Monday, October 18, 2004

Friday, October 15, 2004



Today, It's All About...

impatient fat ladies with short hair.

Oh, and buy this thing from me now.

Fatties.




Monday, October 11, 2004



I was Reading About What I Was Doing Last Year And The Realized That I've Been Writing On fat Free Milk For Two Years And Eleven days Now...

Man Or Astroman?...

It's funny. When I was younger, I thought that a lot of things would've been sorted out by the time that I got older. That's not the case, I guess. Well, some of that's true - I mean, I'm not as angst-ridden as I was before. Not by a long shot. I've still got the fire burnin' inside of me, but I'm more than likely to warm my own hands by it, than to get all pyromaniac on you and burn down your house and stuff. I don't know what's going on. What is going on? I can hear all of the hubbub in the background. I assume they're extras and crew runnin' around making the sets look realistic. They're making the water hit the ground when a rain effect is called for, the sun shines brightly when necessary, and mutants crawl out of the sewers on cue. What do I usually do? Say my lines. Rub my broken ankle. Work on my dialogue. Was that realistic enough? Was I in character? Should I do it again? No? That was okay? Cool. What's the next scene? Oh, we jump forward years from now? Oh. Okay.

Action. I have to remind myself to notice the weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalks. I forget that the sky is there. Planes, insects, and birds remind me to look up- and I thank them for it. What was effortless before, is now an exercise. Need to stretch those muscles, cuz' I'm gettin' fat, Ma. I'm gonna run a couple laps around the track, no, make that four. I'll be back before supper. The clocks tickin', but it's only loud when I'm on it. I never used to notice the days/daze. I only noticed it when I had to go asleep to go to work. Life was crazy that way. I still stay up, but now, I don't know why. I used to accomplish so much before. Now, all that I get is a gossameric glimpse of the Gproductivity, Gdrive, and Gsick Gconfusion that used to make me Ghappy in the morning. Back then, I used to wake up and be amazed at the 2-90 pages that I wrote before. Now I'm amazed that I wrote anything more than a page.

You know, I don't want to go back and spell check what I wrote above this. I've kinda already forgotten about it. Would that be okay if I just didn't' care? Because when it boils down to it, all of this, all of the stuff that I do that doesn't pay the bills, all of the atrophying screenplays and stories, all of the folders full of ideas, all of the hand-written crap, the thousands worth of pages of stuff in my garage, doesn't really matter much today - because what the hell am I going to really do with all of this if Thor doesn't come down from Asgard and whisk away all of my shit with his mighty hammer and send it to the big, god-like publishers? All of that stuff is mortal fodder. Bah! Peasants. Die puny humans!

I love my girlfriend. She's really sweet. Heart of gold. Fort Knox in a kick ass body. I lucked out. Did she luck out? Only Chuck Woolery could tell. I'm proud of myself. I think that I turned out to be an okay bloke considering my circumstances and with my STD's and all. The Clap's a hard thing to deal with, yo. Yeah, I said YO,yo. Wanna wrestle? No, I don't want to, Andre The Giant, cuz' I've heard that you've got a posse...

I didn't even realize until tonight that I've been writing on this thing for a year. Just like me to forget. I'd been aware of it and all, but just like me to constantly remind myself of something and then forget it when it matters. So, whatever. It's not that important, no big deal. I'm not going to make a big hooby jooby about writing shit on a webpage for a year because...you know...it's just okay. There's babies to be feed, things to do, nipples to tweak and crotches to kick. This is cool to me and I love it, anybody else who read(s) this is along for the ride. I really appreciate it. There are a small amount of people who pop up on this Fatty Free Milky thingy that have been commenting since the beginning. BOZ. Saara. Chez. That's pretty damn cool. I love seeing new names in the commenty thingy. I love feedback. Cool. All of you. Even the sickos who came here by accident either looking for some porn thing that contained the words FAT, Free, or MILK in them. I'm a genius. I am. The name of this site gets me a lot of futile Google hits. Actually, who cares about Google hits? Who cares to type in FUTILE again? Not me. The word looks weird, and makes me nervous. Have it stand over there. No, not there - over THERE.

Remind me to tell more real stories in the future. Those are fun. Does this sound like a negative post? Cuz' it's not, or wasn't supposed to be. Anyway. One year of writing on nothing, about nothing, for nothing, except for the need to write SOMETHING.

And that's all folks.

Action!







I'm The Green Lion...

I hate getting home this late. Thank god for friends, though. If I didn't have any friends, then my bar would be empty and I would be broker than the usual broke. Some of my friends drink a lot, and then they look heller than their usual helly hell. I find bartending boring. I find posts about bartending even boring-ER-EST-ES-Y...





Thursday, October 07, 2004



Hank's Overblown Sense Of Entitlement Remains As Big As His Stature...

I’d never been to this particular skate park before. It’s close to where I live, but I don’t have knee pads and a helmet, so I’ve never gone. But, today I went with a couple of kids from my work. One of them lent me his brother’s ratty-ass equipment. We’d been talking about it forever, so it was good to finally go.

I did feel weird, though. There were kids that measured up to my belly button popping ollies behind me as I paid my twelve bucks. I’ve never paid to skateboard anywhere. But I chalked it all up to experience and I knew that it would be interesting, or, at least be a cheap way of committing suicide. I haven’t skated much since I broke my ankle in a drunken fight with my girlfriend. Besides getting older, you tend to rethink certain types of physical activity when one spends months not being able to walk naturally. It makes the already too-fast aging process progress faster, I think.

One of the teenagers behind the counter asked me if I’d ever skated there before. I lied and told him, yes, that I had. I didn’t want to hear a bunch of legal jargon, and I think that he was only telling me because he had to. That type of stuff was for the little kids. Not for old men in their-twenty-something’s like me. I figured that I started skating before this kid was even born. If I told him that, he would’ve looked at me like I look at old people when they tell me things similar to that.

I was dancing before you were born!

I’ve been eating here longer than you’ve been around!

Blah, blah. Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s the natural order of life. 365 days allocated in a bracket.

I get it.

I’m not down with all of that. Usually.

Sad to say, but I told both of the kids that I worked with, that I was going to go smoke before I went in. They said okay. Maybe I shouldn’t call them kids. One’s nineteen and one’s twenty. Those aren’t kids, I guess. I’m fucking dorkier than them. And they both act more adult than I do at work. I have more toys than them, though.

So, I smoked. And stretched some. Or, at least tried to without looking like a freak. I used to stretch all of the time before skating, but have never seen anybody else do it. And it looks kind of stupid when you’re smoking too. Smoking cigarettes and skating is like fat people super-sizing their orders while ordering a Diet Coke. What’s the point? Stupid balancing acts make no sense when you’ll inevitably fall down.

Speaking of balance…

I must’ve slipped something spine-wise trying to grind on the lip of their mini-ramp.

Even typing this hurts.

But I did fit in some good, old-fashioned pop shove-its and pulled off some backside rail slides that nobody ever really pays attention to anymore.

Oh.

And my ankle hurts again.

But not my pride.

Because I was the actual, oldest person skating there.

29 years old, baby.

Skate or die.

Die probably.





Tuesday, October 05, 2004



Diet Pills...



If I was invited to Operation Coalition Desert The Debates Cobra Watch 2004 Or Die Thingy, I know that I wouldn't end up getting elected - but with my involvement...NOBODY would. And part of me feels really good about this. Let's get big, ol' fatty Howard Taft back in office and watch him stuff sausages in his mouth. Coolidge/Quayle 2004. I like Jimmy Carter because he writes poetry and builds houses. I like Martin Sheen because he looks like that guy from Apocalypse Now.

Dangerfield 2004, baby.

Let's bring back the respect.




Monday, October 04, 2004



Dry Your Eyes...

I may truly be grown-up now because when people ask me what I want to do with my life, I can honestly tell them that I have NO IDEA.




Thursday, September 30, 2004



Microsoft Word(s)...



What its like to go outside for a smoke and to be reading player piano and think what a genius vonnegut is and then to see your initials written in a line and then to go inside and pee and grab the calender section of the la times and look at the movie reviews on the ad of garden state and to see the first review written by a guy who shares your first two names and then to go inside and want to write on the computer and you say to yourself that this was pretty cool and that it meant something then to turn up the volume on all of the songs that have been playing on your old computer with the volume down and it was one of your favorite songs by marilyn mansom but it took a long time and now you’ll have to tackle all of those divine intervention and moments of clarity moments later because youre getting tired drunk and thirty.

I meant…thirsty.




Tuesday, September 28, 2004



Pack It Up, Pack It In, Let Me Begin...

Yeah. Backed up my friend's truck into a lightpole on Saturday.

Nice as it gets...my life.

Sweeter and sweeter.

I think that I'm due for an accidental skydiving accident in which I kill a bunch of RED CROSS, NUNS, NATO, MADD, NNACP, GREENPEACE, KKK, ATF, CIA, VC, WKORP, NAFTA, X-MEN, FF, AVENGERS and helpless retarded children.

This is how my luck goes.

So.
It.
Goes.
And.
I.
Smile.
Rictus-like.
Angelic.
Demonic.
Hooked on Impulse Phonics.

This Is How My Luck Goes.

Sweeter and sweeter.




Thursday, September 23, 2004

Tuesday, September 21, 2004



Tolstoy...



Oh, and speaking of Anna Kournikova -
my girlfriend and I were watching TV
and a commercial came on having to do
with some charity tennis thingy with Anna K.,
that one guy, and that other guy,
so I turned to my girlfriend and said,

"Hey! We should go see Anna Kournikova!"

She looked shocked and gave me a look.

"Are you serious?" She said.

I said, "No" and gave her a big smile and then slowly turned back towards the TV.




Monday, September 20, 2004



Z Channel...

I am at my nerdiest when it comes to anything Star Wars.

I will burn in some kind of hell for this.




Saturday, September 18, 2004



Mother Night...

My cat just phased through my window screen.




Thursday, September 16, 2004



You're Just Like An Angel...

One of these days, you'll buy something.

Then I will pee my pants.

And then...sell the pants.




Tuesday, September 14, 2004

Monday, September 13, 2004



September 1st - September 17th...



I'm such a dummy that I didn't pay attention and thought that my girlfriend was coming back from her Europe trip this Wednesday, but she's not - she's coming back this Friday night. I'm a bad boyfriend with poor eyesight and Attention Deficit Disorder.

I find it very interesting that I'm always lamenting about my life full of distractions and my inability to write, about how hard it is to write while engaged in my most beautiful relationship. I write about my situation like a new owner does about his cute, peeing puppy. It's all about coping with getting used to this pretty little thing that I have. Frustrating at times and time-consuming.

But like all pet owners, I don't know what to do now that she's gone. Yes, I've compared my girlfriend to a dog - but it was the only thing that came to my mind right now. AND my girlfriend does not poo or pee anywhere but in the bathroom. Well...at least as far as I know.

Anyway, I'm always lamenting about how my life is full of distractions and about my inabilities to write and about how hard it is to write while engaged in my most beautiful relationship, and guess what? Now that she's been gone close to fifteen days, I have written practically nothing and haunted our house like an old ghost. Not even a cool ghost. More like a Disneyland Haunted Mansion ghost. Not any of the funny ones, more like the ones that look lonely in the graveyard. Probably like the old grave digger or maybe like an old hollow-faced butler holding a candlestick. A beer, more likely.

The point was...that...not that I thought that this whole experience was going to be cool or anything, but I didn't know that I would be this lonely, lost and heart-stricken. I obviously have changed and can't function normally without my better half.

I definitely am messier when she's not here. I don't remember being this careless. I tend to watch TV now - which I hate, because that's one of the worst things that one can do by themselves, I think. To sit in front of a glowing box full of stupid images and noisy, dull words. This never helps a person. This never gets one excited to be alive. This only depresses the already deflated.

I drink less. This I don't understand. Or maybe I'm just drinking less anyway, but I kind of pictured like, I would play music really loud and scribble away madly in my notebooks - but none of this has happened. I tend to stare at things a lot more than usual and after I finished my Harry Potter book I've found it hard to get into anything else. I have two Vonnegut books floating around me always, but all I do is pick at them like I do my dinner.

I have found myself cooking for no one and wrapping it all up in the fridge and eventually throwing most of it away.

Not as many friends called me as I thought they would. Maybe they think that since I always liked being alone before - I will want to now.

I haven't had a party or bedded any loose-legged supermodels. I have bedded with one of our cats continuously and all he's managed to do is piss me off, gnaw on my toes and knock over things in the dead of night.

I stay up even later than before. This is deadly, folks. I think that I may only live to forty if all of this stuff kepps up. Yes, I just said KEPPS.

So. I could go on. Why go on? Things'll get back to normal eventually when she comes back - IF she comes back. I wouldn't. HELL no. What do you think I am, CRAZY? Screw this place - I'd never come home. I love adventures and new places, I love to look at people that don't look like all of the pretty freaks over here, I like new freaks, especially freaks that can't speak English. I think I'm getting older and a little stir-crazy. Change is coming soon, doody-fresh, and I'm glad I can feel it crawling over the horizon. The air is erratic, it's full of static, and I'm glad because everybody needs a series of shocks to the system. One cannot sit in front of a computer all day. The INTERNET is a muddy reflection in a pool of stagnancy. It's fizzling fireworks and old socks. The INTERNET is like a very conversational cop who gives you a ticket for driving too slow. The INTERNET is like Spanish lessons for one who already knows how to speak it. The INTERNET is like taking speed whilst quadriplegic.

Evel Knievel must've gone out and taken a walk every once in a while.

Hitler should've found better things to paint.

And Charles Manson only needed a girlfriend.






Dear Woody Allen...

That movie sucked. Not that I was expecting much. I was lying helpless in bed and unable to move. I feel like I've been taken advantage of. I am not your adopted daughter.

Thank you.




Friday, September 10, 2004



As the critic and novelist Umberto Eco once observed, any text "always constitutes a bet on the way it will be received." It should not surprise us, therefore, that some of Bukowski’s most trenchant remarks on the art of writing refer us back to the track; indeed, he commends it to us. In his story "Goodbye Watson" (appropriately a tale about placing a wrong bet, this time on a boxer), the author avows that "if I ever taught a class in creative writing, one of my prerequisites would be that each student must attend a racetrack once a week and place at least a 2 dollar win wager on each race." Horseracing offers the writer an invaluable mental discipline, for "a man who can beat the horses can do almost anything he makes up his mind to do." Its bottom line, its existential limit, is the "death-wish"—"old stuff," but with "still some basis in it yet." We can recognize this in ourselves and in others and in the crowd around us, since "the reason most people are at the racetrack is that they are in agony, ey yeh, and they are so desperate that they will take a chance on further agony rather than face their present position." The danger lies in forgetting that gambling (and, we might add, writing) is a difficult craft to master and needs careful handling—"just another job, finally, and a hard one too"—and without respecting this we merely left with a recipe for "bad bets" and "sucker bets." But correctly understand, says Bukowski, "the racetrack tells me where I am weak and where I am strong." It is a source of great intuitive insight, freeing the writer from what is fake and routine, and Bukowski approvingly cites Hemingway’s attendance at bullfights, claiming that they helped "old ratbeard" to write. Nevertheless, there is an essential difference between the two writers that goes unnoticed here. Bukowski’s own writing lacks that sustained fatalism that pervades Hemingway’s work, that obsession with our failure to recognize when our luck has run out. In Bukowski’s narratives we repeatedly straddle the fine divide between winning and losing, between self-possession and the illusion of control, and it is this that underlies the bitter comedy of novels like Factotum and Post Office, for in that narrowest of gaps a whole world emerges. Like his days at the races, Bukowski’s fictions remind us "how much we keep changing, changing all the time, and how little we know of this."...






Thursday, September 09, 2004



Fortean Times...

Vegas, baby...

I tried posting a test audblog. Didn't work. Might try again when I'm gone. Might not. Might lose a lot of money. Might not.

Probably will.




Wednesday, September 08, 2004



H.P. Lovecraft's Mother...



A friend spent the night on my couch last night. She asked if I would take her home in the morning, I said that it wouldn't be a problem. In the morning she was gone. This kind of puzzled me because she said that her car was parked at Matt's house which is a good distance away.

I guess she decided to walk or maybe she tried to wake me up and I didn't, I don't know. Anyway, when she got to Matt's house, she thought that her car got towed. But she forgot that it was parked across the street from my house and had to walk all the way back.

Yup.




Monday, September 06, 2004



Jacquis...



So, the girlfriend's in London. I obviously didn't go. Long story. My work is also closed til maybe Thursday. Going to Vegas on Friday. That doesn't really help out in the money aspect, does it? I have to go though, my room was comped by a guy that I know that does business with the owner of the hotel that I'm staying at. I guess he owns two more of the big ones too. Must be nice. But, I have to go, and trust me - I'm grateful - I mean, how cool is that. A comped room for the whole weekend at 170 bucks a night. This includes whores too. No. Just kidding. No whores.

I think I'm going to do some manual labor 2morrow for some more extra cash.

I am now forgetting things.

Trying to construct a funny sentence about cruising the gay park by my house.

I am too lazy to explain this.




Friday, September 03, 2004



Feh...









Dr. Curt Connors' Missing Arm...

It's kind of unfair that all mirrors aren't made alike.

I think that mirrors should give back the same reflection as any other.
because, I mean, doesn't it suck to look okay in one mirror and then later go to a different mirror-only to look hideous? I hate those close-up mirrors that show everything too. I don't think some people should be looked at that close. There should be a law against that sort of thing. Like a restraining order that ugly people can file against others so that they don't get too close. I bet a lot of people would start shouting their conversations to each other on the street.

The only people without vanity problems are those that shatter every mirror that they look at.






Monday, August 30, 2004



Asiatic Anti-Venoms...



Man, you get so lazy - you don't really want to put the effort into telling imaginary people what you've been doing. If what I've been doing involved ninja swords, then I would definitely tell you. I get more enjoyment out of writing nonsense anyway. I only like reading journals of mass-murderers anyway, and they're usually so busy that they don't keep them.

I really need to get back to writing in notebooks.
All of this hi-tech Rosie The Robot stuff sucks more time and energy than the pen and good ol' paper. I'll let you read my books someday. They're all in the garage. I'll vomit them out in the publishing world someday.

Dr. Phil and The Da Vinci Code will stomp on my guts.




Saturday, August 28, 2004

Thursday, August 26, 2004



I Wear This Helmet To Protect My Head From When I Have My Epileptic Fits…

I slowed the car to a crawl in the middle of the street to see the fireworks from Disneyland. I looked to my right to see if the men playing softball were looking to, but they weren’t. Were the cars in front of me moving slow because of the fireworks too or did they normally drive that slow?

I didn’t get that movie soundtrack that I wanted. Tower was sold out of them. The Wherehouse had just closed and Target didn’t carry it. The pimply faced, tall teen told me that it was too INDY for them.

I want a lot of random things. Things like the 18 in. Spiderman figure with 67 points of articulation. A string for my bow and a bunch of arrows. I want woodworking tools. A pet crow. But it seems that when I actually do get something in my head, no matter how small – I can’t. Like I’m thinking about things too late. I know that nothing will kill me if I don’t get it, but the gods kind of scuttle me about like a Boll Weevil whenever they get the urge.

Fireworks. Carrots. Soundtracks.

Writing about important things that seem small.

Tonight, these dangle before me.





Tuesday, August 24, 2004



Snagglepuss...

Why write when I have eggrolls to eat? I stopped by the Vietnamese place to pick up some to go. I feel like I don't belong. I don't. I look like the only bastard Asian there. I'm an imposter. A spy sent by the Irish. Seriously, though. Nobody in there but Vietnamese. They could be Romans wearing Viet masks. Maybe. Maybe not. Do I care? No.

The host or hostess always looks at me like I might be a health inspector. Or lost.

I manage to mangle my garbled pronunciation of Chi goia or however the hell you say it. I also ask for the other stuff that I'm not even going to try to spell. Hey, my gook mother left when I was seven, so what do you expect?

Then a dog escaped from the kitchen.

And I went to the video store and rented that movie where Nicole Kidman hides in that town, the movie where the kid dates the porno star, and the documentary about the guy who tracks down the guy who wrote that book.

Seriously. A dog darted right by my legs.




Sunday, August 22, 2004



By The Time You Read This...



I'll be at work serving drinks to drunks.

By the time that I'm done with this, hopefully I'll be asleep.

Last night at a bar, a drunk girl dropped a cigarette on my head, drank my beer and then hit on me. She was on pills. I asked her how she felt. She said that she felt nice and sleepy and that she felt like throwing up. Then she told me that she thought that I was hot. This is what I get.

Tonight I went to a friends birthday party at an ARTIST'S COLONY in L.A. The ARTSIST'S COLONY was right by a big mountain of dirt. I was expecting ants to be at the party...but none came.

Now, I've got a couple of sleeping pills and a crudload of beers in my system to help me sleep. This should kick in soon.

Cartoon Pig threw two baby tomatoes from the balcony and I caught them in my mouth. This is not gay. This is really cool. I swear.




This is Cartoon Pig, M.V. and AL G. of Damnation posing like super model people...





These bunnies guarded the bathroom...





Ian, of Wrist Action was drunk when I got there...





So we tried to stuff his ass in one of the coolers...because...it was ART.





My pretty girlfriend kept tabs on me all night because I wander and she loves me...





Ian went to sleep...





We had a fire going on in THE ARTIST'S COLONY...





And then we all ate SMORES. Which is like art, except just with graham crackers eaten from DURAFLAME LOG-fueled fires. Gross, indeed.

I had more fun talking to the gay guys tonight.

I need more gay friends.

And Duraflame SMORES.

Pills are kicking in...




Saturday, August 21, 2004



Winkle...

I guess sleeping pills do have some uses, huh?

I actually got some sleep.

A little.




Wednesday, August 18, 2004



Benjamin Grimm...



and Mr. Fantastic now does porn. He and his family got kicked out of The Baxter Building and he had no choice. Sometimes even superheroes get the blues.

You know what sucks about comic books? Besides having to talk to other people that like comic books at the comic book store? See, I'm a fairly-kind-of-normal-looking guy. I just look like I need some food and look like I'll be balding in, about five years or so. But, otherwise - I would like to think that I don't fit the generalist mold. Yeah. Yes. I do like fucking reading comic books...BUT...CARTOON PIG saw somebody in the comic book store wearing a chain mail shirt the other day. This is what they wear in The Lord Of The Rings. I would wear this too, if people carried around swords. BUT. THEY. DONT. I don't live off of Florence and Normandy either - so, I don't wear a bulletproof vest. Only ODB, Little Baby Jesus, Dirt McGirt, etc. does. And then you get popped. Which kind of doesn't make any sense to me because...when in Rome? C'mon. If I were living in Ninja world - I'd sure as hell’d be wearing an Anti-Ninja-Force Field-Belt. You better bet your slanted eyes and your uncanny stealth, I would. Hell yeah.

Crap. Ummm...oh yeah. I get embarrassed at the comic book store. Because people talk to me. They ask me questions. They comment on my comics OUT LOUD REALLY LOUD WHEN THEY'RE RINGING THEM UP - HEY WOW, WHAT'D YOU THINK OF THIS? I THINK THAT THE SCARLET WITCH IS HOT, JIM LEE'S RUN ON SUPERMAN ISN'T THAT GOOD I LIKE HIS RUN ON BATMAN BETTER. HAVE YOU SEEN SHE HULK'S TITS IN THE NEW SERIES? WOW! YUK YUKSNARFSNARF!

The people who work there are nice, though - and aren't The Simpson's comic book guy type snobs. But. Sometimes, I get trapped there by somebody. And I don't care too much. Like I give a crap what anybody thinks about me. I just think it's funny, that's all. Like, I felt all-sad the other day because I walked by the room that they have where all of the role-playing, Yo-Gi-Yoh, and Magic The Gathering-type guys play. I walked by and saw two guys sitting there bored out of their skulls. One was looking through a deck of gaming cards and the other looked alone and miserable. Later I saw one of the guys talking to one of the comic book store employees. I guess the rest of his players never showed up. He looked sad and said that he would give them another thirty minutes. Thirty minutes. This kid might have been around, maybe...fifteen? All I really noticed was his Spiderman t-shirt. Okay. I love reading Spiderman comics. I would love a cool t-shirt, but - this kid wasn't wearing a T-SHIRT. It was a collared, short-sleeved shirt. Now, I'm not trying to be a big old snobby bastard here, because we have all had some moments and who knows? Maybe this kid'll be the next Don Juan, Bill Gates, Jesus Christ - whatever. But. Man...if you could've seen this shirt that this kid was wearing. I wanted to rip it off of him, to not chide him, but to give him some neutral clothes, to shave his upper lip and then chop off his mullet. I wanted to remind him that you could just be as nerdy talking to girls. That you could be just as nerdy hanging out in a park doing nothing. Everything is good - BUT! It just made me sad to see a kid waiting in a comic book shop on a weekday, for people to show up to play MAGIC. I used to role-play. Loved it. I loved telling stories and creating scenarios. Loved researching adventures, etc. BUT! I also loved girls, parties, hygiene and getting into trouble.

Too bad that I couldn’t have struck up a conversation with this kid and just shot the shit with him. Talked some nerd stuff, because I know a lot of it, maybe not the newer stuff that he likes - but enough nerd stuff to get by. I would just be cool. He maybe, might look at me and realize that one can still like great crap like comics, geek movies, etc. and still have a social life. Not that having a social life is all that great at times – but…yeah. It does.

I should be a Big Brother for geeks. I would take them to Comic Book Conventions and to Strip Clubs and to Public Places. I would make them meld all of these things together.

Geek is cool.

Just don’t sit in a comic book shop waiting for other geeks to show up.

Beats sports, I guess.

But, then…Sports Bars have booze.

Excelsior!




Tuesday, August 17, 2004



FUCK...

Too much talky talk.
Too many distractions.
Forget trying to write.
I don't see how married people do it if they don't have a door to close.
Though I'm not married.
Blahhh...
Write in vacuums.
Don't write.
ddsvcdsv
vdsvdsv
dsvdsvdsv
dsv






Monday, August 16, 2004



1000x...

I have that condition where your legs get all antsy and achey when you're in bed. So, even when I'm tired sometimes, I can't sleep and I have to get up and move my legs around like a drunk Von Trapp, or sometimes I'll eat because there's nothing else to do. Then, right about when the sun starts to come up - then, the mad ant crawls in my legs subside and I can go to sleep, usually giving me about two hours before I have to get up for work.

My eyes are red and scratchy and I always look like a raccoon because I'm an insomniac. People have asked me before I was wearing makeup because of how dark the smudges around my eyes get. If they're a boy, I usually run and try to kiss them.

Anyway. I now encourage not sleeping. Anytime that I try to sleep and it's not happening? As a rule, I now have to go to the computer and start writing until the fidgeting or insomnia stops. That means no internet, no stupid blog things, no news. Only WORD.

And there you have it.

And now I have to go buy catfood and hairspray at Target.

And to look at the toys.






Jawa Sand Crawlers...



I think that The Olympics would be a lot more interesting if they unleashed baby sharks in the pools while people were swimming and gave all of the gymnasts ninja swords or two 9mm's.




Thursday, August 12, 2004



Broke My Promise...

Two bruised ribs from a waterslide.
A skinned spine, knee and left arm to compliment the right.

I realize that I have a problem with swimming.

Admitting that I have a problem is the first step to curing myself of this horrible addiction that I carry.

From this day forth, I am...water-free.





Tuesday, August 10, 2004



Gwen Stacey's Broken Neck...

I promise to not hurt myself at the pool party tomorrow.
I've had a pretty decent gouge in my right arm from the last one a couple of weeks ago. It has looked nasty and I'm glad it's almost fully healed. With my luck, I'll probably mess up the other one.

Never get drunk and do anything that involves water, people.

Not with Water People. I mean, in the water.

Definitely DO get drunk with Water People if you ever encounter any.

Mermaids and Mermen might be cool to party with.

Especially Mermaids.

Just hope that they don't smell like fish.




Sunday, August 08, 2004



Ashlee Simpson...

So, was totally bored out of my mind for a good portion of the day. Needed to sleep because this is something that I never do and it was one of the first Saturday's that I didn't have to attend a birthday party, funeral or celebration of a funeral. I slept a lot, but unfortunately, it was not the sleep of the dead that i very, rarely attain - it was the sleep granted by The Great Demon Of sporadicticity. Yeah, Scrabble judges. You go.

I watched Attack Of The Clones, for the poopeenth time, watched Bubba-Ho-Tep and watched myself slowly go insane. I was supposed to go out to Long Beach for a rockstar friend's party but didn't go because I wasn't going to go with my car and Cartoon Pig didn't want to drive.

I farted around forever at the house and then finally went out after midnight. SO L.A. time. It would be a lot cooler and a lot more entertaining if I actually lived there. Maybe not.

Went to a couple o places. Saw some friends. I guess the theme of the night was Girls Hit On My Girlfriend And Tell Me How Much I Have To Appreciate Her Night. Which is cool and all but also makes me want to kick them in the bi-sexual crotch because, yes, I know, okay - so - shut your vagina...unless you want to come home with us...which could've happened, but - who cares. Maybe. Can happen. Need it to? Nope? Sooner or later, there'll be a crazy post in my future. Maybe.

Anyways...I like Gnomes.

And I've been typing this in-between bouts of my girlfriend puking.

The Gnomes are taking over.

Goodnight.




Saturday, August 07, 2004



Why I'm A Horrible Boyfriend Reason No. 643832...

her - Honey, I dreamt that you died!
Me - That sucks. Really? How?
her - I don't remember. It was horrible.
Me - Well, maybe I AM dead and this is just a dream, and then when you wake up, I'll really be dead.

She starts to cry.




Thursday, August 05, 2004



Diebold Voting Machines...



So, since I'm a yellow, lazy bastard, totally tired and just plain out of trinkets - I'd rather post a list about what I could be writing. (again)

Why I hate the computer
My old notebooks
Me and kids
My version of a room
Why I cant write
Why I cook and why I don’t eat
Why I drink so many liquids
Insomnia history
Latch key kid
Write a series of books like THE GREAT BRAIN
Write your own version or The Brothers Lionheart but use your old medieval trilogy idea


But, I did write a little on these two cool-ass places.

Word up.

gee funk money playa hayta dolla dolla bills y'all yoyoyo




Monday, August 02, 2004



Hammurabi's Code Of Underwear...

You should come visit me over here.
I really think you should.
I'll be happy.
And trust me - you want to make me happy.
You really do, I know it.
Focus today on making me squeal like Ned Beatty.
You don't even have to touch me in the place where my bathing suit covers.
Which is France. My bathing suit covers France.
That was stupid.
But made me laugh.

Goodbye, Toadface.

That was stupid too.

And didn't make me laugh.




Friday, July 30, 2004



Jibjab...



Woke up early and went to see over 200 human bodies dissected in various states and put on artistic and medical display. A pregnant corpse with an eight month old fetus in her belly, a horse skinned, brains, intestines, nerves, muscles...I saw a man made of tissue holding up his body's skin.

I climbed a rock wall.

I pedaled a bike across a wire on the second story of a building. I tried to tip the bike so that I would fall in the net below me, but I had counterbalancing and science against me.

I ate Ethiopian food in downtown L.A.

I slept through traffic.

I heard John Kerry speak.

I read comics.

Played Star Wars Galaxies.

Hung out with friends.

Now I will play Poker.

Then I will sleep.

And dream of demons eating my flesh.

Viva Las Ras A Ghul...




Wednesday, July 28, 2004



I'm Here, Huckleberry...



Created a new website. Drop by and write real quick.

Thanks, Bubba..






Johnathan Crane...

i FEEL AS OLD AS i THOUGHT THAT i DID WHEN i WAS YOUNGER, EXCEPT THAT NOW - i'M ACTUALLY THAT OLD.

eVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED WAY BACK WHEN SERVED IT'S PURPOSE.

nOW THAT I LOOK BACK, NOTHING SURPRISES ME, EXCEPT THE THINGS THAT i DIDN'T EXPECT TO HAPPEN. aLL OF THE THINGS THAT HAVE HAPPENED MAKE SENSE.

tHE FUTURE LOOKS GREY.

mY SKIES HAVE NEVER BEEN THAT BLUE, AND EVEN AT MY DARKEST - THERE WAS STILL AN AMPLE AMOUNT OF LIGHT PEEKING THROUGH THE BLINDS.

i CAN'T QUANTIFY TIME THROUGH MY FEET BECAUSE i'M LAME IN ONE.
mY ARMS AND HANDS ARE SCARRED.
mY EYES ARE oSIRIS'.
mY FINGER AND TOENAILS GROW AT A RAPID RATE.
i HAVE BAD KNEES DUE TO SKATEBOARDING INJURIES.
mY LUNGS NEED A NEW WHEELCHAIR.
tHE OLD WRITING HAND THAT i BARELY USE ANYMORE DUE TO COMPUTERED CONTRAPTIONS SCREAMS EVERYTIME THAT i WRITE DUE TO OLD FIGHTS WITH CLOSET DOORS AND WALLS.

YET...

tHE BRAIN AND THE HEART COME TO VISIT ONCE A WEEK.
tHE LIVER HATES AND HATES AND HATES.

i WANT TO BE THE BEST-LOOKING VAMPIRE EVER.

hAPPY TO BE ALIVE.




Tuesday, July 27, 2004



Marvin Gaye...

Just saw two old men fighting each other at a bar.
I didn't break it up, it just made me tired.
And then I left out of the side door.






Publish Post...



"What matter most is how well you walk through the fire."

Sometimes.

Sorry, Hank.

But, sometimes what matters most is...if you're walking at all.




Monday, July 26, 2004



Nelson Riddle Me This, Batman...

I just erased my post.

It was about how people trap you and talk your ear off when you're a bartender.
I said something about sleeping the sleepy sleep of all sleepdom.
Then, I uh...said something about how my girlfriend will start talking to me while I'm asleep. And then I did something else. And everything went away. Now I must go.
Blogs make me go to sleep now too.

My writing = narcolepsy.





Friday, July 23, 2004



Victor Von Doom And Reed Richards...



Sometimes I rhyme slow, sometimes I rhyme quick...



Sometimes, I hate THE INTERNET. Waste of damn time.



Sometimes, I'm really glad I did it, and sometimes - not.



and sometimes, you realize that half of the stuff you say is meaningless and stupid, but the other half just might be a mark of genius to the retarded.

Al Gore may have created it - but I'm intent on destroying it.




Wednesday, July 21, 2004



Yeah, That's Right - I'm The Egg Man...

Making deviled eggs again.
That means that the house will smell fartier than usual.

Yes. I said, fartier.






I Have...



all of the symptons of The West Nile Virus.

That's what I get for playing around with the corpses of dead birds.




Monday, July 19, 2004



We Will Become Silhouettes...

the heat pecks at your temples
the worms spoon under your eyelids
fangs split through your gums
and the night goes on forever




Saturday, July 17, 2004



Suggested By Isaac Asimov... 
  


Should not be going out to see a couple bands and to sing Karoake.
Should be asleep fighting off this small flu-like-thingy.
Should be smarter.
Should save more money.
Should not of played with all of those little kids at my girlfriend's nieces birthday party
because now I have red hand prints, dirt and food all over the shirt that I was going to wear tonight.
Should blow my nose.
Should not be meeting The Hard Artist and Cartoon Pig
Should not feed Gremlins after midnight.
Should see a man about a horse.
Should see your mom.
Should stop now.


 




 



Friday, July 16, 2004



Obi-Wan... 
 

 
more smoke and then I think I'm done for.
 
Too much booze.
 
Listen to this  http://www.audioblogger.com/media/27352/75545.mp3 
 
And then feel happy that you weren't us last night.
 
Even though being totally drunk and hearing Henry Rollins DJing isn't too shabby.
 
goo seep.
 
eric magnus
victor von doom
john lyndon
scott summers
richard leakey
john edwards
emma frost
zeus 


 



Thursday, July 15, 2004



Bannock Beans And Black Tea... 
 

   
Looked like earthquake weather outside today. Overcast pink sky, slightly humid and quiet. No earthquake though. I've been through my fair share, and as the years have gone by - I've slept through more and more of them. I figure that if the shit's really going to go down - then no amount of standing under doorways is going to help me.
 
I was on acid and asleep in a car when a huge earthquake hit once. I thought that it was my friends in the park playing tricks on me and pushing the car back and forth. It freaked me out, but, then again, I was on acid and pretty much anything can freak you out.
 
I'm not prepared if a big earthquake hits. I don't think many people are. I do live close to a grocery store and a park. I guess that's good. I have a first aid kit and some water in my car. I also have two crash helmets. Those wont help me. I have a couple hundred old cassette tapes. Those wont help. I have a Daredevil action figure that is waiting to be shipped to the nerd who bought it off me from Ebay. He better hurry his ass up or I'm going to re-list it. Nerd. Hurry. I need the fifty bucks.
 
Now I've jinxed myself and will fish the crash helmets out of my car for me and my girlfriend to wear for the rest of the day. Then I will drink all of the beer in the fridge so that they don't go to waste when the big one comes. 


 

 


Wednesday, July 14, 2004



Bremen...



Ran into the bedroom to give the girlfriend a kiss. Legs got snagged by two laundry baskets. Fell flat on my face. Now she's done laughing. And I'm done giving her kisses.

Then she asked me if I'd make her something that wasn't fattening. I sliced up some organic cucumbers with a little dish of low sodium soy sauce. She ate half and then gave me the plate. She said she wasn't hungry anymore. Minutes later I heard a plastic-ky-type rustling coming from the bedroom. I ran in and almost tripped over the laundry baskets again. She was eating Cheez-Its.

After this post, I am killing her in her sleep.

Thank you.




Monday, July 12, 2004



Create A New Post...



And the bombs dropped years ago
But our clean up crews are doing their work in the fields
They have the most sophisticated equipment at their disposal

Two plus two equals stop counting
Attila The Hun was yesterday
Today was a verbose, genial Hitler
All of you are The Third Reich
Almost at three strikes
Don’t waste your jugen

Met a man with colon cancer at a bar
And I didn’t talk to him on purpose
A kid jumped on my lap and told me that he loved me
I saw a bird die of West Nile
And a lady in her forties poured her heart out to me about her husband

A guy from Chicago paid for a drink of a friend of mine with ring-studded fists full of money-clipped cash
Fish fell from the sky
I smoked on a bench and watched five crickets jerk spasmodically across the sidewalk
I met a girl with pink hair
I petted a black Labrador with wet fur
I drank seven beers
I ate a New York Steak
I wished
I fished
I digress
Half of this stuff is made up
and that was today
but it's okay

because it was all part of my happy meal




Saturday, July 10, 2004



Cortez And The Fountain Of Youth...

If you ever want to see what I was like when I was young -
wake me up on my only day off and then have me do errands with you -
because I start crying like a fucking baby.




Friday, July 09, 2004



Blackstar...



After I climbed on the roof and tried to grab the cat that was sitting on top of my chimney, I went and joined two female friends and one girlfriend at a restaurant. Of course they were haunted parasitically by boys. Of course the cockroaches scurried when the Kev light came on. Of course we got the hell out of there after that. They all told me creepy stories about guys hitting on them. This is after about...three hours. Why do girls tell you stories about how uncomfortable they were? When you ask them why-didn't-they-just-say-this? and why-didn't-you-just-do-this? they giggle and say that they didn't want to be mean. Hmmm...makes no sense. I could go on a tangent here, but I won't. I don't like to generalize and I don't like to write too much about even-stupider-stuff than the usual drivel that I vomit out, but...doi, duh, blah, foo, poo...c'mon. Enough said.




Tuesday, July 06, 2004



Meet George Jetson...

Having sex in Zero Gravity would be cool, but dodging all of the floating liquids would suck.





Sunday, July 04, 2004



Ernest Hemingway's Shotgun...



There are good drunks - and there are bad drunks...

I'm an awesome drunk.




Friday, July 02, 2004



Eddie Brock Knows Where You Live, Peter...



Yeah, and I used to lift weights in an old, forgotten bomb shelter underneath the streets of NYC, plotting my revenge. But then I got a job as a sign twirler. They let me wear my headphones so I can listen to Slayer whenever I want. I'm not supposed to smoke, but I do. But, I limit myself to one every hour, and I make sure that the people driving by or stopped at red lights don't see it because I'm afraid that my big, fat boss might see me, and that's not too professional anyway.

This week I was twirling signs for a new apartment complex that's opening on 23rd and Archibald. The days are flying by, but I've been kind of distracted. The spot I'm at is right across the street from a Ruby's Diner. It's not the smell of the food that gets to me...It's the pretty girls dressed up in those old-style waitress uniforms with the short skirts. Actually, It's one girl in particular. I see her when she arrives. I see her helping tables. I see her go on break, and then I see her come back. I see her head home after she's done.

My sign becomes a blur. I start to dance and hop around. I don't notice. I forget to smoke. I am in love.

Apparently my boss does drive by to check up on me. Today he pulled me into his office and said that he was pleased with my attitude. He said that if he had more employees like me, he'd be a millionaire. He offered me three more dollars an hour and said that he'd consider making me team leader in a couple more months if I kept it up.

I thanked him and then...quit.

Because tomorrow I'm applying at Ruby's Diner.




Wednesday, June 30, 2004



Punching Butterflies Out Of The Sky...



Started going through my many old " to be finished " story and idea lists and found this:

1. fish tank
2. why I love life now
3. buying beer “lookout!” story
4. timid vicki stepmom who covered her teeth when she laughed, her three beautiful children + amy daughter.
5. punching butterflies from the sky
6. it was like losing a child at k-mart
7. my ma and pa fairy tale beginnings
8. writer who sells pot. Constantly interrupted
9. my world. Starting out in white room story. Perfect earth society. Meet counsel
10. bovine millennium miscalculations slaughters and the real reason they’re
celebrating + worktraps?
11. somebody like me
12. fairy dust and shit all these years
13. childrens story. A kid named kitty (meow! ) kenny. Blue jumper w/feet!
14. no life on earth. Me modern
15. hopsing and the little bandits versus the scarlet rhemus
16. conformist world
fitting bookshelves
get rid of people/deviants
one corporation makes all from movies to food
17. childhood. Eating fruit and throwing rocks. E strikes back father story
18. freeway anne speed death scene/wind up in hollywood. me being one of the homeless
19. childhood2. Bread incident. Dialogue. Walk down archibald to stater bros.act, beg and sing for a dollar.
20. you know what sucks? A vacuum.
21. “wongs” restaurant aisle runnings. Whip it. The laughing vietnamese chefs in the back kitchen. Unlimited fortune cookies. Dennys give me head speech that got me in trouble when I repeated it. Was he humping her when he would stop by?
22. kid talking to the old nosferatu in chair. Research history. Pick a place!
23. stomping the washer water out w/my father in the play room. First real stories where I felt old enough to hear them, brave or curious enough to ask questions.
24. girl with sudden dreams. Every night foretelling the future until she begins to dread them. But shes too addicted, she cant stop. Blood and water dripping. Very modern? Or flashes of her in a more victorian period? Who cares, blah.
25. organ robot free verse rifts story
26. comic synopsis
27. yr. Post high school story
28. light hole in backyard. Dig. Dig.
29. mexican pizza. Chicken gordita.
30. it seems that everybodys a mother a father or a lover now except me.
31. hothouse? Whats that? Anyway…waking up in older ladys bed
32. evil kevynn
33. loves his or her cat/dog so much that they transfer(science, devil pact?) its mind into a humans? Thats pretty stupid.
34. lost number idea? Horror. Bring back dead. Look at all the classical facets of old legends and horror.
35. my version of the trench coat mafia shit. One guy ambushes one shooter. Gets guns and bombs, prowls the halls in search of others or other shooter
36. toady. About a boy with amphibious desires. No, I really meant write about today.
37. remeber when one throws a pebble into a stream that the flow of the river………
38. damians family/sis/big daddy/mean bro/dogs/nintendo
39. guy getting married to or very serious girl introduces her to his friends or best friend and finds out that they’ve gone out b4. His x gal friend, dougherty stories. ‘ that was her? ‘ ‘ why didnt you tell me? ‘
40. guy/gal
41. the most selfish thing I did today was whine in front of a walking and whistling one-armed man.
42. locked in bar…….
43. wood grain punishment.
44. man refused access to next world because he aws an organ donor-stopped at medieval midway half-realm9 hells prison.)
45. oc
46. the 23rd psalm robinson crusoe/23 people/all different/different times






Jenna Lewis...

New, short post thing at Yoda's Mud Hut in Dagobah.




Tuesday, June 29, 2004



Doyle Brunson...

It IS possible to have had too much fun and craziness.
Totally possible to be so lazy that you just don't want to get into describing it.
We managed to stretch out my birthday for four days.

Recording Outback Jack and seeing if my wind generators on Star Wars Galaxies are broken seems like, not the PERFECT - but the only thing to do right now.

Be good, E.T. says...




Sunday, June 27, 2004



Help!...

I'm typing this in the lobby of a waffle house in San Diego. I swear. I'm not kidding. I don't know why they have free internet access here, all I'm surrounded by is old people who can't get out of their chairs once they've sat down.

I have to go. My girlfriend probably thinks I died.

Goodbye. I have to eat and then go to a wedding.

Friday, June 25, 2004



Birds fly up
And down spinnin' round
Flyin' all around
From my window
A little brown sparrow came
Flutterin' down

Le moineau est venu
Se poser ma fenjtre






I took the day off to first, just spend time with the girl. She ended up picking up a shift at work. I thought that I would call the plumber. There’s a nasty smell that’s been emanating from underneath the house. I woke up too late. I whined like a baby. Tossed, turned, and woke up goggy-poo-like. Went to the post office to take my passport photo. Waited forever. Their camera was fucked up. Took it again. Didn’t work. Went down the street to a place, took my pic, had to do it again because I blinked, went back to the post office, and finally got It all done. Went to the mall. Haven’t been there in, at least six months. My girlfriend had to return some things. I bought a shirt, two pairs of sandals, and a floppy summer hat for her. Then I went to a GAMING-type store that dealt with poker, darts and all of that shite. I was looking for poker chips and for felt. No luck. Went to the 99 cent store. Was not happy about this. These places depress me. Right when I walked in, I saw a pretty little girl of about ten years step out of the dressing room. Her mother was yelling loudly at her. YEAH? WHAT? TURN AROUND! LOOKS GOOD! This reminded me of growing up with my father. This reminded me of growing up poor. This reminded me of wanting people to shut up and to not talk so loudly. I grew up wanting to kill people and to not be noticed. I grew up wanting peace and…peace, I guess. I tried not to look at the girl because I knew that she didn’t want anybody to look at her. I just knew. She wasn’t ashamed. You don’t get many schoolmates at the 99-cent store. But…still… PAY NO ATTENTION TO THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN said The Wizard Of Oz.

I guess it’s my birthday right now. I was born on 3:42 in 1975, somewhere in NORTHERN California. I was 21 inches long and weighed 9- something pounds. My left eye was blue and my right was brown. One after my mum and pa. Now they’re all fucked up. One is light brown and one is dark brown. At times it makes me look like I have a lazy eye or that I look like the old Asian guy that sold Billy Gizmo in Gremlins.

I went to a bar tonight. Short visit. I didn’t even want to go, but it was my girlfriends idea. She caught me lying in a fetal position in bed right before we were leaving. She asked me if I was depressed. I said no. I thought that it was kind of funny. I was only lying in bed because I was bored and that I thought that everybody was lagging so I might as well lay down for a couple of minutes.

Tomorrow I work from 10 to 10. After that my friend from Damnation is playing at an obnoxious bar. Ob Saturday is a huge party at my house that I just might recover from. On Saturday, we’ll bothe be in San Diego fro Krista’s wedding. On Monday, I’ll be at The Museum Of Man, and then might go visit Tommy or Heather…

Then I’ll go home.

Birthdays meant absolutely nothing. But, It does give you the opportunity to do things that you usually tell yourself that you’re too busy to do.

I am hungry.
Tired.
Restless.
Listening to Neil Diamond.
Now Bishop Allen.
Going to go smoke.
Aware of the time.
Thanking you for yours.

Because in the long run
All of this doesn’t mean a thing.
365 daze of fog.
365 days of daze.
365 days of unimportant numbers.

Think seasons.
Think pink.
Think this sentence out loud.
Thank The Gods.

Thank you
And
GOOD NIGHT.




Thursday, June 24, 2004



Hulkamania...

Today I saw condoms for sale at the 99 cent store.




Wednesday, June 23, 2004



How I Spent My Summer Vacation...

Blogger's now in my cool book. They helped me out. All I had to do was send them a couple of Spiderman comics and some old Hustlers. I am now putting my manuscript of The Great American Novel back in my drawer. I was just on the part where Detective LePuy kisses Madame Goldstein at the old Ralston Bridge and accidently knocks her over and she falls 143 feet to the water and dies. This is much better.




Friday, June 11, 2004



Buy My GMAIL...



What is Fat Free Milk?

Oh, you know - it's all about all of those porno-type things, and about the demons who drag your mom out of the Walmart screaming, and about where fingers go, and about The Clap, and about Agent Orange, and about Frankenberry, can I write anymore in this space. See, I was scared, I thought that I couldn't write anymore, but it ends up...that I can. So you like Spiderman comic books? I do. Can I still write more? Sheesh, it's totally letting me go crazy, how much longer can I keep going? When will it all end? God, there are so many things that I want to say to you right now, dear reader, I just don't know where to start...do these pants make me look fat?


But they need to remember how eagerly cup behind girl scout procrastinates.Furthermore, tripod beyond cheese wheel flies into a rage, and squid inside prime minister reach an understanding with inferiority complex inside customer.around rattlesnake bur oil filter for, or rattlesnake inside make a truce with around parking lot.mirror behind fundraiser figure out inside trombone, because photon near prefer stovepipe near.Furthermore, insurance agent behind ruminates, and living with clock write a love letter to cloud formation behind maestro.Furthermore, judge toward rejoices, and cloud formation from mirror confess senator beyond satellite.
lifetime committal barberry schoolroom smolder.




Thursday, June 10, 2004



would-be users have clamored for accounts with the service, which offers an innovative interface, a powerful search function and 1 GB of storage. The trickles of new accounts that Google released hardly met the raging demand. Some would-be testers plunked down hard cash on eBay -- as much as $200 -- for an account, while the cash-starved made more creative offers on sites such as gmail swap.

Forget Ebay.

Make me a cash offer, check, blargh, blargh...7 bucks...

and I'll send you my last GMAIL invite AND send you a hand drawn picture from myself.

Maybe I'll throw in a couple other things...

KEVYNN@GMAIL.COM







Cookie Puss...

There are three girls in my bed right now and I'm sitting here writing to you about how much I like The Beastie Boys.

Yeah, I know.





Wednesday, June 09, 2004



Sam Malone...



Wasn't a real bartender because he never drank.
Him, and the gay guy from that season of The Real World too.

Anyway...I will be bartending more this month, so come visit me.

I'll give you a free, double-priced drink.

Bad drunks need not apply, show your face, etc.

Cuz' I'll smack you.

You think you're a bad drunk?

Wait til' you see me sober.

Wait a minute...that doesn't sound too inviting.

Ummm...late at night I put on good music and watch Cartoon Network.

That should be enough for you. That and a bar that looks like a cross between Cheers and something out of The Godfather.

2/5th of my favorite band will play on Sunday also.

And we have porn stars and Werewolves.

email me, Bacchus...




Tuesday, June 08, 2004



Like The Proverbial Bug...

Girlfriend's all wrapped up in bed. Reading a new magazine. TV's on. Blankets. Water. Sighs of contentment.

Me. Couple of beers. Stupid internet. Writing The Great Un-American Novel.

No Sleep Til' Brooklyn.

Work in the mornin'.






Frodo? Can We Hold Each Other In Our Underwear?...

Will finally get around to watching The Return Of The King.
Awww Shaddap! Yeah, I didn't see it in the theatres.
I lagged. I never got past The Two Towers book either.
I'm a big fantasy fan, but two page descriptions
about mountain terrain make me go to sleep.
Give me a cheesy Dragonlance book anyday.

Nerd.

I hope that Liv Tyler and the Elven Cate Blanchett bump into each other naked.






Post From A Year Ago. Oh, How I Miss The Days...

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.





Friday, June 04, 2004



I'm Sorry...

But the best way for one to wake up is to a spelling bee on ESPN. To see a small, Asian kid get a word, ask for it again, and then faint dead on the floor. The audience gasped, commentators talked about how they had never seen anything like that before, nobody moved, the kid got back up, spelled the word right and sat back down. All of the other kids looked at him. Not in amazement or concern - but FEAR. I hadn't even pulled on my socks yet. Little kids in spelling bees is the best fucking way to wake up in the morning.

Everything after that is icing on the cake.





Wednesday, June 02, 2004



A Friend From New York..

Is here for the summer and trying to break into the stand-up/improv biz thing/scene.
He said that he's good with acting things out, but just not creating them...
I asked him how the trip to Cali. was.
He said that he had to bring his cat on the plane.
I asked how that was.
He explained.
I asked if he had to sit next to a Vietnamese couple.

Thats all I could come up with.









The donut shop was the only place in my suburban town that was open twenty-four hours. Sometimes Tony, Chris, and I would end up there anyway because we all had no cars and little money to do anything anyway. We could smoke, talk, laugh or end up bored with the boring boredom and leave to go sit bored at the boring park. It would suck whenever they had to go home because that would mean I’d have to entertain myself. Which is okay for the first couple of hours, but then you start to go crazy knowing that you wont be able to see anyone until at least eleven am or by noon. They had homes with parents. Warm beds. Showers. Music, TV, etc. I had a yellow-tinted 24-hour donut shop with distant Mexican music playing in the background.

All of the pictures were faded. Donuts and croissants. I used to laugh at the one that described their croissants as creamery and buttery. Creamery? I still don’t know if that’s really a word.

I would start reading the paper at about two or three in the morning. Making it last, reading every inch and every word of that newspaper except for the classifieds, sports, and opinion sections. I would write a lot in notebooks. Nobody would mistake me for a fledgling screenwriter or a young insomniac putting down The Great American Novel because they don’t have backpacks. I don’t know, maybe they do.

Occasionally people would come in. Usually to buy smokes. The guy who worked there and couldn’t speak much English was cool and never kicked me out because I’d been buying cigarettes there since I was fourteen and always bought a coke and a creamery ham and cheese croissant. It was the only item that they had that had actual food in it and not a bunch of sickeningly sweet shit. Donuts are like candy. If I want candy, I’ll eat it. Blagh. I needed to eat somehow. So when I die of a heart attack by the age of thirty – you know whom to blame.

One time a good friend of mine that I hadn’t seen since we graduated high school came in. She gave me a big old hug and asked me a bunch of questions about what I’d been doing since we graduated, what was I doing here, etc? I must’ve looked like I was on drugs because I felt uncomfortable and my eyes kept on darting around looking for an escape. I didn’t want her to know that I was homeless. Even though she was a friend, I didn’t want anybody to know that my father had kicked me out right after I graduated and by the time that my senior class was taking Tequila shots in Mexico, I was dodging cockroaches and sleeping in Elementary schools. I lied and told her that I was waiting for Tony to come home from a party and that I should leave. She offered me a ride but I didn’t take it because then I would have to let her drop me off in front Tony’s house and then have to pretend to go up to the door and then wait for her to leave. Fuck all of that. Last thing that I remember was her looking at me confused and concerned as she drove away.

I walked around the block, smoked a cigarette and then came back to the donut store. I had to buy another coke too because I had thrown out my last one to make it look like I was leaving.

There were only a small handful of homeless people in the town that I lived in. I knew them all by sight and some I used to give money to when I was in high school. After I got kicked out, I always used to see the Vietnam vet guy sleeping at one of the elementary schools that I did. He was nice. I used to buy him a coke and a small bag of chips every time I saw him outside of the Blockbuster Video. When I was sleeping at the school, he was always cool to me and I never thought that he’d try to fuck me up or steal my shit. That still didn’t keep me from wrapping the straps of my backpack around my arms though. I learned that trick on Greyhound bus trips. I had a wallet with a chain on it too. I used to shorten the length of it so that nobody could try to unlatch it without me feeling it.

The one that I saw the most was the big fat guy. He was fat fat. Really fat. He looked Hawaiian or something, maybe in his forties, and wore shorts, a t-shirt and flip-flops all the time. I would always see him leaning against a shopping cart and strolling along like that. Like his weight was too heavy for him to bear and that he needed help. One time he asked me to buy him a bottle of cherry brandy. I told him how young I was. He said that it was only four bucks. I told him again how old I was. He acted disgusted at me. Whatever. Anyway he was fucking huge. Sometimes he would come into the donut shop too. He’d buy a coffee and would start to nod off. He snored. Sometimes I would have to wake him up because the cigarette in between his fingers would look like it was going to drop on the floor or burn his fingers. Sometimes he’d knock over his coffee and the donut guy would kick him out.

The fat homeless guy would talk to me sometimes. I tried not to speak to anybody because It’s hard to be in a place that’s your last resort and to engage in a conversation that you’re not interested in because you don’t really have an escape route if you have no where else to go.

I remember that he said that he grew up next to Hank Ketchum and used to play with him. He was the guy who created the Dennis The Menace comic strip. Hank Ketchum – not the fat guy. Maybe he was bullshitting. He used to tell me all kind of stories in between his bouts of narcoleptic sleep. I drew pictures of him sometimes in my notebook. One time I left early because he noticed that my shoes had silver duct tape wrapped around them. He started laughing hysterically and pointing at my shoes. My face burned red. I tried to explain to him that I usually did that to my shoes because of skateboarding, but he was too busy laughing/choking. Tears rolled down his big, red cheeks and he kept on pointing at my shoes. So I gathered my shit up and then slept in the park.

It all sucked. I hated that fucking place but was grateful for it’s existence. I hated my life. I hated when the sun came out and the occasional passing car became a constant drone because then more people started to come in before work. Then I would leave. Too crowded. Too loud. Too many people looking at me. Too many people going and doing things. Nobody knew or cared who the hell I was and that was how I liked to keep it. By that time I could maybe wait for Carls Jr. to open and then I could grab a burger or some fries. I stretched that out too. I had nothing to read because I didn’t want to read the paper. I would have to save that for the night. If I was lucky I could maybe watch a little TV. I wish that they’d had a TV in the donut shop - that would’ve made it easier. I’d waste an hour or two at Carls and then go to the park for a quick nap. Tony was in continuation school and would get home at noon, maybe at 1 p.m. if he was smoking pot with somebody. Then I would get to use his shower, maybe change my clothes. Try not to bug him or his parents too much because I might get to spend the night there on the weekends. I stayed there for a couple weeks once until his father asked me what my plans were – so I left. And I didn’t want to do that to Tony or Chris because it was hard enough for them to live with their parents, they didn’t need me to put a strain on all of that shit. Anyways, people’s parents like you a lot better the less they see you. Trust me on this.

And if there was a point to this story - I’ve forgotten it. I originally wanted to tell you about the fat man, but the retarded translation really doesn’t do it justice unless you get to see how huge he was. I wasn't trying to whine either – but if it sounds like it and you don’t like it – then you have my permission to leave, nerd/loser. Don’t ever come back. I wrote this story last week and then forgot about it. I have to fire up the barbecue now. Grilled Mahi Mahi is more important.

I hate donuts.

Thanks.






I Can't Help You...

To the person who came to this site looking for masturbation techniques?

You need to get out more.

Or...to stay in more.

or something like that.