The Olson Twinge...

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

Good Morning, Baby...

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The Cure...

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

Beezelbub And Romona...

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

Max Headroom...

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

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

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

Dude.

God, That Was Stupid...

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

Dude.

Leaving Las Scissorhands...

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

Who do you like better?

Nic?

Johnny?

Lady, I'm Gonna Have To Ask You To Leave The Store...

Who would you want to win in a fight between Brittney Murphy and Britney Spears?
Tom Green or Alan Greenspan?
Would you rather live in Iraq or Afghanistan?
Matrix Trilogy, so far, or Lord Of The Rings?
Do you come in peace or go in pieces?
Spiderman or Batman?
Kirsten Dunst or Keira Knightley?
Movies or books?
Favorite book?
Favorite movie?
Favorite website?
Would you rather have a super nice car or a super nice wardrobe?
Ever shoot a gun?
Been in a fight?
Why am I writing this? What happened to what I was supposed to put down?
Do people like you?
Who do you hate today, besides me?
Drink much?
Smoke much?
Nervous habit?
Masturbate much?
What was the last website that you were on before this?
Do you want to ask me something? Anything?
Am I sorry for doing this to you?

Lick it now, please.

Kobe Bryant Day...

A couple of my friends had a kid. This is not something friends of mine do for fun when bored. We don't all just sit around and fuck each other, placing bets on who's gonna be the one that gets the bigger belly first. Well, I guess that would be fun - all of it except for the actual birthing, responsibilty, and financial burdens. But these two friends of mine happened to be married. I visited the hospital and saw their baby. Samuel was little. He had little toes that looked like champagne grapes. I was acting out a story to both of them earlier and almost knocked over the baby's bed - so when they asked if I wanted to hold him, I said Hell No, because, if I'm knocking around things, then I sure as hell am not going to hold a kid. I did smell his head a couple of times, though. Why do we eventually lose that? I brought her a Snapple and an In Style magazine, and I brought him his favorite soda. I should've brought beer instead. I asked the father if he wanted to play poker, and he said that he did. Maybe he would've bet the little dude. Maybe not.

Anyway, I found out that the baby had a little ankle bracelet on that sounded an alarm if he was taken past a certain point without it being deactivated first. It looked like a miniature version of one of those parole anklet thingys. Babys now come with anti-theft devices? Do they have versions like the ones that they have in certain clothing stores that explode when you take them outside?

I was still staggering from the weight of this, by the time I got home.

Then I had sex and forgot all about it.

Things I Hate About Summer...

Bugs
and
warm beer.

And bugs in my warm beer.

The Naked Ape...

I don't like to generalize, but I think that all people are inherently evil. Overall, the majority of us have selfish, monkey thoughts hardwired into our brains. Not much has changed in the minds of man in the last 1000, million, bajillion years. I think that we still want exactly the same things that we wanted way back then, except that there are now a lot more useless things that we acquire that disguise our real wants. Men and women want to fuck each other, and they don't care who gets in the way. We hate people that impede out progress. We're very hungry. We want various versions of security, and we want it now. Heaven help those who get in our way. We'll grab it, and all of it, if we get the chance. I think that the only reason that humans domesticate animals is because we get disgusted with ourselves and need something else around to keep us company. I think that the majority of humans get sick of other humans, that we may be able to blindly justify our behavior by surrounding ourselves with animals that we feel a superiority over. But does it make sense to laugh at another animals unconditioned responses, when we do the same type of shit all the time?

Hoot Hoot! Pant! Pant!

I just don't understand us.
My own fault for trying.

All monkeys look beautiful when looking up at them from the ground.
But when you get up really close to one,
and you have to start dodging the shit that they're slinging...

It's just fucking gross.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation...

Last night involved, yet again, more stripper madness. My girlfriend earned a dollar dancing for me at the club. Some very mean-looking girl with breasts bigger than my total body weight put a dollar in her pants. I was a pimp for one whole second. Some pimp. Anyway, this morning I was about to go to the bathroom when Hard arrived at the door...

I'll let him tell you...

Hi kiddies! Its' your old pal, The Hard Artist! Kev and I auditioned for a play today! Then we went antiquing... it was delightful! Actually, we did audition today. But Kev might not get to do the show because he has to go see those whiny bitches, Radiohead, on one of the performance nights. Then we went back to his pad to watch some horrible movies. Boy, this is starting to sound like one of those blogs that I hate: "Sorry I haven't updated in six months but school has been really tough!" Kev has Metallica playing right now. It makes it hard for me to string any coherent thoughts together. Here, take over homie...
This is like blog freestylin'!...

Yeah, I auditioned for a play. I was talking to a guy outside of the theatre. I asked him if he'd done any shows there. He said that he had, but not in a coupla years. I told him that I haven't done any theatre in...ten. Am I just old, or not a card-carrying member of the drama fag society? Maybe both. The other day when I was re-applying for school, the guy at the admissions window said, " So, you graduated this year? ". I was puzzled. I told him no. He showed me my admission form. Yup, it said year of high school graduation, 2003. I had to tell him that it was a mistake. He asked me when did I really graduate then? I looked around and whispered...1993. He was kind enough not to arch his eyebrows. I started to snicker, cuz' I'm getting fucking old. Hee Hee.

Hey, Hard! What movies did we watch over here after our auditions?

Hard here! Well, Kev... It shames me to admit this, but we had the pleasure of watching Final Destination 2 (don't worry if you didn't catch the first one, all your crap needs can be met with this purile sequel), something called The Wash (a movie where, seemingly, the director just turned his camera on and walked away - leaving Dr. Dre and Snoop Dog to get up to all manner of pointless jackassery), and Evil God (a short film by the one and only Kevynn, which wasn't too shabby once he explained what the fuck it was about). Hey y’all here's a little quiz for ya; who wrote the following?:

O Pointy Birds,
Pointy Pointy.
Anoint My Head,
Anointy nointy.

No fair you answering, Kev.

My god, what the hell was that? I refuse to speculate. I want one of you to tell me what the frag he's gussying on about. I'm very proud of myself for actually waking my hung over body up to go stand in a theatre with a bunch of balding, white men. Maybe I won't get a call back. Maybe I will. Actually, there were a couple of black kids at the auditions too, but they kind of freaked me out. The one without the afro kept on talking to me excitedly, and was later told by the director to stop dancing while he was on stage. The afro-less black kid had a lot of pent up energy in him. I blame it on Motown. Oops. I didn't say that. Anyway, the guy with the afro was weird too. Fuck, everybody was weird. White, black, plaid. One guy that I auditioned with smacked the fuck out of my chest when he was all caught up in the moment. It was so loud that Hard said that everybody outside asked what the hell was happening inside. So. Uhmm. I would like a part. A big part. I would like to part the Red Sea.

H.A: Do you all see what's happening here? Kevynn threw in a little cleverness at the end of that paragraph in order to draw you away from his earlier racist comments. Let me be the first to break the news in this Hard Artist Exclusive: Kevynn is the Grand Wizard of the KKK. I know, it's shocking. But true. I swear... [choking noise as Hard is throttled by Kev] He's never gonna let my write on his site again.

Dude, I don't care what anybody says - I'm allowed to get away with whatever I want. My mother was born in a Vietnamese jungle and she fed me bugs and dogs as a child. What that has do what I said earlier? I have no idea. But I'm excused, thank you. And I was serious about wanting to part the Red Sea, but that fucking Moses got to it first, the bitch.

Lick us. Goodbye.

Hard and Malone, out...

At A Friend's House...

Theres a lot of crud going on right now. People fighting with swords. I'm not kidding. there's two people actually fighting with swords behind me as I write this. The ability to see is way over rated. Dueling is so last year. As I type this, chunks of my ear are getting hacked off. This is not a pleasurable experience. I like how there's only two girls to the eight present. Poor guys. It's sad to see the monkeys fight for their scant resources. But, then they just all left...and guess what? I'm already hearing about strippers. I have no problem with that. I have no need for the poo-na-nee search. Yeah, take that Google. How do you spell that, anyway?

Hold on...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What fucking question, Malone?

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

Yeah…and...?

I’d feel fine.

Excelsior!...

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

Yup.

Nerd Support...

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

Tell me now, you cow...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lava Soap...

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

Sorry...

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

It's Just Wrong...

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

I Do Not Like Computers Anymore. Nope...

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

George Jefferson And Wheezy...

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

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

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

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

You like comic books?

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

How old are you?

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

Twenty-Eight...

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

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

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

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

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