The Cupboard Under The Stairs...

I have a lot of things to write about,
but considering that I'm having to use toothpicks to keep my eyes open -
I'll just have you write a post in the comments section today instead.
Profanity and sexual themes are encouraged.

Thank you.

Bruce Campbell...

I guess I'm going to write this before I smoke a cigarette. Yes, I do smoke the vile things, and I always have, probably more than your mom and her cancer too, so shut it. Okay. Anyway. It was Tony's birthday tonight. I guess that it's officially tomorrow, but we celebrated it tonight and it was pretty lame. Tomorrow night, when it is actually his birtday, I'll be behind the bar serving his fucking rockstar arse. Speaking of rockstar arse's, I went to The Key Club down in Hollywood last night to see a friend's band play at a fashion show. Stuff Magazine and Vanity Fair were supposed to be there, but I didn't see shite. All I was doing was buying $5.50 Bud Lights. I forgot all about Hollywood beers. Oops. Expensive. Then on the way back home I peed in the back of a movie theatre and found a bunch of vinyl movie posters. Kill Bill. The new George Clooney and Catherine Zeta Jones, Jack Black, or Vin Diesel movie anyone? So, Ebay, c'mon...buy the stuff of me. My girlfriend called me from Bourbon Street in New Orleans tonight. After all of tonight, I can't even compare with all of the fun she had. Tony got complimentad on his uncanny agilty when it came to his puking abilties. Good man, that Tony. Fortunatley I'm never quite in the situation in which I need to be complimented on that. Unfortunately, when I am in that rare type of situation? There's nothing cool about it.

This is not at all how this post was supposed to be...

But moneys isn't floating down from the sky like volcano ash...

So it's okay if the masterpieces aren't either tonight...right?

Chilly Willy...

Yes, I am typing naked.
Now, where'd my hat go?

Karate Chops...

Are beautiful. Anyway, I saw Elvis the other night. At a bar in Garden Grove. Right when I arrived, he walked into the kitchen. He was hungry, I guess. I wasn't. I don't feed much. My tribe is prosperous. We're resourceful. We pluck fruit from the trees. Shoot an arrow. Climb a mountain. We're fed. Spoiled and loving it. Hooting. Panting. Fucking. No need for fighting. Everythings good in the monkey hood. The drivers side window of my car doesn't go up anymore. Good for me.

Only Because I let The Night Slip Through My Fingers Like Mustard...

I can't write about the three things that I wanted to tonight. I lagged, and now it's too late. But I will tell you that, before bed tonight, I whipped up a twenty second sandwich masterpiece involving Peperonni, Salami, Cheddar, Mayonnaise, and pickles, yo. Perfection. Darth Vader never needed Luke to rule the universe. All he needed was one of my sandwiches.

Don Rickles...

A friend of mine is dating a girl who reads my site. They are both normal and happy. Really. Yowzers, huh? She asked him what I looked like. My friend asked her what she thought I looked like. She said, based on the writing on my website, that she thought that I was old, bald, and fat. What the hell? I mean...she really hit the nail on the head, didn't she? I am happy for my friend, and happy that he's dating a psychic.

Show Of Hands, Kidney-Gardners...

And what did you do last night, anyway?
All that I'll tell you is that somebody
stole my beers when the hour started getting late.
Isn't that a kick in the liver?
I did beat the friggin' pants off of my friends tonight in poker,
and that's all that matters, in the long run because my luck has been lacking, as of late.
I had the worst luck when it came to everything else tonight.
I had some pleasant conversations tonight.
That was it.

Laborius day?

Yes.

Pleasant?

Sort of.

What did you do yesterday, Bubba?

My friend Mark, Snuck Into My Site And Posted On It. This Is After Helping Him And Twenty Other Idiot Friends At The Bar Tonight. Actually, He Didn't Even Pay For His Coke, Either. Yeah, He Drank A Coke. I'm Glad That He Has Nothing Better To Do Except Write On My Site At 1 In The Morning When I'm Still At Work. Why Am I Smiling? Because This Means That I Don't Have To Write Anything Tonight. This Is What The Little Fucker Wrote...

This is not Kevynn. This is Mark. I did not ask Kevynn if I could post on his site. I am bascially writing without permission. I am firm believer in getting permission to do things and here I go ruining my own philosophy. I just wanted to be a part of something, so write crazy things on the "comments" thing and I'll write even crazier things in response. For example, you might say, "Who's this Mark guy? Pchaw, he's retarded! I hate him sooo much. Will he just go away and never come back. Oooh, I hate him!!!" And I will respond, "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" See, I am great and full of fun little surprises like that. Can you just imagine what I'm like at home. That's right! I suck at home. I'm usually ignored when I talk and told to shut up when I am not ignored. Kind of a Catch 22 if you don't know how to use the phrase "Catch 22." Has anyone seen Bruce Almighty? If you haven't seen it, go see it at your local second-run movie house. When you buy the ticket, say, "Alllllmighty then!!!!" The tickettaker should be impressed that you have seen a previous Jim Carey movie and know how to tie things together like that. I did it and was ignored. I'm all out of stuff to say. Seriously, I'm all out of time. You guys have been...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..z..z.z...............z.....................z

Madonna Kissing Britney Spears...

TheBookoftheDeadAfterallthedeedsaredone
AnddownGoesthesunItsonlythendoIrealize
ThatallunfinishedbusinessCreatedandranted
aboutduringThehotand messydayIsNothingmore
thanthat……Justbusiness…MyheartProblemsneardreams
deathsandpremonitionsnightlikethosealwaysrememberitmay
bethedayslikethesethatweforgetFORGETTINGTHEHALFFULLCUPOF
LIFEASOPPOSEDTOTHEEVAPORATINGEMPTYDAYSHERETODAYTALKINGTO
APARTMENTFRIENDSFROMWINDOWSVISITORSCOMPUTERCONVERSATIONS
WITHFRIENDSYOUWORKWITHCOMINGHOMETOAFRIENDALREADYINYOUR APT.
BEFOREYOUWEREEVENTHEREHERMOTHERANDCHILDRENPLAYINGWITHYOURSIX
SMALLKITTIESFRIENDSCOMINGANDGOINGCARSJOKESANDCONVERSATIONSABOUT
JCPENNYTWENTYDOLLARFAMI PHOTOALBUMSWITHEVERYBODYWHOLIVESHEREALLTENOFUS

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

Five Dollar Boom Boom...

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

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

Ya' Flea Bittin' Varmit!...

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

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

Roller City...

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

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

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

I Hear Pat Benetar...

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

This Is What I Sang All Night...

We Like The Moon.

Give Me The Crotch, Piggy...

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

Wanna Bet?

That I suck at poker?
Really?

You win.

Social Roulette...

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

No Spellcheck.

Title...

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

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

" Oh My God! "

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

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

He said because you never call me, you asshole.

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

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

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

Hamsters. I'm serious.

Forget All That Action...

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

Attack Of The Clones...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, and Night Train.

Protect your trees tonight, people...

Goodnight, static.

Hello, moon.

Poo...

I mean it.

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

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

Yeah, Haloscan - me too.