Fitter. Happier. More Productive...

Mrs. Computer, I was very disappointed in you today. Why won't you do what I want? All I want to do is play a videogame. Is that so wrong? I don't have to be married to you for 45 years to know your wants, do I? If you're hungry, shouldn't it be simple for me to feed you? Why can't I be your pusher-man? Why won't you tell me what you need? I'll get it for you. I love you. All I want to do is take care of you. Can we make this work? Tonight, when I was installing new RAM and a new video card - I saw a part of you that I've never seen before. You showed me your soul. It was like I could see through you. I'm sorry. We'll talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep and can approach this problem with a clear head.

I love you.

(Coughs and mutters under breath)

Bitch.

Just Letting You Know...

Rum is nasty.

WARNING: People Who Have Had Photosensitive Seizures, ( A Seizure Reportedly Induced By Flashing Lights Or Patterns ) , Or other Symptoms From Being Photosensitive, Should Not Play This Game Without First Seeing A Doctor...

Okay, enough of that crud. I was really going to take a week off and focus on the cartoony scripty thingy, but progress has been slow kiddies. I need to clean the dirt out of my ears. I can't help it. This isn't even real writing. This is like kind of like writing, but it doesn't entirely qualify. It's like being a professional dancer at Disneyland. Yeah, you get a paycheck and all, and maybe you throw your heart into it - but it isn't really like you're dancing on Broadway, is it? What the hell did that mean? Broadway? Paid? I don't get paid for this claptrap. Blaargh, maybe I really should stick to taking a week off. I’m all frustrated too, because I got the new Star Wars Galaxies Geek game, and after all of the initial excitement, downloading, and whatnot, I found out the fucking thing won't work on my computer. I need to get a new video card and to increase my RAM. I was up till three trying to figure out a bunch of crap that I really don't know much about - and by the time I was ready to go to bed - I was ready to ram the game up George Lucas' arse.

It's not too hot right now, and I'm on beer number three. Money crud is getting so burdensome, that I'm probably going to have to ditch a couple of shifts at work and work for my friend who does contracting. Two to three hundred bucks for a couple of day’s worth of manual labor? Sold. I'd rather shovel a bunch of concrete around in the hot sun with my weak-ass body than have to talk to people anyway. And I might get to eat off of a Roach Coach, smoke a lot of cigarettes, ruin my back to compliment my fucked up knees and still-recovering gimpy broken ankle, and I'll get to whistle at women that walk by.

Sounds good to me, Bubba.

While I Work On A Cartoony Scripty Thingy - Celebrate Customer Appreciation Week...

cheeks
panjan
alf pen
boz
true
marci
boredhowi
paul
melissa
pam
don
ia
1 of 6
bing
kirk
nedra zeal
ang
anna
jennifer
rosa
saara monk
petey
stacey
deev
mott
shanti
pee
lf jeebus
auntie sarah
spig
jimbo
chez
undie
h
gina
br
sass
kyle
jen
lauren
prose
anti
kym
lori
raymi
grrl
nessa
larue
danee
mad
scruff
jr
fierce
design
mo
chop
nev

He Will Bring Balance To The Force...

Ummm...sometimes I get drunk and write things on here that make no sense.
Well, they make no sense more than usual. Huh?
So, sometimes I read them in the morning and have to erase them.
Cuz' sometimes, the writing blows Hardy Boys hard.
What?
Take a nap, boy.
Okay, pop.

The Spice Mines Of Kessel...

Fucking shit balls.
Joe just got Star Wars Galaxies.
I'm jealous. I want that game.
I know that it sounds all super nerdy, but I don't care.
It's cool, so lick it. I just may have to go over to his house.
Than I'll chop off his head and take the game.
That, and his beatles CD's.

Chris Is Queer - I Mean, Here...

I don't really have much to say. I've been itching my right eye. Now it's all red. Combine that with my sick-ass light brown eye on the left and I look like I've been shot in the head. We have to go to Courtney's house at 9:30. My friends start everything late. I think I'll show up later than everybody else. I'm tired. I watched Punch Drunk Love. I liked it. I'm drinking a beer. I like it also. I drink a lot of beer. I feel no guilt. The new Spider-Man cartoon is going to be on MTV tonight. I feel a tingle in my crotch area.

Damn Harpies Keep On Stealing My Food...

Now this is just getting ridiculous.
Time? What the hell?
Why you frontin?
Being all gangsta' and shit,
robbin' me?
I'm gonna bust a cap in yo' ass.
Leave me alone.
Why the hell is it so late?

Give it up, bitch.

Arf! Arf!...

Damn, how does one relax in the heat?
I know it's hotter in other places, so I'm not going to whine.
A beer, a breeze, mellow music,
and some comics in the backyard sound good to me right now.
And I'm not talking about David Cross and Carrot Top.
I meant, COMIC BOOKS.

She Wasn’t That Hot – But Had Nice Titles…

Ashing out my smoke, outside - I spit on the table by accident. That kinda sucks, but these things happen. 60, the outside, sometimes inside cat, jumps on my thigh. Claws. Fucking ouch. Don't hate the player, hate the game. Me OW!, indeed. One of the things that sucks about these summer nights has nothing to do with Danny or Sandy, it has everything to do with how quickly one's beer goes warm. For those of us who are wusses, and can't stomach the likes of Guinness, various stouts, and lagers, etc...it don't make fo' no fast beer drinkin'.

Today will be shuffled off and filed away, never to be seen for years. Uncovered by historians, librarians, heads of estates, or aliens studying what the hell happened years and years from now. The editors will glance it over, and chuck it - thinking that it slows down the narrative pace. I'm cool with that. I understand. No hard feelings - just make sure that you don't let them use my image in a Coors Light or Vacuum cleaner commercial. That's just plain wrong.

Kitty on my back right now. Not a monkey, thank god. I guess I do have some monkeys; they must be invisible, though. And I guess that they're not too heavy, and I guess that they don't smell too bad, because usually I can't tell that they're even there. I can deal with invisible monkeys on my back, little kitties are the coolest - I just wish that they’d remain small. But, then...our parents probably said the same of us when we were small, didn't they? And where would we be if we were still five years old?

Taking dumps in sand boxes, eating kibble, and meowing too loudly, ergh?

Oh, wait...some of us still do that...

What's Wrong?...

I’m just tired…is one of the biggest, lying statements ever used.
Pay attention next time that somebody busts that out as a response,
and realize that it’s quick and easy, used a lot, and means absolutely nothing, right?
They're just tired. Nothing's wrong, yeah? Bullshit. It means something.
It means that you’re not really telling the truth. Pay attention. I do it all the time……

Pussy...

Was under the car in the driveway. My girlfriend found him. Now he is in the bathroom. Little pussy is meowing loudly once every two seconds. Pussy is cute, but pussy is driving me nuts. Pussy will have to be bathed and picked of fleas tomorrow. Then pussy can roam about the house freely. Does anybody want some cute, furry, young pussy?

Texas Hold Em'...

So, I'm getting ready to bet the farm. Lose it all. Get drunk. Get poor-er.
I only have twenty bucks to lose, though, So, I guess it can't be that bad.
Wire me some money or something, yo. I'll buy you a steak dinner.

Protocol Droid...

Don't you hate listening to music that reminds you of old stuff, and memories best left to be tossed away or forgotten? There are certain data tapes in our robot minds that should've been permanently wiped clean. Ugh. Beep Dee Doop Doop!

Avengers Assemble!...

" This is the plan, guys! we're going to party like crazy on a limited budget. We're going to rip the throats out of this town this weekend. I want all of you to remember nothing. Who's with me? "

- But, Captain America - why would we want to do that? We're a super hero team. None of us even drink - well, except for The Wasp, but she's just a ho anyway.

" Shut it, Ant-Man. You've got the short man complex, obviously. It must be hard variating between penis sizes. Everybody else? Ignore Ant-Man. What about you, Hulk? Any problems with our plans for the weekend? "

- HULK SMASHED!!!

" Very good, Hulk. "

The Fish Of The Day Is Copper River Salmon. That's Broiled, With A Lemon And Butter Sauce, It Comes With Fettuccini Alfredo, And Sautéed Vegetables On The Side...

Man, Ummm...all day, I told myself to think up of something to write and was really serious about it. After work I replaced all of the locks on the back door. Everything was wrong. Nothing fit, so I had to make it fit. There were a lot of wood chips left on the floor.

What are you doing for the weekend? I might be on a yacht. If that doesn't work, I'll be at my gal's sister's house having fun, lighting off little kids fireworks, and thinking about partying on a yacht. If I'm not at her sister’s house, I'll be at my house, thinking about partying on a yacht. I have a perfect place to watch the local fireworks. You can drink beers from my neighbor’s balcony and climb on my roof, too. You can fall off if you want, also. That's free.

What's weird, though - is that I live across from a park and that people start staking out spots in the morning to see the show. So, if you're a friend of mine then you're shit out of luck for a parking spot and you'll be carrying your beers a long-ass way to my house, because on July 4th you got two things going for you when trying to find a spot...JACK and SHIT - and JACK left town. Anyway, it gets kind of freaky when you realize that there are a couple of hundred people across the street, basically staring at your house until the fireworks start. I made sure to shut the blinds last year. Nobody wants to see me hitting on your wife while wearing a lampshade on my head. What I just said was so fucking stupid, it was really, rally stupid. And I just said, " rally ". Oh, and I'm not really smitten with Reese Witherspoon - I think she's cool and all, and I thought that she kicked ass in " Freeway " the movie, but...I really want to do bad things to her. She seems like such a genuinely nice person that I want to ruin her and make her an evil person. Sorry.

So, the people under the stairs - I mean, across from my street on July 4th are cool to look at when you're on my roof. I usually turn around and look at their faces. It's scary. I should charge them to use my bathroom. I should sell cans of crappy beer wrapped in paper sacks. I wish I had a dog that fetched. I'd chuck a stick right in the middle of the crowd and laugh. I could be like William Wallace and soak the grass in oil the night before, and then when everybody's all settled - I'd shoot flaming arrows into the ground. Yes.

Damn, I still have nothing to write about...

Lick my butt, please...

Shortest. Post. Ever...

Perfect for stoners.

From Warren Ellis' Wonderful 'Die Puny Humans'...


To Be In England, In The Summertime


Even in summer, the English sky's the colour of a dead body left out in the cold. Grey light, grey buildings, grey people, grey lives.

The expensive new car on the corner was supposed to be silver, but it's just grey. The man in the grey suit writhes against the grey fabric of the driver's seat and pounds the wheel with little grey fists. Human fingers lay between his feet, leaking over the little grey plastic mat under the pedals. He starts to cry, lips twisting back from little grey teeth with fingermeat stuck between them.

There's a girl who's almost beautiful, standing by the roadsign watching, wreathed in grey cigarette smoke. She leaves cheap lipstick on the filter, watches the man in the car with dead eyes. When she inclines her head to get a better look, her chin disappears and she looks like a child's painting. Her kid's about three feet away, eating dogshit.

The girl's mother is in the pub, taking a call on a stolen mobile phone. No, this is 'is mum. I took 'is mobile off 'im. No, I ain't seen 'im in three month, since 'e came round my 'ouse with that bitch. I punched 'er in the face and 'it 'im with a frying pan, and they don't come round no more. You got DVD players? I'll 'ave eight. I said I'll 'ave fukkin eight. You come round with 'em.

The bloke with the DVD players needs the money. His car was stolen and the police won't give it back, because it was found with a junkie driving it and a crack pipe and soiled baby clothes in the back seat. It's material evidence in the mimed "fight" against the thousand crack addicts in town, forcing Yale locks and kicking out cat doors in the search for goods to feed two-hundred-pound-a-day habits. Everyone says they should be in hospital, but everyone knows they're safer on the street, because the hospital is rotting in its foundations. The plasterboard the new wing was put up with is festering on its hinges, and disease breeds in the wall cavities. The nurses ruthlessly jerk off the old men in the cancer wards to make them sleep through the night, and palm bottles of Vicodin on the way out the door in the morning. A little soma-holiday for people who reasonably expected to be working in medicine and helping people.

Blank stares at the ground as they walk home down blank streets, past the mothers doing the school run in the grey morning light. Remembering how they used to walk to school with their friends, laughing and joking and inventing whole new ways to look at their bright little worlds. Despising themselves and everything around them for being afraid to let their children walk anywhere alone. Any one of these people could be a paedophile, a child killer, some kind of sex monster that will steal their baby off the streets and do something unimaginable to them. She remembers walking home from school through the woods, making magic out of strange tree stumps and odd rocks and ancient clearings, dark copses and paths never taken, and wants to cry, because her child will never have that in this grey world she stupidly birthed them into.

These are all true stories.

To be in England, in the summertime.

-- Warren Ellis
warrene@aol.com

Frank Castle, Tony Stark, And Jubilee...

My girlfriend almost gave away a bag full of my toys to the retard truck - I mean, the truck that comes by and picks up things for the retarded home. It was a big plastic bag full of extra and old toys that I keep in the garage that I have no room for. Nerd. It wasn't her fault, but it still scared the shit out of me. Wives and mothers who clean out garages and attics are the enemy of childhood keepsakes and nostalgia. I still miss my Garbage Pail Kids, Muscle Wrestler Things, and Transformers, bastards.

I'd Go To The Gunshop First And The Liquor Store Second...

Saw 28 Days Later. Damn, see the movie. Don't listen to anybody else, remember - people never know what they're talking about. Especially when it comes to movies. Especially me, right? It was the best fast-moving zombie-type movie that was directed by Danny Boyle and written by Alex Garland that I've ever seen. Alex Garland wrote The Tesseract, The Beach, and nothing else that I knew of. I always checked the library to see if he ever released anything new, but I couldn't. I didn't know that he wrote it until the credits started to roll. Bastard snuck underneath my radar somehow. I would've rather've read the book first, biotch. Yeah, I just said rather've.

This is probably the only movie review I will ever write. There are obvious reasons for this...

Scuttle...

Dude, Buddy Hackett died?...

Yeah, I'm a fan of The Little Mermaid too.

Please Hammer, Don't Hurt Em'...

Oh man, it's gonna be one of those days, isn't it?
If things already start suckin' - and it's not even noon,
go back to sleep or get drunk.

Where Do You Think You're Going, Captain Solo?...

Damn.
Even if I'm dead tired.
I can't leave a gibberish message like that.

So, my camping trip kicked major booty. It was hot as hell, but I knew it was going to be. I now have a very red back in the shape of a wife beater. The t-shirt, not ( fill in the blank with the name of a major star or sports figure who beats their significant other. ) I drank a coke that had a bug in it and then it bit me on my lip while it was inside my mouth. I saw coyotes, kangaroo rats, snakes, birds that looked like Elvis, crazy Germans, and swdish girls riding bikes out in the desert. I cheated and went back into town and ate a salad from Jack In The Box. I drank a lot of water. I drank a lot of Bud Light, which is basically the equivalent of water. I called my girlfriend and Joe, Cheech and Chong, Beavis and Butthead, Shaggy and Scooby, and Dawne and Joe - all in the space of one smoke-filled car ride. I hiked two miles yesterday on some ungodly, horrible, but beautiful trail that led to an abandoned gold mine. I almost gave up twice. I thought that It was a hard trail or that I was out of shape. Joe said that it was both. Joe's body is still there. I was sneaky and tried to get into the mine. I didn't climb over the fence to the main mine - I slid under the fence. Like I said...I'm thin. I finished a book. I won't tell you which one, becasue I waaaas kind of embarrased to be reading it. Not Harry Potter. There was a meteor shower on both nights, and I managed to not see one meteor. I blame GOD. I used an axe. I like chopping wood. My toes get scared, though. I probably listened to forty CD's. I was worried about my cats. I was worried about bills and my mail. I felt weird about not writing. Then I felt like a jackass for even thinking about it. I went rock climbing, but had to take it easy. Bum ankle. Bum Dee Dum Bum. I'm already forgetting all of the things I did. I stared up at the stars a lot. I stared into the fire more. I mercy-killed a big, fat bug that flew in and out of our fire pit. It was about the size of your computer mouse. I was going to say something else. I am very tired. I must go. I will not use spel check. I really and drifting off right noe. I thank you. I'm serious. I just spilled a Sprite. Goodnight.

Stephen. Jack Stephen...

Falling asleep at keyboard...must go sleep.

Me talk to you, tomorrow. Today.

I am Kevynn's lack of sleep.

Henry David Thoreau Was A Pussy...

Yeah, part of my birthday thingy / extravaganza is I'm going away for the weekend. Where am I going? Vegas? Catalina Island? Fantasy Island, boss? Disneyland? Some swanky hotel? Yes, all of those. No. I'm going to Joshua Tree National Park, Bono. Yup. It'll be at least 100 degrees tomorrow and 104 on Saturday. Don't try to rob my house either, you cretins - because I'm gonna have somebody staying here while I'm gone. His name is Bubba. He spends time in and out of prison. He is strong. He has boyfriends. Yeah.

Anyway, it is fun, though. I like it up there. Nobody is around. You can drink yourself to oblivion, talk to coyotes, burn a lot of things and forget a can opener so that you have to use a knife to get to your food. Sweating is good. You don't even have to have sex with somebody that you met in a bar to get that way. I won't be climbing around on the rocks like my usual monkey self, though. I'm a little handicapped now. I'm bringing my cane, just in case. I'm also bringing Justin Timberlake. You never know when he might come in handy.

So, It's getting late and I'm making last minute preparations. Guess what we don't have yet? Hmmm...a tent. Firewood. Ice. Directions. Small stuff. I can't wait to wake up early in the morning. Ummm...it makes me feel all giddy just thinking about it. I'm a morning person. Yup. Hell no, I'm not. I'll wake up if you have a gun pointed to my head. I'm one of those types that never likes to go to sleep, suffers from bad insomnia, but when I'm actually asleep - the last thing that I want to do is wake up. Mi ojos es treiste.

When I'm away, I'm going to make friends with all of the coyotes. All of the Mexicans too. Coyotes first. I'm not going to shave. I've never been able to grow a beard. I've always wanted to, but it just wont happen, folks. I can only grow a mustache. It's kind of embarrassing after a couple of days without shaving. I look like a cross between Genghis Khan and Cheech Marin.

Wish me luck, bastards......

If Your Beers Are Too Warm, It's Time To Get Air Conditioning...Or To Drink Them Faster...

Wow. Apparently, I was added to the links section of a radio show hosts web page. I vaguely remember seeing some hits late last night, but I was too drunk to really know what was happening.

Whomever you are I'd like to thank you for adding 400 and counting hits to my itty, bitty site today.
Next time I see you, I'll make sure to get somebody to rub your crotches for you. Serious. Thank you, Catherine Martin for referring me. I like the description. You don't happen to be the same cheerleader that went to my high school that was a junior when I was a senior that went by that name? You were really hot, and we got together a number of times, but you talked like a baby, and had the smarts of a buffalo? A retarded buffalo? You talked in some kind of lispy, baby language with your best friend Donna? And she was pretty too, but had a messed up lip because your dog bit her in the face when the both of you were young? And both of your families sued each other, yet you were both still friends? Can I say both again, please? Somebody killed the dog afterwards. You both probably saved the shotgun shell and talked him to death, huh? No, wait...That was Catherine Marshall. Sorry. I'm glad that you weren't her, Catherine. Even if you were, I'd still thank you. You're in my cool book.

Yo Te Llamo. And, ummm...Remember The Alamo.

You all make me tingle in a bad way.

Go Shawdy, It's My Berfday...

maybe he’ll feel a sharp needle ping in his crotch
right at the accurate moment of conception or ejaculation
of twenty-eight years ago

maybe she’ll feel a piano string snap of guilt
From within her uterus

it was the age of creation
it was hot
it was raining red worms that night outside the hospital
lightning flashed
burning a patch of them against still stained asphalt
the smell was awful inside
brine
vinegar
and brimstone wafting from her straddled legs

the power went out
an elderly dying lady let out a final shriek
before plummeting into a blacker than black world

we saw death that night

the night of my birth

Demi Moore Thinks That Men Who Don't Use Spell check Are Sexy...

It's always nice to get called in to work when you have the day off, but it's all over, so - no worries. Afterwards, when I was walking out towards the parking lot, I saw the homeless guy that I always see around who carries the silver briefcase. Murder was the briefcase that they gave me, Snoop says...anyway...Demi Moore on Letterman? Hold on. Wow.

So, I say hi. To the homeless man - not Demi Moore, I ask if he's hungry. I was carrying home some food. He tells me that he's got a toothache, and he finds it hard to eat. He sometimes screams out in public or talks to himself, but I always make it a point to talk to him, and he always snaps out of it, is really polite, and quick to go back to talking or screaming right after we exchange pleasantries. Tonight, I gave him some money again and then he told me that I looked like a movie star, that I looked like Bruce Lee's son or something. Ha, that was great. I've never gotten that before. I was about to bust out with the obligatory Harry Potter comparison that I get because of the spectacles. Spectacles - the Greek god of seeing. Testicles - the Greek god of fertility. Demimooreiclies - my god, how hot is she?

Uh, yeah - so, my homeless friend said that I loked like Bruce Lee's son. I was afraid to ask if I looked like him now, or when he was alive. The he said that I looked like a Hollywood actor or something, that he wished me the best, and that I'll be a super rich star. Super Rich Star. I like that. I told him to wish me good luck, and he did. And then I went home in my dusty car that I haven't washed professionally in almost a year.

Am I a Super Rich Star? Only if you make me feel like one. Homeless or not.

Thank you, briefcase man...

Some Things...

Don't be a dummy. Remember to remember to pay for your drinks. I don't wanna have to chase after you, because then I'll charge you double. I'm still bummed about missing that party. Luis said that it was the best party he's ever been to. My birthday is coming up. I am more concerned with making my car payment on the 30th and making rent by the 5th, than anything else. Last year, my gal threw me a surprise party. I was asleep in the car right before. After they yelled SURPRISE!, I called them a bunch of pig fuckers, gave them the bird, and then proceeded to karate chop everybody in the wind pipe. I think my town is being invaded by english blokes. They're everywhere. I think that this year, I haven't finished reading more books than have. On my birthday, I want to go to Chuck E. Cheese, and then a strip club. Or maybe, Ill strip at Chuck E. Cheese. It's time to go. Goodbye.

No Doubt...

Talked to Luis tonight and he told me about the party that I missed on Friday night. Two open bars at the house, a dance floor, and the lovely Gwen Stefanie. Ummm...I will never have a pary at my house ever again, because now I'm too paranoid about missing something. I don't care if it's a funeral next time that I have planned - I'm ditching it to party like a rockstar with the rockstars. Damnit.

Smells Like Weed In Here...

My house is pretty damn cool, but I've got to say Joe has the best friggin' pad. Bachelor pad, ladies. I'm typing on his little Sony Vaio Laptop thing, Listening to his bad ass stereo, watching his big ol' TV. I'm drinking a Heineken. I haven't had one of these skunky things in a while. I killed Joe, that's why I'm here. Now I'm playing with all of his stuff. No, we just had to stop by his house so that he could, umm...get something. Tony had a bad day today, blew a gasket in his head - I mean, car and could use some cheering up. By the way, how the hell did Tony get so fucking tall? He used to be like, a foot shorter than me in high school, the bitch. I stopped growing. I was always kind of hoping to be like a couple inches taller and about forty more pounds of muscle. Ha, like care...ummm...Joe just put on the Playboy channel, it's making it kind of hard to concentrate. Playboy's Screen Tests? Ummm....what's that like? Okay, this isn't working for me. Either no breasts or no writing...

Goodbye.

There's A Place In France...

There's so much rum and wine in the house, that there should be some law against it. This much hooch is bound to lead to no good. I might end up humping something by the end of the night. Not my girlfriend. Not alive. Not proper. Oh, and if you're hungry, you should stop by. I sure as hell ain't gonna be eatin' any of this stuff. I'm drinking my dinner tonight. But, my gal's a trooper, everything looks very nice. And, yes...I am typing as friends are over - but that's normal. They're used to it. I just saw a possum. Chris just said that I was like Edward Scissor Hands on the computer. I think I have to go now. Oh, and I have topless pics of my girlfriend. They go to the highest bidder. Oh, and I also will have topless pics of me by the end of the night. If anybody actually bids on them, then you get it. You sicko...

Bastards...

Did you get invited to a party at Tony Kanal's house? Yes. Are you going to go? No. Why not? Because we're having a wine and cheese party here instead. Doesn't that suck? Yes. I would've liked to pee on his rug and hump Gwen's belt buckle.

Damn.

Harry Potter, The Order Of The Pheonix Excerpts Free Download Samples Hee Hee Hee Cats That Look Like Patrick Swayze And Patrick Stewart...

So am I going to get a Twilight Zone-type curse now? I've always entertained the fantasy of what I would do if everybody left the earth for whatever reason, disease, germ warfare, some comet doing something in that horrible 80's movie, whatever...I've always been fascinated with the whole man-alone-apocalyptic thingy. Why? Don't know. Maybe because I'm a snoop. Maybe I'd like to spend time rifling through peoples houses at random and see how they're living. Maybe I'd like to drink all of their beer and open up all of their drawers. Yes, it'd be lonely - but this is pretend. I could carry around a bunch of guns, raid toy stores, pee in SUV's. I could spend the rest of my crappy life reading comics and catching up on the X-Men. I couldn'r watch movies because the electricity would be gone. I'd be chased through the streets by packs of dogs and dive-bombing parakeets. Somehow, I'd wind up with a monkey - I just know it. That'd be cool. I'd teach him how to load bullets into the clips of my firearms. I'd probably dress better. I'd carry a can opener. I'd talk to myself even more than I do now. Read Earth Abides by George R. Stewart, that was a good book, even though that the main character was a conservative, racist, holier-than-thou dick. The Stand was a kick-in-the-pants. I'd probably finish my own books and screenplays. I bet more people would read them then, huh? I'd seal off and fortify my city and rename it HELL or something. Eventually, I'd find my way to an island and just make do there. Maybe I'd find a tiger, or a dinosaur or something and let my monkey ride on top of him and take notes for me.

Maybe there's an island somewhere in the world now for people like me...with bars on the windows...ha.

Riddle Me This, Batman...


I've never been able to decide if Sarah Jessica Parker is hot or not. Hmmm...

2600 With Wood Paneling...

There's a commercial on the TV for a car that has the old arcade game Asteroids in the beginning. I'm sorry that the last three posts were about TV, by the way, but I can't help it. My gal is asleep, so I sometimes put on the huge ass TV on instead of music, I like to steal glances now and then. Anyway...seeing Asteroids on a modern day TV looked kind of cool, it made me want to dig up an old Atari and play some of those games, or at least that Nintendo that we have in the closet. I could go for some Legend Of Zelda, Super Mario Brothers, or Duck Hunt. I just might have to try that after I get off of work tomorrow. Or I could just be responsible and let sleeping dogs...um, sleep and not get hooked back up again..err...yeah.

Collect 100 coins and get a free life. Mario's a bitch. Q-Bert had no arms. Link was gay. Dig Dug was dirty. Pac Man was a fat slob.

Goodnight / morning.

Laugh It Up Fuzz Ball...

I'm watching humans in monkeys suits fight each other on Discovery Channel. There's something disturbing to me about humans in monkey, I mean ape suits. I don't know why. I'd rather see Chewbacca fight em' all. If George Lucas was smart, he'd create a show called The Adventures Of Chewie. Everybody's favorite wookie would fly around the galaxy and solve mysteries. Kind of like an inter planetary Colombo - just without the lazy eye.

Jeebus Christ...

I love The Simpsons, but I've probably only watched a fourth of all of the episodes unlike some of my friends. But, then again - I don't smoke pot, so that might be the reason I find it hard to plan to watch anything on television. I usually find something by accident. Sometimes it's hard, doody-fresh. Anyway, how come every single time I actually get a chance to watch The Simpsons...It's One Of The Same Damn Episodes I've Already Seen???

Give a brutha a break, yo.

Let's Get It On...

As I write this, my girlfriend is puking...Welcome home, honey. Don't think that I'm an insensitive bastard - I already pulled her hair back in a ponytail, gave her water, took off her jewelry, and all of that stuff. I just peeked over. She looks pretty miserable, but that's what happens - doesn't it? Oh, you people crack me up. I know that I jump out of cars and crap when I'm drunk, I may write some nonsense on the computer - but, it takes a lot for me to kiss the butt seat. But, then I'm a wuss and only stick to the light beers and the ultra light cigarettes. This suits me just fine, Bubba.

At the bar, my gal and I were talking to a guy that I've served on my bartending shift. I always call him a cab. He put something in my hand as he got into his cab. Gee, thanks man. He gave me some cocaine. Uhhh...I smiled and waved. Looked at it. Yup, coke. Watched the cab leave and poured that stuff into the street. I guess I could have sold it, but I'd never sell that shite to a friend, so what's the point. Should I be touched? I'm so naive when it comes to that stuff. I never think that people that I'm mingling around with are doing drugs. Trust me, I'm no innocent - but, Damn, aren't we all getting a little older? This guy probably had kids too. I bet that he gives his kids shit for drinking too much soda.

Anyway, I poured it out on the street after he left. I feel sorry for all of the ants that OD'd because of me. I feel like a little kid when I find out that people are doing coke, heroin, and...organized religion.

I feel perfectly fine with my small vices. They suck. But they're damn cool right now, and the worse thing that I'll do is listen to this Marvin Gay song as my girlfriend expunges her Captain and diet cokes, Uh oh, shes not in the bathroom anymore....Okay, I just got her out of the bed and back to the toilet. Cough, Cough goes the gal, and I'm writing like a madman. I guess, maybe - I might be a little buzzed right now, because I'm going to tell you that I love you. Yeah, you, you sick bastard. Love my butt, please. And, also...love the two new books that I'm going to start writing that have to be done by Christmas. Yeah, you heard me. I said it. Christmas.

And my birthday's coming up on the 25th, and it's a toss between a potential yacht trip with my friend's landlord, Chuck E. Cheese and then a strip club, camping, or just sitting at home and getting kinda kee-razy. Decisions. Choices. Your momma's got a mouth on the back of her neck, and the bitch chews like this... ( demonstration ).

As I write this, my girlfriend is sleeping...

Choose Your Own Adventure...

Today's post will be written by you - Whatever you want to see see will be written by you in the commenting section. Bleed your heart out, whine, complain, tell me what you did today. What do you hate. Today is Your Blog Day. This is your day. Friends passed out. I'm a pimp. You're an elephant...

Super - Absorbant...

The word, " Tampax " just sounds dirty doesn't it? Or violent?

"Don't make me Tampax you!"

"I'm gonna kick you in the Tampax!"

"This is my aunt Tampax."

"I slept with a whore in Tijuana and she gave me the Tampax."

Like A Heart Attack...

She's back tomorrow. My girlfriend has had her fill of European sex, and is arriving tomorrow. I cleaned the house like nobody's biznatch. Everything looks good. I was pretty boring while she was gone, wasn't I? But that a good thing I think. But let me tell you, puppies. I'm about ready to get rip-roarin', stinkin' drunk tonight. Yup. That's right, people. Then tomorrow morning, it's all about the wonders of LAX. I have to remember to not wear any of my scary belts with all of the skulls or metal on them. Not that I don't mind taking off my belt in front of complete strangers or anything - but it's just a bitch to get them back on as your being hustled away dy a fat airport security guys hand. I don't know what I just said. That's okay. God damn full moon. I miss werewolves. Thank you.

i got the purple heart, that is so sacrilicousiously phantistic

you can help scare, oh i mean carry some shit

is that the goodbye you give everynight?

dude, i had good time tonight, all and all

that second one i felt

youre hairline is better than mine

can i use this cookie to dip into this salsa? he talks about profit

El Rey...

is he chicano? i think not. so what then, he makes one hell of a salsa. "the mexican approves!"
yeah, the mexican appoves! this is salsa. this is food. this is it. this is us. this is this. so, the mexican approves. so the mexican goes on in a stream of conscious.

like you care.

anyway

Damnation...

where am i again? oh, downstairs, with "Lucky" Rey and Drunken Chris Faux- Hawk.... there's just not enough beer in this town to be able to describe this... blood everywhere, cats digging at our faces, we don't have a chance. Drinking is our and everyones salvation, fuckers, and Strangers beware.... I'm armed to the teeth. Why are there so many reggae bands in our town?? We really don't have that much of an inner city trench town. Oh, well, as long as the over-set girls are jigglin', and the beers are affordable, and the juke plays that sick-ass music all night long, I'm a cappy hamper. there's a strong amount of distrust in the room, noone can be innattentive... the tensions are high, and one of us has resorted to childish vandalism. May any god that's up there have mercy and Barbecue Sauce on our souls.

I Said God Damn...

I'm up. Why are you? And what the hell are you doing with yourself?

Gucci Little Piggy...

So, we're about ready to get out of here. We don't know what we're goibng to do. goibng? What is that? Anyway, we're going out. You can come if you have money and I nice rack. Sorry about that. I'm just typing what my friend Chris who looks like Branden Fraser is thinking. He'd like me to go to a strip club tonight, but that's not exavctly my thing and I wouldn't want to waste the money on that type of thing anyway. I mean, what would I be going for? Boobs are nice, but porn is cheaper. Ha.

I know that I'll probably type when I get home. I'll probably tell you about all of the wacky hijinks that ensued. Hmmmm....I'll bring my little Moleskin notebook thing. Let me grab it right now. Okay, I'm good. Wish us luck. Hope that we find a genie in a bottle, or at least Christina Aguilera so that we could punch her in her dirty little crotch. Spellcheck is so last year. Fo'getit.

What Did E.T. Tell Elliott Before He Left?...

Forgetting what I was going to write about. Couldn't of been that important, could it? Who want's to come on over and rub my eyelids for me? Do it. I'll give you a dollar. I'm serious. It's almost my birthday, are we going camping? Do I care? Nope. Send me a package of tiny musicians. I want to let them run around by the computer, and then when I get sick of them - I'll coat them with sugar and unleash a hive of bees on them.

Am I mean? Yes.

Do I care? No.

Oh, it's just one of those times where you planned on
coming home straight after work and doing a bunch of productive things,
but you really ended up at home at 3 in the morning.
How does this happen?
Damn, I'm tired.
I don't know.

Fat Free and one friend would
be at the trash and then
turned it would think possessed.
I think And my girlfriend. goes
unnoticed. it, so shut it.
just spending my conscience.

Courtesy of Rob's Amazing Poem Generator.

Ashton Kutcher And Demi Moore...

So, six guys made salsa at my house tonight. Is that gay? No, I didn't hire them or anything. No, they weren't naked and wearing nothing but aprons and chef hats. They were friends. The salsa was my idea. And no, we weren't at my house salsa dancing with each other. It just seemd like a good idea at the time. I made enough to feed a small army of Pancho Villa's, though. So, if you're hankering for some fire-burnin', sniffly-nosed good stuff, just come on over - I've got a half-full bowl of the goodness, some pot that some guy gave me last night even though I don't smoke it, MUSE is playing on the stereo, I have an ample amount of pussy-ass light beers, some fake buttery microwave popcorn, Coca Colas, and a scary movie to watch. You just let me know.

Thank you, Thank you.

I'll be here all night.

Please remember to tip your waitress...

The Obligatory Post-Bartending Shift Entry...

I think that the worst thing that one can do, is drink a lot and act like an idiot. I'm just to tired to tell you all of the stupis-ass things that I saw drunk people do tonight. Please don't talk politics either. Can you please yell at each other about something else? Whatever you think - somebody has said it before. Your opinion is not unique. Your statements are selfish and boring. Talking about politics is like having a theological discussion. Dude, kill me. This is why I don't talk about any of that stuff anymore to people. I've said it all before. It makes me ill, it's like flies buzzing around behind my eyes and static in my ears. Please, don't do it. Also, making out and/or arguing with your significant other isn't allowed either. You can only show me how much you're both in love, if I get to take your wallet and follow you home and hump your dog.

Oh. I don't like your stupid drinks either. I'm glad that you tip me, otherwise I wouldn't be making the shit. Everybody drink beer. I like to twist off caps or open them with the opener thingy. I like this system. Let's keep it. It takes me a whole two seconds. I can deal with this. Now shut up and drink your beer. I'm glad that you young people come to the bar too. Usually you're better to look at. You seem to tip better. But you need to learn how to fucking drink. Oh, and also? If you have no money Indie kid? Go away. What the hell are you doing here? Go read music magazines at home. Jack off to Pete Yorn and Blonde Redhead.

I took a taxi home tonight, isn't that funny? I felt kind of bad. The whole ride only cost about five bucks, so I tipped him six. I loved his middle-eastern music. I really would have loved to have him crank it up, I could roll down the windows, light up a smoke and just sing along. I didn't think about that until just now. That would've been nice. I never met a taxi cab driver that I didn't like. With the exception of those that drive in Tijuana. But that doesn't count because that's the worst place in the world. Don'y bomb Iraq - bomb fucking TJ. The only good thing about that place back in high school was...oh...nothing!

I'm not going to speelcheck this. I think that we can both handle it. I want a bow and aroow set. Right now. I want to stand out in my backyard, drink beers and shoot arrows. That's what I want to do. Make this happen please.

If you really love me, you'd send me to my room right now......

Not The One With Sandra Bullock In It...

I've been waiting for this movie for a long time.
Zombies!
Poor monkeys...

I Give Up...

I have the worst sense of direction ever. Freeways scare the shit out of me, and I have no idea where anything is. I know how retarded I am, so shut it. But, I hit an all time low today. Lower than the time when I was coming back from an ex girlfriends house, took one wrong freeway exit, and an hour later wound up at Ontario airport. TODAY, I took a wrong turn while trying to go to AAA ( not AA ) to get my new registration, and I ended up on a freeway. Took the first exit off, and wound up at the parking lot entrances of.........DISNEYLAND. Yeah.

I had the urge to pay for parking and just chill the fuck out, but I had too much to do.

Disneyland.

Bwahh Haaaaa...

Is Sharon Osbourne hot?

I think she is.

No, I'm sorry. P. Diddy is hotter.

What's A Penny Made Out Of?...

Yup. They impounded my car. It's my own fault really. I was going to finally pay my registration right before I threw myself out of a car. Hmmm... on my lunch breal, I'll have to go get new insurance, go to the DMV on Monday, then back to the police department, then to the impound. I'm calculating it to be about 600 bucks. Which I dont have. Well, I have money in the bank, but most of that's already owed to bills. I picked up another shift tomorrow night and one on Saturday night. I'll have to miss girls night out. All of the girls invited one boy out for girl's night out. Me. Oh well. And I work my bartending shift on Sunday night.

I'm telling you, I was really having a good day. There was a bounce to my step. I had a big smile on my face. I was paying bills and everything. Things always hit you when you're guard is down. Oh well, the sooner shit happens, the sooner that you can deal with it. I love you. Now I am going to drink beers and watch The MTV Movie Awards with friends. Fun.

Please send your donations to Lick My Butt, Sunny Southern California. The United States. Earth.

And I Was Having Such A Good Day...

So, do you think that my car was stolen or towed because of my registration?

I'm waiting to find out after walking home from work.

FUCK!

Humps and pumps and four-eyed chumps...

xoxo
Choppalicious

Marshall Mathers…

I think that I just commited a major sin. I just chucked a bunch of leftover M&M’s down the sink. It’s not as bad as when I stuffed that dying crawdad down the garbage disposal and then turned it on. It was a mercy killing. I liberated him from work the week before. Which is worse? The M&M's weren't dying, but they were getting old.

A Wolf At The Door…

Recently, Amy Choppa and I were talking about favorite books of childhood...

Super Fudge.
Sheila The Great.
Beezus And Romona.
The Chronicles Of Narnia.
Henry And Ribsy.
The White Mountains.
Have you ever heard of anything called The Great Brain?
Encyclopedia Brown.
A Cricket In Times Square.
The Great Mouse Caper.
Where The Red Fern Grows.
The Bridge To Taribithia.
Dragons Blood.
The Trolley Car Family.
Swiss Family Robinson.
Runaway Ralph And The Mouse And The Motorcycle.
Otherwise Known As Sheila The Great.
Are You There God, It's Me Margaret?
Hustler.

Anyway, one of my favorite books of all time was The Brothers Lionheart, by Astrid Lindgren. She was the gal who wrote all of the Pippi Longstocking books. All of those were good, but this one was completely different. It was about two brothers, and one of them died, and it was about fantasy worlds in different dimensions and all of that. It's out of print. I tried to order it for years. One of the libraries in the neighboring cities had a copy when I was in high school, but I never could bear the guilt of denying the one kid out of the thousand that might pick it up, the chance to read it. I must've read that book at least six times in between the ages of seven and ten.

I just found a copy of it online. And now I'm going to read it. Hell yeah. But I'm scared. You know how it is. Stuff sometimes doesn't fare well versus the nostalgic power in your head. But, oh well...It doesn't matter. I'm going to transport myself back in time. To reading books in the big, ol' house where I grew up in. To this big, ol' house that I'm currently growing up in. Just now, I have a beer nearby instead of glass of Kool-Aid.

Rabbit In Your Headlights...

I love fucking salads. Not to have intercourse with, I mean that I love eating salads.
I've got pepperoni, pickles, and parmesan cheese in it, yo.
I will eat this beautiful salad as I watch The Big Lebowski.
Jealous? Yes. This is my post about salad.

Thank you.

2 + 2 = 5 . . .

Sometimes I leave my home, take money out of the bank, and then go to the bar.
Sometimes, I leave the bar, deposit money in the bank...and then go home.

We Suck Young Blood...

I think my fucking head is going to blow up. It's simmering low, but getting warmer. Psssshhhhhhh...you hear that? Tiny, little Don Ho bubbles comin' to get me. I have to call April and tell her that I can't go see Finding Pixar Fish with Colin, the four-year-old boy wonder. He came over on Thursday with his dad/my friend, Jamal - who isn't black but looks exactly like Jason Lee. Jason Lee who isn't Chinese. Thank god, or else I'd have to boycott his existence for using slave labor to make my Star Wars toys and for practically wiping out the Tibetan culture. Four-year-old Colin came over with Jamal, and we shot the shit. I gave Colin a Wolverine Pez. That's how nerdy I am. I just have shit like that laying around. Good for kids. Bad for twenty-seven-year olds. My girlfriend left London. Where is she now? I just checked, she's in Paris. Paris sounds like a planet's name. It is like a planet, isn't it? I wouldn't know. I've traveled all over the U.S., but never been outside of the country. Well, Mexico. But that doesn't count. Mexico never counts. Mexico is hell on Earth. Chiclets are heaven. Mexico is hell on Earth.

I'm tired of working. I need to call my lil' sis back. I'm going to Austin. In July or something. Texas sucks. But at least it has Austin. And my sister's pets. She has two cats named He-Man and She-Ra. Two dogs named Miles Davis and Marvin Gaye. Yup. Joe's probably watching Adaptation right now, the bastard. People are having parties tonight. I don't feel like going. I'm lonely in this big ol' house all by myself. I feel like a mouse. Eeep.

I have too much food in the fridge. I hate to waste food. Is that why I'm thin? I'd just rather not have to deal with the guilt, so I just forego the whole experience? No, today I picked up some extra leftovers from the restaurant in hopes of seeing the schizophrenic, homeless guy, so that I could give him something else other than the usual cigarettes that I give him. I wandered around with food in my hands. Guess what? Yup. Wherethefuckishe? Damnit. I wish I could give him something useful, but what's really useful? A phone card? Then he'd talk to God, and I don't want anybody doing that shit. Leave him alone if he exists. I bet God's homeless too. God was probably rich once, but now he's wandering around and yelling at potted plants and star clusters.

I've got some clothes to give God, if I ever see him; I've got all of the food. I've got smokes, movies, and comic books. And internet access. Shit, I've got my own website. Maybe he'd want to say a few things. I know he's a better writer than me. But you don't have to be a God to be that.

I wonder if he ever says, "Me Damnit!".

I wonder...if this boat will ever stop floating...

God, I mean...Good bye...

Uggg...

Friggin' naps.
Always making me feel all Pilsbury.
Since when did I start taking naps, anyway?
It's all your fault, you shit balls...

Did You Know That Elvis Presley Had A Twin Brother?...

No, not it wasn't me. I'm not that old. Geez. I'm...how old am I? I'm 27, I think. I often forget how old I am. No, but serious, Elvis' twin brother's name was Jesse Garon Presley. He was born stillborn and they buried him in a shoebox. How crazy is that? Pretty fortunate that he died, because wouldn't you hate to be Elvis's brother? But, then maybe The Big "E" wouldn't have been a huge rock and roll, hunka, hunka, burning honky if he had to deal with an identical twin. I think that all identical twins are screwed up in some way. Who the hell would want a carbon copy of themselves stealing your shit, hogging up your space, and competing for oxygen? Not me, it was hard enough growing up with an older bro and a younger sis. I bet that somehow, it was all Colonel Parker's fault. Like, he had a pact with the devil and that he'd been shadowing Elvis' mom for years, waiting for her to pop out her twin set of little hicks. He knew of The Prophecy Of The Coming Of The Big "E", and was just waiting to whisk him away, and train him, so that he could have him perform evil deeds in order to dominate the world. Or something to that effect.

Fuck Colonel Tom Parker. He was a rat bastard.
And poor, little Jesse.

No fried banana sandwiches for him...

Oh, Now I Can Post...

Now that everybody's on their way home.
Word of advice: Only listen to classical music or opera when stuck in a traffic jam.
Everything else will just drive you bonkers.

I have a question...why do older men breathe through their nose?
It seems at least one time everyday, I encounter a man in a store who breathes loudly through his nose.
Like he's trying to suck nutrients from the air with it.

I'm just curious. It's kind of gross.
From now on, I'm gonna start carrying jelly beans in my pockets,
and I'll toss em' towards the heavy breathers face, then they'll get sucked up,
the man, will choke - and I'll be happy.

Thank You...

*?@#$!!!...

Do they even show cartoons on regular TV anymore? They don't play in the morning, it's all news shows. I can never find any on after work. Do kids actually go out and play after school now? It seems like they have to. They replaced after school cartoons with epsodes of COPS! I just watched a guy run out of a building after lighting himself on fire. Now there are a bunch of toothless, mid-western drunks getting arrested. No Robotech. No Batman. Not even fucking Pokemon.

The more and more mainstream media companies merge, the less diversity we're going to see.

So, I'll just turn it off. Take that, channel 11.

Well, after this is over...

Hello?...

So, my girlfriend left on Monday for Europe. Right now she's in Jolly Ol' London drinking tea. Yeah, right. She's drunk, I know it. She's a bad drunk too. Not like me, I mean she doesn't throw herself out of cars and let other people punch them in the face, but she's a lightweight. She gets all smiley and sleepy, and she talks a lot. I'd rather throw myself out of a car again. I miss her. It's too quiet. I'm not used to this anymore. Crazy, eh?

Time to call up some strippers...

Good From Afar, But Far From Good...

Okay, back to normal stuff...

So, one of my friends is dating / humping this young girl. Met her last night. She was annoying, but pretty. That's what I thought, but...I just saw them at the bank today...and the girl's face? Oh my god. I'm sorry, but not to be mean or anything, but yikes! Not good. Let's just say that my initial impression of her was a lot kinder than the stone cold reality of today. I've noticed that happens to me often. People end up looking completely different to me than when I first met them. I don't know if this is a good thing or a bad thing...

Seriously...

I mean no disrespect. I suffer from a bad case of dumby, poopy-ness when it comes to my ill attempts at humor. I give one big, fucking salute to all of those that gave their lives in the name of freedom and liberation. Stupid politics, leaders, and war aside. Much respect to those that have given their life for worthy causes. Bless you, tough bastards. Bless you, boys.

Thank you.

Really.

Squish...

Happy Memorial Day.
Today we give remembrance to all of the snails we've smushed,
either accidentally or purposely. So, today...pick one up, give him a kiss...and stick it somebody's purse or pocket.

Bimbo Baggins...

God damn, did I get slammed at the bar tonight.
I did get a rousing round of applause from all of the drunks,
at the end, before I kicked their drunk asses out.
A short lady that looked like a hobbit and clutching an Amstel Lite hit on me.

But her feet were too furry, so I politely declined her offer...

It's That Time Again...

Time for me to make more deviled eggs for a BBQ.
Time for my house to smell even fartier than it always is...

Fartier?

So You Know I Really Am Drunk If...

If I start to drink wine. And If I push Chris through his screen door.

I don't drink wine.

Attention World...

By the time you read this...
I will be drunk. Please don't hate me.
I hope that, maybe, someday...you'll understand.

I Love You, Always.

Well I could have been a famous singer...


Hey little kitties. I got some bad news. I know you think, "Oh Kevynn, so your poo didn't flush down the toilet at work today. They won't know it's you. Blame the fat guy." But that's not the kind of bad news I got for you. I never talked about it before beeeecause I always thought monkeys would fix it somehow, or at least be trained to help me out when my sight failed me. Yeeeeah. I've been legally blind in one eye since I was 19, but it was always ok because I still had the other one! Ha ha life! Thanks for giving me two of everything, SUCKER! But I guess life heard me make fun of it and didn't like that I threw sand in its face at the playground. Baby. What a bunch of garbage it is that my other eye is going now, too. I used to sand down braile signs, and now I'm going to want to kick the little brats asses who do it. Honest, little chickens. That could have been chitlins, or chaplin, or LYSOL because it's so fucking hard for me to see. Seeeeeew. I want to keep PAINTING and reading SPIDEY comix and writing but it will eventually all turn into lysol or hubcaps when I really want to be telling you about how I think William Shatner is a big fat dump. Lysol and William Shatner are different. Believe it. So I think maybe I gets one of them micafones/programs that type what you say into the microphone? GAY. I don't know, friends. Your hero is failing, and at lightning speed. I'd say tune in next time, same milky time, same milky channel, but this episode is TO BE CONTINUED. Until I get some monkey eyes or super monkeys. Or cokebottle glasses. Or...DUN DUN DUN. To be continued...













Suckers. And the BEST part is, it's not even Kevynn the master of mischief who tricked you! It is I, Melly Mel! Ohhh man. You guys were just so TOTALLY DUPED! Psych! No one is blind! GAWD! Anyway...

The Kevvy asked me if I wanted to guest post and, hello, of course. Totally. I didn't want to be a super sappy baby and be all "Kevynn is the best ever. He is owed 3 monkeys. UNO!" Even though all of that is almost true. You decide.

Honestly though, I'm going to have to give some major props, luv, and XOXOs to Mr. Kevynn Malone. He is a favorite of mine, and I don't even do favorites. He's so goddamn nice, I don't know how anyone could ever have anything against him, ever. He's a darling friend, well rounded, generous and kind. You can't go wrong, honestly. He's full of 100% authentic awesome, and he shares us with it (almost) every day. From Christmas cards gone awry to playing with kids in parks and being cold shouldered for trying to help the tubby lady with her car, it's never dull. I know he feels like it sometimes, but truly it's all part of the Malone greatness. Whatever that means. But ok, honest. Kev, you're terriff, keep writing with your one good eye..haha kidding.. you're seriously top notch, kid.


XOXO,
Melly

"so I'm drinking, breathing, writing, singing
everyday I'm on the clock
my mind races with all my longings
but can't keep up with what I got..."

Reed Richards...

What the hell is going on? I was running around today, everything felt off. Or, at least off-er than it's often off-ness. My god, I feel bloated. I barely ate. Why do I feel like this? Must be my period again. I'm glad that today's whole shindig is over and that I can relax and do nothing. Fucking A. I read my new Spider Man comic book. It took me a whopping two minutes. It's funny that I'll look forward to something that takes a shorter time to finish than...you fill in the blank. Fuck the T.V. Fuck my new Orson Scott Card book. Fuck the two movies that I just rented from the library. What the hell were they? Oh. The Thin Red Line. I remember hating that in the theaters and being bored with it, so why am I renting it? You tell me, sugar. What was the other one...am I going to have to walk over to it now? God(s) damnit. It's my own fault. I mentioned it...okay, hold on..whoa! I think that I just saw a tracer come off of my finger. That was crazy. I'm freaking out. I need to clear my head. I'm seeing crap. Get up, Kevynn...,.,.,.,lkl;kl;jgbhcjkhjvuufih

Damn, how could I forget? The Big Lebowski, you bastards. Or bastrads. Or bastiches. I want to take a bath. That would be nice. But it's uncomfortable. I remember when my toes would barely touch the edge of the tub. Now it looks like somebody threw a green bean in a Sucrets tin. Too much lankiness to fit.

Lick it. Goodbye. I hate Sucrets. No spell check. No Five dollar boom boom.

Hulk Smash!...

Don't get me angry. Don't erase my post about the fat lady with the flat tire, and how I tried to help her and be a gentleman, and all that I got was a hint of acknowledgement and another reason to hate cell phones. How Hulk was ready to help the puny human. How hulk was ready to help her change her tire or push it into a parking place instead of in the middle of the street. But the fat lady was too wrapped up in complaining to whoever she was yelling at on the phone. I hope it wasn't her husband. It was probably Domino's Pizzza. Hulk took the time, unlike other people - to see if he could help. Hulk will never change his behaivior, but Hulk's disdain for all of humanity increase by each day. Hulk has always helped people. Hulk wants to super kick fat lady in the crotch. Hulk lost his post.

Hulk is getting sleepy...

What It All Boils Down To Is...Who Cares?

Okay, so while I'm here and trying to remember how to write a bibliography...
Who's gonna win on the American Idol thing?

The fat, black man or the skinny, white kid?

Kettle...

First time I smoked pot, my older brother and his friends just stood around and laughed at me. We were all standing around in the middle of his friends street doing nothing anyway. I was whatever age that you are when you're in seventh grade. I liked to ditch school a lot. Or my brother and his friends would kidnap me and we'd stay at one of their parents houses. I used to drink a bunch of horrible liquor with them too. Maybe that's why I only like beer now. I sometimes start to giggle or talk nonsense. I'm fun for about twenty minutes and then I pass out. I can't drive stoned, just can't do it. My friends can operate heavy machinery, make dogs jump through hoops, talk to the president. I start to drool or call you a lesbian. I once dated a girl who made me drink Jack Daniels with her everytime I got beer. She was tough shit and hot as hell, so I drank whatever she wanted me too. I've ingested it all. I've gone through so many different alcohols, It's sick.

Stick a cucumber in me and I shit out a pickle.

The New Amazing Spiderman's Coming Out Tomorrow, Habeeb!...

Terrorists should just stay at home and read comic books instead.

I...

I don't skateboard around town anymore. I limp to my dirty car. I have to remind myself to look up. I feel tired. I'm not as adventurous as before. My band is dead. Two cats are also. I talk to homeless men more than I do my sister. Did that sound incestuous or did that sound like I like to have sex with homeless men? I still pretend to listen to people. I want a letter in the mail. A real life letter, written on lined, college ruled notebook paper. I'm sick of all of my music, and all of the choices I make at the store suck ass. I'm glad that I started to read comic books again. I rarely go to the movies. I hate living on the first floor. I still drink and smoke, but still don't do drugs. I haven't had a black eye in three years. That's good. I have ten rolls of film that need developing. I still need a new job. I am lazier. I write less. All of the thousands of pages of stuff I've written are now in the garage and seem less important as time goes by. The Beastie Boys are old. I am not excited about the next Star Wars movie. I wish Bukowski would write a new novel. Oops, he's dead. When I make lists of things to do for the day, half of it is phone call bill bullshit. I still try not to kill ants. I still look exactly like I did five years ago. I never buy new shoes, although I think about it all of the time. Master Of Puppets is a great album. I want to own a house. I pulled a bad ass car move when I was going to the store tonight, but it would be too confusing to explain - but trust me...it was damn cool. Blah, Michael Knight. I still have no appetite. I am learning how to make some pretty fucked up drinks. Where I am, right now would've been perfect when I was twenty-one. I don't write poetry anymore. I am happy, just tired. I still have mistletoe hanging above the front doorway. I think I'll keep it there for another seven months. I may have jinxed myself about something important last night. Knock on wood for me right now, please. Screw the people around you...tell them you're practicing jokes.

I'm not whining - I'm just trying to write more like I used to and to not think that somebody else is reading this. The ha ha's should only come when the ha ha clause delivers the ha ha. You must be good to have Ha Ha Clause visit you. Otherwise, you get a lump of thermo nuclear detonator. I have a report I should be writing, but won't tonight. I can't concentrate. Frozen orange juice has no problem with this. That's why all of the best writers are found in the freezer section of your local grocery. No matter how much time passes, The Pixies still sound cool. I think that the opposite sex still finds me attractive even though I have girlfriend glazed over my eyes. I may be wrong. Maybe they only want a cigarette, or want diet secrets from me. Maybe they want to ask me if my father really did work for a secret, ultra cool branch of the government. Maybe they want to ask me why I don't look either Vietnamese or Irish. Maybe they want to ask me what they should look out for next time they're at the swapmeet, do I want anything besides comic books and skull rings?

Columbus was a fag. So is Strom Thurmond. I wish that Barbara Streisand, post-U-Turn-J-Lo, Celine Dion, Bette Midler, and every girl that cries on a reality show gets pummeled in the crotch by meteorites. Human beings need to get the hell off of this planet permanently. We're giving Earth indigestion. I need to get on the ball with the screenplays and the clothing company research. Joe, Dawne, and I need to be rich. Then I can hire Colobus monkeys to type my thoughts. I hate Columbus, but love the Colobus. I need to remember to ask Cheeks what the weather is like in London. In the 60's and partially cloudy? I can feel the beginning of summer. I hate the summer. I need to buy an ironing board. I can't iron worth a fig anyway, but doing it on the kitchen table is really destroying the miniscule abilities that I do have at it. Chewbacca looks lonesome standing there in the corner, he must've deactivated Threepio because his eyes aren't lit up. I wish that people could carry around Samurai swords. But then we'd have Cingular Swords, and Sony Swords, Ford Swords would suck and would cost more to make in America, the majority of swords would be made in Mexico or in Communist China by political prisoners. There would be designer swords. Donatella Versace would continue her brother's legacy...D&G Swords. Hot Topic swords. McSwords. Would you like to super size that for 65 cents more?

Anybody who reads this must leave a comment in the comment section. I know that you don’t have the time, you may be at work, this may interrupt your porn surfing. But, I'm telling you - EVERYBODY MUST DO THIS OR I WILL STOP PAYING YOUR MOM'S BILLS. It's nice to know that the plants appreciate your singing sometimes. It's nice to collect rent off of, even, Baltic Avenue. Sometimes, it's good to punch yourself in the arm, just to remember that it's still there. Even if you can only say HI.

DO IT.

Thank you, Nasty...

Anti Has The Coolest Link To Me On His Site...

So, I should be writing a report right now, but instead I'll tell you about the Mexican / Techno bar during that art show on Saturday. My girlfriend is one of those poopers that doesn't go for days, but then, when she needs to go - she needs to go. I accompanied her to the bathroom in the back of the art gallery, talked to, the owner, I think that's who he was, and found out they were out of toilet paper. I think that I ended up getting distracted by somebody and then I see my girlfriend again, she said that there was a bar down the street, but she had to buy a drink to use the bathroom, so she got me. Everybody knows I'm good for a few dozen...at least.

This place was a thug-fest. They had tons of security there who checked out ID's and told us where the line started even though there was nobody there. Serious. There were more employees and security outside than customers inside. The only customers inside the noisy place were a couple of Cholas holding hands and running somewhere. My girlfriend practically ran too, but to the bathroom. So, I ordered a beer from a very nice girl. She seemed out of place. I tipped her a couple of bucks and she acted like I gave her a couple hundred. I shouldn't of tipped her and just given her my cell phone number and told her that I was DJ'ing a quincieneda on the weekend, would she like to come? I didn't have a place to sit. I was the only guy in the main loud room. The security force was outside. Louder music was coming from the side room that my girlfriend ran off to. I wanted to be close to the bathroom just in case she needed my help anyway. The music was so loud that I could feel it up my nose. There wasn't anybody in this room except for two guys trying to fix an overhanging light. I tried to lean against a wall and look tough or interested. I felt like a narc or an FBI agent. I went outside to the patio with the security force. My gal finally came back and told me that there were shower curtains in the girl’s bathroom instead of doors?

Anyway she felt better and then I had to finish my beer. We were feeling out of place and making jokes to ourselves and wondering who the hell actually went there. Where were all the people? Of course that’s when more friends started to arrive for the art show. I could tell they were kind of surprised; it must of looked kind of weird. I'm in an art show down the street and I'm hanging outside of the Mexican / Techno bar on the patio with The Mexican Mafia. I wanted to tell them what the hell I was doing there, but my girlfriend would've been embarrassed. They had drinks at the art show, so there wasn't any reason why I'd be down the street. After that a couple of friends that I haven't seen in a while saw me at the scary bar too. Same thing. We finally came back. I drank more. That's about it. I want to call the Mexican /Techno bar right now and ask them if they have music, and ask them if they can accommodate a party of two hundred.

Lick It. Goodbye.

I'll Post ABout Pooing In The Mexican Techno Bar When I Get Back From Robbing/Going To The Bank...

Her Melly-ness over at Coffee For One will send you kitty pictures. You should send her some art or pictures or toys or something for her new desk at work. You better be nice to her too because she's, like, a nurse or something, and she'll spit in your drip bag / I.V. thing if you're rude and she meets up with you in a hospital. Her and Amy Choppa are also my internet fiancees. Yup, this summer we're gonna throw a Utah / Internet / three-way marriage party. Boz needs to register with the Universal Life Church and to start thinking up what he's going to say in the ceremony. Gifts will be nice. Yup.

Kevynn The Giant Has A Posse...

Damn tired. I may have to write more later today. I just plum tuckerd out. It is nice when friends stop by the bar and get loose. Buy drinks, buy drinks. Everybody should buy drinks. It's the law. I make it so. The art show was awesome. I might have sold a painting. I got really drunk. So did others. We gave a homeless man a bottle of wine and then he got arrested. My girlfriend had to poo and the art gallery ran out of toilet paper, so I accompanied her to a scary Mexican techno bar...

I'll explain more later...too tired.

But, I do have a question though. If you had to drink one alcoholic drink for the rest of your life, what would it be? Human blood doesn't count, either. It has no alcohol content. Well, unless it's my blood...

Today Is Lucy's Birthday. She is One Year Old. She Is A Dog. I Shook Her Paw Today And Told Her That She Looked Pretty...

Her Raymi-ness, needs some money. You should send it to her. She tells me that she'll give me a cut if you do, or at least we can smoke some cigarettes together. I should go to one of her parties someday, but only if she pays attention to me and hooks me up with drinks. She spelled my name, wrong - but that's okay, because she's Raymi.

Hey, Bubbas. My art show is comin' up and I'm gonna get loose as a goddamn goose. I hope somebody wants to buy something. That would be nice, wouldn't it? Ice cream for everybody then. The doorbell just rang and I yanked open the door and gave a hail Satan sign. It was a girl selling newspaper subscriptions. I apologized and I told her that I thought that she was one of my friends. She kept on looking at my blue nail polish. I think I freaked her out. I'm really friendly to door-to-door people. I think that freaks them out also. Like the two old men who wore Amish-style hats the other day. When they gave me their stupid pamphlet, I thanked them and told them that I would read it. And I would if I could dig it out of the trash without getting dirty. I just gave the girl a donation that I know that she'll pocket. I also gave the guy playing the guitar in front of my work some money for some booze/food. I also tipped the guy who filled up our propane tank at the gas station last night for our barbeque. When he was filling it up, he asked Joe and I something, but we both couldn't understand him. I heard the word finals and started talking to him about the Lakers. He looked sad and said in his Engrish that he was talking about finals for school. Oops. No. Joe and I. We did. My girlfriend does, so I talked to him about Long Beach State. I know absolutely nothing about L.B.S.U. But I still talked about how nice the weather is on campus. Like I know. Tipped him though, cuz' he was a bad ass. He was like the ninja of propane tank refueling. I wanted to smoke and blow everybody up, but there was meat waiting at home - so I didn't.

Say hi to me at the show tonight at Urban Eclectic. Four doors down from The Glass House concert venue. Starts at 8 p.m. Goes til midnight? I'll be looking drunk and bewildered...

Rhubarb Madness By Tom Schmitt...

Atop a small hill, sun sinking behind the hills, carbon dioxide choking the quiet twilight, Beaker was speaking to Prof. Honeydew, wearing nothing but his wiley charms, and Bunson became enraged. That vein, (yes, that one) bulged from Bunson's felt, pale melon, as his eyes reddened, his fingers gripped themselves, creating the fist-phenomena. A cricket sang softly. A fly buzzed, unabashed.
I ask you this, I put forth this motion....
Beaker, unaware of his strange affectations, continued on, high-pitched "Meeps" cascading out in flush, harsh sound waves. See them, watch them, in wonder, wandering through the air. They float, ever-falling as gravity takes them, and crushes them in it's grip. Changing as the air infuses itself within their very core. They collide with Bunsons ear, annihilating the anvil, harrassing the hammer, eating the equilibrium, until the Professor is near hysterics, we watch as he's about to speak, to push forth spiteful syntax, belittling Beaker for his unknowing actions. Restraint prevails, however, at least for now....
"...As time stands still, the soul continues... " speaketh Beaker beautifically.
"...er...."
"...like descending through space, only easier, open-minded, merging with ions and eros, eclipsing the earth, breathtaking and bungling, a baby aware of the womb and rejecting it for a pentohouse overlooking the New York skyline as city lights wink out rousing the wake to slumber...."
"...eh...."
"...nature rejecting the moment for fear of acceptance, for tears of reluctance, for jeers of soaring crowds ripe with disease and putrifaction, stinking like a three-day-old cold, shining oil-like atop the surface of water..."
"...en...."
Beaker relinquishes, the subtle lisp fading.... Bunson stammers on.... and on.. and... on. ......

Kicking Picasso In The Nuts...

Today there were about thirty cheerleaders taking pictures in the park across the street from my house. Maybe I shoud've invited them to barbeque tomight. I'm going to be featured in art exhibit tomorrow night. I was a talking to a girl at a bar last night while she was ordering her drinks and looked ahead and saw a flyer with my name on it. That was kinda freaky, the girl didn't believe that it was me, she said that it was a girl's name, so I started to dig around in my wallet for proof. I don't have breasts. It is not a girl's name. I should've asked her to show me her penis.

Samson...

I got a haircut today.
I always hated haircuts when I was a little kid.
My father would get pissed at me and demand that I got a crew cut because my hair grows at an alarming rate.
If I was a member of the X-Men, my mutant power would be uncanny hair growth.

I'd be known as bushy crotch boy.

Fist Full Of Boom Stick...

I have an art gallery showing on Saturday night. How that I happened, I don't know. I don't paint much. One painting every six months, maybe. And I give them all away. But my friends are all talented, and Ryan asked if I had anything, so, I'll have four things at the show. If you're around Pomona, email me and let me know. Keep your knives at home. Thermo nuclear detonators are okay. I’ll be the drunk guy shrugging my shoulders.

I need to call my brother back. I really lag at calling people back. It's remarkable that people still talk to me. You might as well put a message in a bottle and throw it into the sea. You'd get a quicker response that way, mate.

I met a guy who works on a cable show too. I need to call him. Maybe I can write skits or act in his productions. I washed my car today. I went to the comic book store and picked up some free X-Men and Batman stuff for the Mexican worker's kids at my job. I found nothing for myself, fuckers. I rented Catch Me If You Can, The Ring, and The Legend Of Ron Jeremy. I had a lot of fines at the video store, but the guy knocked off sixteen dollars. Why, I don't know. People do stuff like that for me sometimes. Even the kids at the library knock off my fines. Maybe I have a slight mutant power? Maybe people pity me? Last week when I saw X-Men, one of the kids carried my cokes all of the way to my seat. Maybe I'm a good talker. Shit, I would hope that I had a better way with words than with writing. Otherwise? Mr. Hemingway? Please pass the shotgun.

Oh. About my brother. He's 32 and lives in Kentucky, but is going to move soon this summer to Phoenix. He's like a bigger version of me, but with bushy eyebrows. I don't think that you could ever have a brother more different than you. But we both appreciate fart humor and like beer. I forgive him for being the ultimate asshole that he was when I was growing up. He's cool now. You mellow out when you're balding. So, if my brother moves closer to California, this means that I'll at least be able to see one member of my family, right?

My younger sister wants me to visit Austin in early July. I hope that I can, I miss her a lot. In times past, we were inseparable. But she had to move to Texas with my father when she was still in high school. I think that we both suffered for not being around each other. I raised her and she's always been the only girl who I kept in the back of my mind while doing something wacky and crazy. While she was here, she was the only person that kept me from dangling off of a cliff or racing down some freeway. I've had to learn to be a more responsible person without the benefit of her being here, and she has too. I feel that we've missed out on a lot, but the core connection is still around. We still have a horrible sense of humor, and appreciate a good fart joke here and there. Do you see what my family was like growing up, folks?

Damn, I can't concentrate. I think that we're all going to watch the Laker game at my house tomorrow. Maybe I can give you a play by play. Not of the game, but of my freaky friends fiendish actions. Maybe there will be a couple of guest posts. Maybe not. Maybe they'll all get me drunk and take me to the comic book store instead. Maybe? Maybe I'll get a call on that new job? And then I'll be a semi-wealthy guy and get back on track and then I can pay for all of you to come to a BBQ at my house.

I hope you like strippers.

I Want You To Curse Me As Hard As You Can...

Curse club, baby.
Tell me off.
Because, we all deserve to be put down sometimes, I think.

And if your imagination fails you, try to work through the alphabet, or just see how many words this commenting system will take.

P.S. I humped your mom. Yes, I did.

Hi, My Name Is Carol N...

COKE 12PK
Bud LT 12 PK
VALET DEGREE
RICE A RONI
CHZ IT CHDR
ARRWHD 15/24
1.48 lb @ 1.59 / lb MINNEOLAS
KRSPY SLTINE
CHORE BOY
TWININGS TEA
SALT & PEPPER
RA TRSH BAGS
PWRADE MATRX
YO CRUNCH
VLASIC DILLS
YO CRUNCH
J.D. BISCUIT
PACK CIGS

TAX 1.95
BALANCE 62.25
CASH 62.25
CHANGE 0.00

05/13/03 10:27 pm

$ 2.31 Toward Wine Club
$ 10.32 Toward FINDING NEMO
$ 17.90 Toward Pet Club

Speechless…

Hey, that’s good. Joe might have set me up a new interview with his job. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Kevynn the waiter/bartender is fun and all, but this job was only supposed to last a couple of months. Not two and something years. But, I don’t regret it. I was a desperate, laid-off, dot com guy. Funny, huh? Isn’t everybody a laid-off dot comer? All of them have jobs or are dead, though. I smile and talk, and look smart in my big, fat tie and wrinkled, white shirt. I ask you how to make your drinks and sit down at the tables with the old men. People ask me how my weekend was. I tell them stories, they laugh. They tip. I follow them to their car, and say, “ Hulk Smash!” and then tip their car over. I wake up in an alley with nothing on but a pair of shredded, purple pants. Nuff’ said.

I don’t know what the hell’s been going on with me recently, but ever since I came back from my two month hiatus, my sense of discombobulation has increased. My fingers don’t respond to me as well as before. There’s a bad connection. My sleeping habits have gotten worse, I think about things to write, projects to tackle, things to start, and my arms fill with concrete. The fire from my brain starts to slow down. Eventually it congeals and solidifies. Making me walk around like an ape. Apes can’t talk; so then people can’t understand me. People can’t understand me, so then I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I get mad. When I get mad, I get violent. When I get violent, I throw things. When I throw things, my bad aim comes into effect. Old ladies walking their poodles get hit in the ears. They can’t hear me apologize. Nobody is happy.

No, really. I need that old, mad, flavor. The premium gas. The bomp dee bomp. The ramma lamma ding dong. I need to lop off my arm and replace it with a chainsaw. Rip up this keyboard. I need to stop typing like an old woman.

Or, at least, to get an old woman to do my typing.

Lucky Lager Had The Right Idea...

And don't you think that it would be cool if they posted comic strips on the sides of beer cans, Bazooka Joe style? Or maybe like they used to on the thermos things from our childhood lunch boxes? It give some people other things to do other than watch soft core porn and baseball. And you know that by the time the majority of people got the joke, because everybody knows, if you're drinking a tallboy of Budlight in a can, then you're a slow idiot like me - It'd be time to crack open a new one. Or pee. Or to shoot a rabbit from your front porch or something.

Pardner.

Kurt Wagner...

I'm sorry, but somebody just did a google search on fake nightcrawler teeth and wound up on my site. Nightcrawler from the new X-Men movie, not nightcrawlers - the fishing bait. Anyway, kid? Fake nightcrawler teeth? You should have bought some on Halloween for about a couple of bucks. They were right by the Werewolf and Vampire make up.