It was a random thought that crossed my mind and one Google search later?...I'm transported back to a time that I remember well, but seem to have forgotten at the same time. There's a picture of the school posted on the site that makes me think of my first day of kindergarten, almost being blown away by the wind in storm when I was in second grade...being a bad boy in sixth...so many memories that would probably bore you to death...I remember how fortunate I was to go to a good school, and I remember how straight-fucking-insane all of the children were in the city that I grew up in. I swear, there must be something in the water because everybody I knew was hilarious, but would kill you in a second. Too much of an overload, I'll tell ya'.

Here's something else...there was a staff list on the website. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but my second grade teacher still teaches there! Yeah, the one who screamed when I opened up the door during that windstorm. I got off of the bus last. It was a horrible, rainy, and windy day. I'm thin now, but back then I looked like a little balloon. I was about as heavy as a kitten. I made the mistake of trying to peek into my older brother's fifth grade class like I always would. The class would wave. I'd make a funny face and the teacher would playfully throw something at me. I started to move towards the windows of my brother's classroom but almost got knocked off of my feet. The big-ass, stupid, adult umbrella that I had, captured the wind and almost carried me away. One foot wasn't touching the ground. I had to hold on to a pole so I wouldn't fly away. I'm serious. I was holding on with all of my strength and could see the laughing heads of my brother's class through the windows. Some were pointing at me. Some looked like they were laughing so hard that they were crying. No one was helping. Visions of Julie Andrews in Mary Poppins went through my head. Did they think I was kidding? I wasn't. I was seriously in danger of being lifted into the air. Everybody would've been really sad if months later they found a thin, little skeleton stuck in a tree somewhere.

I don't know how I did it (maybe I put pebbles in my shoes), but I started to walk to class. I, of course, took the long way around with nothing to duck under. The rain was hard and howling. I tried to make it from pole to pole. My umbrella would flip inside out, I'd face the wind and then it would correct itself. When I opened up the door, it banged open. I don't remember how I shut it. All I remember was the silence. Every head in class turned to look at me. I saw a room full of little mouth "O's". I could hear the dripping of my clothing on the linoleum floor beneath me. Everybody laughed until my teacher screamed, "Oh my god!" and then was promptly arrested for preaching her bullshit religion in my class. No, just kidding. She swooped me up in her fat arms (maybe she wasn't fat, y'know? She could've been normal-sized. Maybe I was just so small that she seemed like a huge ol' fatty. I bet she was quite hefty though. Aren't all grade school teachers?) and put me in some room that I'd never seen before with a washer and dryer and started to take off my clothes!!! She got this weird look in her eye when she started to undo my wet jeans. Just kidding, you perverts! I'll tell church stories some other time. Ha. She took my clothes and put them in the dryer and searched for something for me to wear. I'd kill for a picture of the twenty pound second grader with the Beatles hair, shivering alone in a school laundry room. Actually, you would too, huh? You pervert! NO, SHE CAME BACK WITH AN OVER-SIZED PAINTERS SMOCK! I had to sit in class wearing only a multi-colored, blotchy, painters smock. It looked like something Boy George would wear.

They finally contacted my mother, which scared me even more. My mother was a drunk and Vietnamese-I don't know which is worse. I guess I'm still trying to figure it out, because I guess I'm both right now too. Ha. Yoo reciv petic justuff!, my mom says. See, I've never looked like I was a half-bastard Asian. My fathers strong and stubborn Irish genes kicked the asses of the gook genes that were in my body, so there ain't no slanty eyes on this face. I'm also not devoid in the crotch area either. Thank you, Ireland.

Fuck. Where was I? Oh yeah...drunk, gook mothers. I was terrified that she was coming to school to pick me up. I was surprised too because, she'd never been there before. Was she going to get the class drunk? Two hours later, when she came-I got lucky because they just told me that she was there and I could meet her instead of her coming into my class. She probably would’ve embarrassed me by taking down the address of every classmate of mine and recording the name of their pets. But it might have saved us money on food, so who knows? My little sister was there too. She must have been about...shit; she's four years younger than me. How old is one when they're in second grade? Anyway, she was small and whimpering in the passenger seat when we were driving home. The storm had turned worse. My mother wasn't drunk, but remember...she's Asian. So instead of driving fast and avoiding all of the flying shit all over the place, she drove about ten miles an hour. Everything that was moving through the air was faster than us. I saw a huge tree branch crashing down and fall behind us, blocking the road. My mutha didn't notice. I think she was singing along to The Steve Miller Band. Oh yeah, also? My little sister was probably already taller than my mother by that age.

We made it home and then my mother tried to drink me. End of story.

Sorry about that, ol' chap. I don't know where that came from. I ignored the story about my sixth grade teacher. Not much about him anyway except that he looked like Chuck Norris and would get red-faced furious at me every time that I called him that. I should call him up. I swear! Oh my god! I sound like an adult now; I don't think I have the balls for it. Do I? I want to call him and say, "Hi Chuck!" just like I always used to. I could tell he wanted to bash my fucking head in when I said that. He'll know it's me, won't he? If I did that I wouldn't be able to eat in the school cafeteria now, like I want to. Which leads me to my last part......

One final thing that I noticed on the website of my elementary school was the menu. I don't know why they have that on the site. Maybe it's kind of smart. Kids must dig it because then they could see when the pizza and the grilled cheese sandwiches are being served and ask for junk from home on the other days. Maybe all of the dirty, hippie parents can check up on the menu too, and see when the school's serving something veggie-friendly. Anyway, guess how much a school lunch was when I was a kid? One dollar. Not that bad. You got the main dish, three sides, a dessert, and a milk. The poor kids had a discounted lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents. Dudes, I'm not old. I'm an eighties kid, but thirty-five-fucking cents is the shit. I mean that in a good way. So guess what the price is now? I'm gonna smoke...I'll let you think about it for a while..................
................
......
Okay, I'm back......
.....
THE PRICE IS STILL THE FUCKING SAME! Can you believe that? Is that the one thing in the world that hasn't risen in price? Wow and double-ass Wow. Poor kids can still get a lunch for thirty-five-fucking cents? Who are they sponsored by, McDonalds?

Hail Mary, y'all. I apologize for my vile verbosity.

Vini Vidi Vietnamese.

Good night...

Underwear Where?...

So if i'm washing both my boxers and her panties in the same load,
I'm pretty much engaged, huh?

Hitler's Dog...

I was reading an article about Traudl Junge, Adolf Hitler's last secretary. Wow. Hitler's private secretary? I thought my job was fucking weird. There's a new documentary that screened at Sundance all about her experiences from 1942-1945 called Blind Spot. Reading through the article, I, of course took my normal approach to all things immensely serious...I started to think about Hitler's dog, Blondie.

Yeah. Hitler had a dog. He had a fucking dog. I can't get that out of my mind. Hello, Ruff! I'm Hitler's dog! I can do whatever I want. Can I eat your fingers off? Yes, thank you. Yum. From what I've read, Hitler was completly infatuated and obsessive about Blondie (Not the band). He spent entire evenings playing with her. Hitler got jealous when others petted her. He got excited if she jumped higher than usual. Hitler sounds like a typical boyfriend, actually. Hitler disliked meat, cold rooms, having flowers around (he hated dead things) and being touched. He always washed his hands after playing with Blondie.

Would it be a blessing or a curse to be the canine friend of Adolph Hitler? Would that be equivalent to being the goldfish of Osama Bin Laden? I'd be scared. Maybe, Blondie, as a dog, was happy. She obviously had a master that loved her. Blondie was a German Shepard, of course. I wish that there was such a thing as a Jewish Shepard and that Blondie was actually of mixed blood. Well, I guess that there actually are Jewish Shepards if you you count those that raise sheep. What other nationality doesn't have their own breed of dog? Vietnamese don't for obvious reasons. I wish that I could've been there the first time that Adolph got pissed on. Does the dog of Adolph Hitler go to heaven? And if Adolph Hitler, of all people can own a pet, why can't Satan? As far as I know, Satan doesn't even own a houseplant.

I don't know.

Home Ec...

Seems kind of pointless now that I'm older. All of the shit that I learned how to make, I don't remember now. I once baked a perfect cake in seventh grade, do you know that? Yeah, try getting me to make one now. I'm actually a good cook, but only since dating my girlfriend. I have to or we won't eat. She's so bad, she even burns water. For the end of the year final, my table that consisted of all of my friends, had to make a specialty dish and dessert for a teacher of our choosing. All of the other tables always tried to pick the cool teachers. We picked the ugliest, meanest and fattest one. She taught English and looked like Ursula The Sea Witch from The Little Mermaid. We made yummy hamburgers followed with Ex-Lax-laced brownies. We also got in trouble in class constantly, hit on the big-breasted girls at the table in front of us, and had to bribe the female teacher with daily hugs everyday so that we never had to go to detention. They passed me out in class one day and I had a dream about trains.

I took Home Ec. in high school also. I only did it for the free food. I made the worst chili in the class because I didn't know that I had to drain out all of the liquid from the vegetables. A freshman girl punched me in the face. I stole crackers. I watched countless hours of The Frugal Gourmet. We had a final in that class too. So my friend Joe and I invited out guitar teacher. We made Cornish game hens and wild rice from scratch. After eating his food, he asked us, " So does this mean that you're finally going to come to class?" I told him, "No, that's why we're giving this too you."

I should've learned how to brew beer. It would've saved me money.

Fucking school. Blah.

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.

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.

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....

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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*

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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...

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?

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.

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.