I Want To Be As Famous As Pat Sajak But With Beautiful Hair Like Nuno From The Band, Extreme...



That is totally not true.

I DID once, have long hair - sadly, yes...almost exactly like his.

This was 68 years ago.

Anyway.

...Oh yeah, an hour ago I was offered to be an extra in a movie right down the street from my house through a friend. They said that they needed a tall, handsome guy to be in the background or to stand around shivering drinking hot chocolate that tastes like tepid donkey diarrhea or something like that. Thank you for pretending that I'm handsome. Thank you for thinking that I'm tall too, Brandon-Mr-Six-Foot-Two.

I said no. He really didn't believe me that I didn't want to do it. I said that I had a writing project that needed to be done (which is true). He asked me if I had a deadline. I didn't lie. I said no. That I just didn't want to do it and that I'd rather write instead.

This, ladies and gentleman, makes me feel like a million dollars. Years and years ago, I would've dreamt for the opportunity to be "discovered" or to just even be around small productions, blargh, blargh, etc...I had pictures taken once. Which still get pulled out every now and then by drunken friends and screeched at HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!! Gone to extra casting calls, etc.

NOW? I just want to sit home write, read comic books and drink light beer.

Acting? Gross. Vomit. Poo.

Writing? Excellent. Virgins await me in heaven. Candy for everyone.

Just kidding. Fuck that. Of course I would still like to act. Hell yeah. I'm a complete idiot on stage, on camera and in front of a microphone. I'm every Easter ham ever ingested. I am Jack's lack of dignity. I am Jack's expired prescription of Ritalin.

But writing is easier - and you're just as much of a helpless whore by doing it.

This just means that I'm lazier.

And, by the way - I just got done emailing a friend back that works for a famous Talent/Lit agency in L.A. and that wants to help me out with submissions, etc.

I like this.

BUT, still - if comic book companies would ever pick up the scripts and synopsis' that I've sent them - than I wouldn't need all of the kind bastards all across the universe to help me turn into a butterfly, now would I?

Gay butterfly.

Now watch Brandon get a speaking role and then become as famous as Kevin Federline and then never speak to me again.

And then I'll be a fat, baby endangering Brittney Spears.

Anti-Media...

Okay...let's pretend that certain dumb TV programs, movies, music, etc. don't exist.

And once we nominate something, it actually WONT EXIST ANYMORE due to our combined magical powers.

It's that easy. So that the next time that you're bored or stoned off of your mind and watching a sitcom that you've always hated, or forced to see a movie that sucks or exposed to somebody else's crappy music - you can remember and say, hey - I forgot about Fat Free Milk Anti-Media! I'm NOT really watching, listening to this, etc.This is a figment of my imagination!

You can yell at it - I KILLED YOU! YOU'RE NOT REAL!!!

That's all it takes.

People don't count though, bitches...

I get to nominate one first...

Ummm...

Say, Thank You...

I just wrote something ten thousand times
more boring
than this sentence

I erased it
because I don't want you
to feel ten thousand times more unsatisfied

Than now

I Only Went To Target To Get Toilet Paper...

DRESS SHIRT FOR WORK -
ST. PADDYS DAY MENS SHIRT
ST. PADDYS DAY MENS SHIRT FOR MY GIRLFRIEND
TOILET PAPER
3 PLAIN WHITE T-SHIRTS
X BOX SALE VIDEO GAME
WHAT THE HELL IS SCOTT MGA RL?
A DVD FOR THE GIRLFRIEND
A TEA POURER
A TEA CUP
STATUARY 2 @ 12.99
STD? (WHY IS IT CALLED THAT? GROSS) PILLOW 2 @ 2.99
CASTROL GTX
PHOTO FRAME
SHADOW BOX
STD PLLW CVR(S)

TOTAL? $126.86

I AM A GAYWAD, HOPELESS, BROKE LOSER...

Here's a copy of the email you sent through the International Campaign for Tibet...


















Message: Dear Google,


As a Tibet supporter and someone who wishes to see increased human rights and
democracy for Tibetans and Chinese living in China, I am dismayed to read about
your decision to begin actively censoring the content of google.cn on behalf of
the Chinese government.

Your decision to support the repression of Chinese and Tibetans seeking
alternative information and voicing alternative views is a sad day for the
people of China and Tibet and makes Google complicit in the Chinese Communist
Party's shameful distortion of the truth of its own history in Tibet.

I have read your Company Principles, "Ten Things Google Has Found to be True",
and would like you to read "Ten Things You Won't Find to be True on Google.cn":

1. The consistent non-violent efforts of the Dalai Lama to bring peace to Tibet
through understanding between Chinese and Tibetans.

2. That Tibet was independent before invasion in 1949 and has not always been a
part of China.

3. That hundreds of thousands of Tibetans have died as a result of the Chinese
occupation.

4. The abuses of human rights, the imprisonment of hundreds of nuns and monks
and the destruction of monasteries in Tibet.

5. The abduction of the 6 year old Gendun Choekyi Nyima, 11th Panchen Lama of
Tibet, by Chinese forces in 1995. He has never been seen since.

6. The UN Investigator on Torture's Beijing statement of 2/12/2005 that there is
a "consistent and systematic pattern of torture" against Tibetans in China.

7. The number of Tibetans who die every year trying to cross the Himalayas to
escape into exile.

8. The damage being done to the Tibetan environment by projects the Tibetans are
forced to accept from Beijing.

9. The destruction of large parts of the holy city of Lhasa to make way for new
Chinese development.

10. The population transfer of Chinese to Tibet, making the Tibetans a minority
in their own land.

The internet is one of the few ways the Tibetan people can seek justice, voice
their opinion and have their view heard by others inside China. Google has
joined the Chinese government in robbing them of that opportunity. I ask you to
reconsider your decision to be a partner in this evil act.

Kevynn Malone
kevynn75@hotmail.com

I have no idea what a meme is, but I saw Sarah Brown doing one - so I thought that I might do one also because I'm a follower/lemming/automaton/poo-head...

Four jobs I’ve had:

Puppeteer at an amusement park for toddlers
Pizza maker (like, three times - I think)
Content writer for an internet animation team
Bartender

Four Movies I can watch over and over:

True Romance
Empire Strikes Back
Fight Club
Shadowlands

Four Places I’ve Lived:

Alta Loma, Ca.
Placentia, Ca.
Fullerton, Ca.
My Own Sick Head, Ca.

Four TV shows I love:


The Twilight Zone
The Real World
History Channel
Discover Channel


Four places I’ve vacationed / Who’s Almost 30 But Has Never Left The Continental United States Except For The million trips to Mexico...

Austin, Texas
Santa Fe, New Mexico
Park City, Utah
Fullerton, California

Four of my favorite dishes:

Bud Light
Pickles
Olives
Processed Meat

Four sites I visit daily:

Fat Free Milk
Golden Fiddle
Things Overheard In New York
Newsarama.com

Six places I would rather be right now:

Downtown Sante Fe, New Mexico
Echo Station, Hoth
Market City In Austin, Texas
The Tower Of High Sorcery At Palanthus, Krynn
Brooklyn, New York
Wayne Manor, Gotham City

Four bloggers I’m tagging/slightly alienating:

Wil Wheaton
Warren Ellis
Kevynn Malone
Maddox Jollie Pitt

Dear MY COMPUTER,



I’m glad that you’re feeling better now and that the nice man fixed you. You’d been gone for a long time and I was starting to get worried. At first I was lonely, but then, as time passed – I realized how much more I was reading and then didn’t really miss you as much. I realized that you were a leech and like a technological equivalent of a fat bag of weed on a coffee table.

You are a tool of convenience, MY COMPUTER. Nothing more. Effective immediately, I will not talk to you, I will not play with you or shoot the shit with you. I will USE YOU for email, writing assignments, eBay, iTunes, Fat Free Milk and for porn. That’s it.

Thank you.

Kevynn Malone

Four Year Old Niece Says To me...

Her - Say, "Ow, my hip!"

Me - Ow. My hip.

Her - You're not hip. You're old.

Like Fallujah Mortar Fire...

I have a farting problem.

I honestly think that there's something’s wrong with me.

I’m scared.

What if my ass pops?

Percent Daily Values Are Based On A 2,000 Calorie Diet...

I hate feeling nostalgic.
I remember when I was younger, and I didn’t hate nostalgia so much.
Man...those were the days.

Teddy Roosevelt said:



"It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes short again and again, who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, and spends himself in a worthy cause, who at best knows achievement and who at the worst if he fails at least fails while daring greatly so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."

And my worthy cause will be to get very drunk tonight.

Thank you, Teddy. *clink*

Reverse Medusa Meets The Man With The Achilles Brain...

Girl cut me off this morning. My car almost slammed into hers. I started cursing at her and ended up at the same light as her. She was going to make a right at the light and I was going to go straight.

Her window starts to go down. I start to get excited because I think that for some reason, she’s going to say something to me. Yell at me. Why? I don’t know – but I’m about to whip up a verbal shit-storm when –

I see her and…she’s really pretty.

Doink.

And she says, “Excuse me. Do you know where I can find Chapman Street?”

And do you know what I did? What I said to this distracted, horrible bitch of a driver that only seconds before had put my well-being and maybe my whole life in jeopardy?

You got that right. I totally changed in an instant.

Before I knew what was happening, a big smile crept up on my face, my voice changed and I became very, very helpful. I even apologized because I couldn’t give her better directions.

Yeah. (sigh)

Now...there’s nothing wrong with me. This is wrong with all of us. You, me and everybody, dogs and cats included too.

Pretty people get away with EVERYTHING.

And we let them.
We run faster to help them.
We pretend we’re interested in what they’re saying.
We marry them.
We have kids with them.
We watch movies with them in it.
We let them cut through us with fiery swords.
We let them walk all over us.
We let them into our lives and we love it.

We let them.

Yes, we do.

And I must not be that pretty then...because people give me shit all of the time.

In Da Office. Word Up, Sucka.

I am doing so much nothing today that it's messing up my shit.

The Slow Assassination Of Kevynn Malone...

I swear to Zeus that the girlfriend and the various domesticated animals in the house have conspired to not ever let me have a proper sleep. I'm an insomniac, Restless Leg-syndrome Nerd, and all together Mr. Nightmare-sweaty-scream-in-your-sleep anyway, but...how many times can a guy be woken up when he's savoring that last two hours before he has to get up?

Throw a pillow by my head?
Fucking cats using my head as a Twister mat?
Dog burrowing in the sheets Like Cheney does for Oil?
Landlady measuring windows outside?
Girlfriend deciding to ask me questions? Now?

I AM ASLEEP.

Was, actually.

It's hard enough to get anything that mimics human speech patterns when I'm awake.
When I'm asleep? You get what it sounds like when live baby piglets get thrown in campfires...

Go away and let me be Jabba The Hutt.

Fuckers.

The Sky Looks ILM Fake...

he checks his pockets for scraps of paper
he swears he had things to do
but there were no papers

so now what
he thought
what am I missing

will these things
hit me in the head when I'm at home
will I have to get back up

are they that important

no
no no no

out of sight
out of mind
or out of mind
out of sight

no

no no no

ATTENTION:

Men over 40 that wear colognes that smell like fish, ass, grass and the cigarette smoke of dive bars?

STOP IT. Thank you.


Also, I earlier had put my half-eaten submarine sandwich in the office fridge. Later on, I went back to grab a Coke and noticed that the whole fridge now smelled like my sandwich. I wondered if anybody had taken something of theirs out of the fridge and then were grossed out by the now over-powering smell of my Sub.

I felt like I had just silently farted in a crowded elevator.

At Least They Have Jillian Barberie...

You wake up this morning from having horrible nightmares to Kevin Federline being interviewed on The Fox Channel. You try to go back to the nightmares. The day can only get better.

1,2,1,2,3,4
[whistle]...


It's kind of funny.

I've been bored at work and reading, reading, reading various crap on the internet.

I think to myself, "I should write something, but then I'll have to go back to Blogger, type in my password, wait, and then blah, blah, blah, It takes too much time."

So I go to Blogger anyways and...Oh shit - DON'T have to type in my password because last time I was on it, I checked the little box that asked if it wanted it to remember me. Which, apparently, I guess it did.

And so there I was with a blank space in front of me, no delays, everything that I complained about in my head didn't exist and...so I typed...this.

This?

Hmmm...It's kind of like somebody giving you a free pass to Disneyland, but then when you ride the Tea Cups - you shit your pants.

The White Mountains...

The phones are acting weird today. Calls disconnect. I can hear a click when I get on the phone – kind of like somebody else is getting on the line right after me. There is also a faint hum in the background that I never noticed before. The computer’s are sluggish and I can see the silhouettes of shuffling feet from beneath the door, but every time I yank it open, there’s nobody there.

When you drive home tonight – watch out, try to keep your eye in the sky, avoid being tailed, lock your doors and turn out the lights when you get home.

My Car Smells Like Cat Pee Too...

It’d be convenient if I had a computer attached to my head. Then I could write about stuff while it was happening instead of sporadically firing away when time allowed.

But considering how much I fall down when I’m drinking – I guess my Head-Computer would be broken a lot.

I also never carry eggs or light bulbs in my pockets for this reason also.

Bees Make Honey. Cows Make Milk. Couples Make Babies. I Make Messes…

For 29.95 you can have unlimited calling to my heart, and for just 9.95 more –I get unlimited access to your pants.

My head is burning up. My brain feels like last nights charred campfire remains. If I shake my head around a bit, little flame tips poke out of my ears.

Two of my fingers on my right hand – the ones that you make a “Peace” sign with – are numb. Am I having a stroke? Or is this God’s way of telling me to stop being a Hippie?

The Chinese are starting another Space Race. Bin Laden’s hiding in a cave on the moon. Jason Todd and Bucky shower together. Ra's Al Ghul bathes with The Cosmic Cube.

You give me everything.

I give you nothing.

This is how it works.

Jesus Gave Me A Twenty Dollar McDonalds Gift Certificate And A High Five...

Christmas would be a lot more fun if people were only allowed to give each other only certain things. Like, you would only be allowed to pick gifts that fell under certain categories like:

WILD ANIMAL
ROBOT
DISGUSTING, YET STILL INTERESTING PORN
EXPLODING THINGS
SMELLY
DEAD

Deus Ex Machina Piece Of Crap...

Writing will be infrequent due to my computer always shutting off by itself whenever I try to start it up. I guess I need to have it looked at. Geez, take the TV instead.

Ten Years Ago I Was Jumping From Moving Cars Onto Front Lawns And Hurting My Ankles...

So I guess my type of activities hasn't changed much even if I have a little? Maybe this means that I've been drinking for too long? BUT, I did used to hurt myself sober also. I used to climb tall things and then fall off or have friends hold me over great heights for no reason. I used to sleep with random psychotic women. I'd always be bandaged up because of doing something impulsive and stupid. Not with the women, I meant. Well...maybe that too, I guess.

So, if I were to ask the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO what he thought about the ME FROM NOW - what would he say? Would the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO be so disappointed that he commits Hari-Kari? Would he vomit all over his horrible Hawaiian shirt? Would he hit me over the head with his Coors bottle?

Or would it all make sense to him? Seriously. If I sat down with the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO, would everything that I’m doing now make sense to him? Most of the same friends, living relatively in the same area, five year relationship with an amazing girl, drinks too much, still thin, still collects comics, talks too much, writes a bunch of crazy and useless crap on the computer, two jobs that both suck…

Would ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO be disappointed?

Nah, I guess not then, huh? There’d definitely be some things that surprise him but overall I don’t think that I’m doing anything today that is totally out of the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO’s future predictions or speculations.

Now…is this a good thing? The fact that I can’t overwhelm or surprise the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO with what I’m currently doing? Yes, I am going skydiving next week – but that doesn’t count. That’s not like living in a farmers hut in New Zealand studying ancient Hobbit Dung. It’s not being a personal assistant to Joel Silver's personal assistant.

So…is this kind of …sad? Does this mean that these last ten years have been a series of very small adventures, joys, misfortunes and accomplishments as opposed to drastic and bold changes of life?

Am I walking like a foot-bound China Man instead of taking Yeti-like strides?

I guess the ME FROM NOW will have to be asked this by the ME FROM TEN YEARS INTO THE FUTURE. Heh. Who knows? Maybe he won’t even bother to ask me anything. Maybe he won’t care. Maybe he’ll be too successful to spend time questioning past choices. Or maybe he won’t be around to ask, if you get my drift.

Anyway…so if I was TEN YEARS OLD and then asked the ME FROM TEN YEARS AGO from back then these same questions…would I have to ask them by shouting into the crotches of my parents?

Just wondering.

The Hands...

of tragedy have big, fat, fucking sausage fingers.

Dead Like Me...

So, I confirmed my skydiving trip. In nine days exactly I will be plummeting to the earth after ejecting myself from a plane. I will also be shitting my pants and screaming like a weaned-but-still-wanting-to-be-breast-fed-by-mom-Maddox-Jolie.

This will hopefully, be one of the smartest things I've ever done.

Next to marrying my life partner, Danny, of course.

An Ambitious Lucifer Morningstar Creates A New Cosmos Modelled After His Own Image...



Attractive lady with a kid stopped by my office asking for my help to find a medical office somewhere in the building. First thing I did was make an obligatory cheesy joke, worry if she saw the comic books by the stapler and then get up and trip over my lunch that was on the floor by my feet.

I showed her a couple places that could be the office that she was looking for. The whole time trying to help her out even though I know absolutely nothing about everything and everybody that works here never talks to each other anyway. But what am I supposed to do? Say, “Sorry, I’m relatively new to this complex and I’m still unfamiliar with this place. You can use my phone if you would like, to help you find the location that you’re looking for better?” Perish the thought that I would ever calm down for anything and think things through. Perish the thought that I would not come across like a big dork. Dorkdorkdork.

Her kid was making fart noises with his mouth. I was leading her in the wrong directions. Nobody was remembering about Afghanistan. Nobody was caring about the kidnapped Panchen Lama. Farts and wrong directions. Fartfartfart. We just wandered around until she struck out on her own again. I am writing about this for no other reason than to say that I’m a bored penis and that tripping over my lunch was the only funny aspect of this long-winded story.

Oh, and the medical office that she was looking for is…three doors down from mine.

Goodbye.

The More That I Talk To You...


the more that we'll argue
so I won't
talk
not argue

I wish that we could talk
like the other people do
but that would mean
that we were just like other people

so
if I had a choice of
us
not being able to communicate as well as we should
versus
the communicative bunch of guttural cows
then
I'd rather be the one who stirs the stew
than
be the main ingredient of it

Miyagi Walks...



Girlfriend's talking to me about shopping sales.

I'm pretending to listen.

I think that I was going to talk about Captain America, Hitler, The Red Skull and Kanye West.

The Red Skull hates black people.

Today in almost-gonna-take-a-nap-before-work shift-no.2-world, I was nippy-eyeing a gossamer image of Mike Myers on the television and realized how uncomfortable he must've felt during the Hurricane Katrina telethon. Even though Kanye was wearing his heart in his vocal chords - and even though I loved that he was speaking the truth - it was still fucking funny. Too bad I never came up with the idea of being Kanye West and a friend being Mike Myers for Halloween. All we'd do all night is just stand by the keg at parties and play out that bit. I'd stutter, "George Bush hates black people" as Jocks would try to elbow me out of the way to get to the keg tap.

"George Bush hates black people."

Girl would ask me what I was supposed to be for Halloween.

"George Bush hates black people."

Host of the party would punch me in the face for sleeping with his girlfriend.

"George Bush hates black people."

Cops would show up.

"George Bush hates black people."

Puking afterwards.

"George Bush hates black people."

Why don't I have a keychain thingy that says, "George Bush hates black people?"

Napoleon Dynamite? Feh! Kanye West, baby!

That or Pat Morita.

"Pat Morita hates black people."

On 11/25/05, I Will Be Asleep In A Cryogenic Tube Dreaming About Koi Playing Lazer Tag To The Mos Eisley Cantina Jazz Ditty...






UPDATE: I suck. The end. No, wait - there's more...If the pic doesn't show up above, I'm not gonna change it because I'm unmotivated and technologically inept. So, the red, little cross in the box thing's as fancy as it's gonna get. Question, though...Does buying something on EBAY count? Does prostitution count? Poker? iTunes? Blargh? Feh? Meh? Blah? Oi!

Fight Club...



Fight to stay awake.
Be a cordial host.
Laugh at jokes.
Offer cocktails.
Constantly clean up.
Do not pass gas.
Do not collect $200.
Go directly to jail.

Fight to stay awake.

Be a cordial host.

A Safe Bet...

If you want to get on a bartender's bad side - come to his bar after a major sporting event. Make sure you've had a lot of drinks, yell about statistics for hours and make sure that you tell me repeatedly that you're hungry, even though the bartender isn't serving food.

Okay? Thanks.

GO CHARGERS!!! WHOOOOOO!!!! BELCH! FART! WHOOOOO!!!!!

Found In A Notebook...

Sometimes I'm jealous of the Helen Keller-types.

The deaf might have it easy because at least you know that the only voices that you're going to hear in your head are your own.

Mars...

So dry today
feels like fiery chopsticks up the nose
eyes like wrinkly prunes
it's too bright
my head is the sun
my brain throbs one supernova a second
my mouth is moist like compost

Mars in November

For all of you political junkies...

Kenneth Starr came in to my work today. Wheee! I stole a couple of his french fries before he got his food too. Seriously, if Elvira or even Charo came in - I would've been more excited. Every politician just looks old and white. Oh wait...they all are old and white, huh?

That Means You, India...

Next time I'm on here, I'm going to ask all of my creepy lurkers to tell me who they are. Foreigners, of course, creep me out even more than my usual gang of piggy Americans. Prostitutes intrigue me also.

Just because.

And I Watched Oprah Too...

Farting in the office.

Not a good idea, Kev.

Hi boss!

I took a Cab Van with a bunch of friends to a birthday party on Saturday night. The GPS driving screen thing inside the van was impressive. The Tom and Jerry cartoons playing on the dvd player were also, but you wanna know what really impressed me about the whole ride?

The Debbie Gibson that the cab driver was playing and then proceeded to turn up even LOUDER as we got noisier.

Debbie Gibson. Seriously. The driver could've turned around and then vomited blood all over the front of my jacket and I still wouldn't of been as thrownback as I was upon hearing Ms. Gibsons horrifically nostalgiac Electric Youth-y voice.

So, I got drunk. er.

Tasslehoff Burrfoot...

so
you sit here STARING
duh
arghh
what are we all doing
wasting time
and eating preservatives
prolonging the inevitable
ingesting empty calories
getting fat full of nothing

while we waste away

Attention: Self

By the time you read this - you will be drunk.

Thank you.

I Hate Cake.

No, not the band. I like them. I hate cake, the dessert.

I hate when I'm at work and there's some extra cake left from a party or something and everybody else who works there hides pieces in the kitchen for themselves for later. I hate how people treat it like gold. They throw their hands up in the air, they get a fanatical look on their faces and start to run towards it.

What's it like, fucking gold? Shit, I'll make it myself. I've seen kids just practically poop themselves when you mention it. They have to be coerced into finishing their actual meal. Like their hamburger or pizza is so horrible to get through.

I mean...it's cake. Like Betty Crocker cake. You can buy it. You can get one decorated. Cake. CAKE! This isn't The Soviet Union. We don't live in the middle ages. People go to IHOP and practically eat cake for breakfast, so what's the deal? It drives me apeshit to see people going nuts over cake. Especially when they're full. Just eating cake because it exists? It's like having sex with a fat hooker because you have a free coupon. Fat hooker? Cake? CAKE!!!

I'm going to become a baker and just keep on having employees just shoot that shit right outside the building. It'll fly out of an iron chute and skid all across the street. I'll laugh watching all of the traffic accidents. SUV'S will flip over, fire hydrants will be knocked over, there'll be a pile of cars that reaches to the sky because there's FREE CAKE. FREE FUCKING CAKE EVERYONE, LOOK! YEAH, LOOK AT IT - RIGHT OVER THERE, IT'S FREE, I TELL YA' AAARRRGGGHHHH!!!!!

CAKECAKECAKECAKE!!!!!!

I Look...

like a dork in this outfit.

BACKGROUND BAR PEOPLE have changed places some. Some new. Some the same. Some are still in the same place but have more glasses and bottles around them and are obviously drunker. Maybe the bar has more people in it. Maybe it doesn’t depend on the bar and the time.

But KEN and KESEY are getting very drunk.


KEN- Y’ know, I’m gonna make this into one of my screenplays…no – a play first because…

KESEY – Why?

KEN – If I can do it on – wait – what? Why what?

KESEY – Geez. Wait, why don’t you. Ummm…why?

KEN – Why what? What do you mean? Whymakeitintoafucking-

KESEY – Why write about shit before it’s done? Why don’t you write about something already done instead of preying on your real emotions and circumstances and just tooling around with what you already know as opposed to what you don’t? Why play the waiting game and just work with what you know? Maybe that’s why you haven’t really done anythi-

KEN – Why I haven’t done anything- Dude, I’ve done a lot of shit. I have…

KESEY – Yeah, I know what you’ve done, and it’s cool and all, but you’re getting older. Older. Seriously. You talk and talk about stuff and that’s great and all and you have a million good ideas but why not be fucking Da Vinci or Ben Franklin and just be Harper Lee or Catcher In The Rye?

Ken – What? Catcher In the Rye?

Kesey – What ever his name was.

KEN – Is. His name is…

KESEY - Whatever.

Chris T.

That would be neat to be named Chris and then have a last name that starts with T, huh? I would always just use the initial for my last name. My frends would write to me in letters, "Jesus, Chris T!"

Sorry. I'm bored.

I need to write a list for myself:
Comic book store
Return Land Of The Dead and Dominion
Organize all of that crap that you're going to ship
Get a Money Order
Call the skydiving place
Call your mother. Ummm...okay. Suuuurrrreee.
Don't be this boring ever again.

The Sad Thing Is...

That I think that I spend more time talking about other peoples relationships or just philosophizing in general about the nature of the beast than actually spending time with my significant other.

It's kind of like being a sign-language teacher and not realizing that passing motorists are flipping you off on your way to work.

Wrecking Crew...

Arghhh.

The only good thing about L.A. is the people living in it.

My Ancestors Would Be Proud...

I hate being busy. I hate doing things. I hate going in public places. I hate being around people. I don't like to do things that're proposed to me by others. I'd rather slowly stir those things around and see how I feel about them later. I feel like I've done it all before, I know what to expect and that nothing is new to me.

I don't like to exercise, walk, hike or go to the gym. I hate the mall. I hate to shop and would rather not go than to just look around. I hate parking lots and hate how people drive. I hate the internal combustion engine. I hate loud noises. I hate car horns. I hate screeching. I hate wailing sirens and people yelling out, "Fuck You's!" to each other as they accelerate away.

I don't like working. I hate stifling sparks of creativity and, if you're lucky, making do with scribbling down that amazing idea on a nearby scrap of paper and cramming it into your pocket because you can't write more about it at work. I hate rules. I hate the hot smell of paper that comes out of the copier. I hate file cabinets. I hate food. I hate tips. I hate cranky, ass old people. I hate people in a hurry. I hate fat guts. I hate having too many options when I call customer service. I hate that the same woman's recorded voice is on the phone regardless of what department I call because it's just like seeing the same commercial on the TV every single time you turn it on.

I hate. I'm unmotivated. I'm lazy. I have no drive. No will. No discipline. I hate.

Yes, I do.

But I love this post. Yes. I love it. And I love this Coca-Cola over here to my right. I love that I just wasted 17 minutes doing something that I shouldn't be doing and that nobody can take that time back from me because I've already spent it.

I love it.

And His Brother Gandalf...

Dude. Full on just saw a guy's paperwork and his name is...Merlin.

Fucking Merlin.

He's married too.

Can you imagine being married to Merlin?

What's their house look like?

Does he ever get ID'd at Rennaisance Fairs? Or maybe Medieval Times?

Merlin. So awesome. Or so mean, I don't know.

Richard Fell...



I think that the ankle's not broken
but my drunken, youthful exhuberance is
my confidence in this body is as brittle as my bones

I am now strapped to this computer
yet, I am told by my girlfriend that
we are having friends over for dinner

X-rays tomorrow
my underarms are already sore from the crutches

I feel like Mr. Glass fron Unbreakable.
I feel like Mr. Stupid-Head from October 2005.

No More Golfing For Me...

3 A.M. in the park across the street. Drunk w/ a neighbor. I fell getting more golf balls. Now I won't have a limp anymore because I might've broken my LEFT ANKLE NOW.

Yay! Crutches again!!!!!

No More Vodka Redbulls For me...



The cement fairies must've poured cement in my ears while I was sleeping last night. I can't even focus. Let alone put together sentences - but I'll try...

Saw a friend at my girlfriend's work yesterday as he was picking something up to go. He said that he was buckling down and training at a mortgage company. Kind of surprising to me considering how arty he is. I started to tell him about the new, other thing that I've been doing when I'm not serving and bartending. We talked about both getting older and needing real jobs and more money, blah blah blah. After he left, I thought about how boring our two new jobs sounded. How old and unoriginal - but totally necessary. Especially for two college dropouts. I started to think about what some of my other friends were doing too. Mutual funds. English teacher. Graphic design. Commercial insurance. Printing. Legal video documentation. Flight attendant. Fed Ex. Bartenders. Servers. Bouncers. Boring.

I tried to be good and think harder. Surely some of my friends must be doing unique and wondrous things? Okay. We had one commercial jet pilot. Ummm...a couple of people in pretty popular bands, all right. Uhhh...nothing else?

No porn stars? No gourmet chefs with popular daytime TV series? No comic book artists, no founders of cults, no dolphin trainers?

What happened? Am I forgetting some of my friend's interesting jobs? Does a friend of mine having an interesting job, somehow, in a way, validate my mundane existence? Does our being in our late twenties, stuck somewhere in the thirties or maybe passing forty years old pretty much make us old? Does this mean that this is it? Get a job, even if it's boring because the relationship, starving child's mouth or empty wallet demand it? Is an interesting life sometimes defined by what one does when out of the workplace or when one has the time to be themselves?

Do I only exist off the clock?

My head is mushy. My skin is hot. My left butt cheek aches, for whatever reason - I don't know, and my eyes aren't focusing well. I think it's time to put my brain to bed and to get through the next 2 hours and 12 minutes.

Then it's time to go home.

After the comic book store, of course. Ha. I'm a nerd.

The Back Street Boys...

Aren't that bad.

Really.

Palm Trees On Fire Smell Like Smog...

This lightning's burning them up out here
Power went out
and I just sat here in the darkness
not knowing what to do

A man in a tie
sold me an art set for ten dollars
and told me that it was just hailing

The power went back on
and then I got sad
the lights now seemed brighter than before
and I missed the darkness

I want more lightning now
I want the L.A. Riots in O.C.
I want Palm trees on fire that smell like smog

I want to type BLARGH

My Brain Is Dying...

After work I went to the corner store to buy a six pack of Coke. Minutes after that, on the way home I stopped at the gas station. I came home and realized as I was putting them away that I BOUGHT TWO six-packs and didn't even realize it. I got nothing else. What the hell is happening to me? I'm like Charlie from Flowers For Algernon. After the operation, when he starts to become retarded again. Except, I guess in my case - I was always dumb and now I'm just getting dumber.

I think this beats the time when I was at the front door and trying to find my house keys and then realized that they were still in my car while the car was running.

doi

I Have Found An ANTI-wormhole...

Time is slowly stretching
one minute becomes ten
ten to thirty
30 to 60
all numbers
big chunk of rock
cut down to sand fragments

Excerpt From A Speech By Me...

It's only October 12th, and I already can't wait for Christmas to be over.

Excerpt from a Speech by Bill Watterson @
Kenyon College, Gambier Ohio, to the 1990 graduating class.

"It's surprising how hard we'll work when the work is done just for ourselves. And with all due respect to John Stuart Mill, maybe utilitarianism is overrated. If I've learned one thing from being a cartoonist, it's how important playing is to creativity and happiness. My job is essentially to come up with 365 ideas a year.
If you ever want to find out just how uninteresting you really are, get a job where the quality and frequency of your thoughts determine your livelihood. I've found that the only way I can keep writing every day, year after year, is to let my mind wander into new territories. To do that, I've had to cultivate a kind of mental playfulness.

We're not really taught how to recreate constructively. We need to do more than find diversions; we need to restore and expand ourselves. Our idea of relaxing is all too often to plop down in front of the television set and let its pandering idiocy liquefy our brains. Shutting off the thought process is not rejuvenating; the mind is like a car battery-it recharges by running.
You may be surprised to find how quickly daily routine and the demands of "just getting by: absorb your waking hours. You may be surprised to find how quickly you start to see your politics and religion become matters of habit rather than thought and inquiry. You may be surprised to find how quickly you start to see your life in terms of other people's expectations rather than issues. You may be surprised to find out how quickly reading a good book sounds like a luxury."

At school, new ideas are thrust at you every day. Out in the world, you'll have to find the inner motivation to search for new ideas on your own. With any luck at all, you'll never need to take an idea and squeeze a punchline out of it, but as bright, creative people, you'll be called upon to generate ideas and solutions all your lives. Letting your mind play is the best way to solve problems.
For me, it's been liberating to put myself in the mind of a fictitious six year-old each day, and rediscover my own curiosity. I've been amazed at how one ideas leads to others if I allow my mind to play and wander. I know a lot about dinosaurs now, and the information has helped me out of quite a few deadlines.
A playful mind is inquisitive, and learning is fun. If you indulge your natural curiosity and retain a sense of fun in new experience, I think you'll find it functions as a sort of shock absorber for the bumpy road ahead.

So, what's it like in the real world? Well, the food is better, but beyond that, I don't recommend it.

Off the top of my head...



even though i love alec empire - when he talks all of his revolutionary/german political stuff - I'm at a loss. He's just too vague. But he rocks. Kind of like Elvis Presley and Hitler beating the shit out of each other while one sings and the other yells at the top of his lungs.

this is the first time that I've worn a sweater in a long, long time. I'm happy about this, but I should feel a lot cooler than I feel right now, because i feel like a dork. I wanted to wear something dark, scary, fashionably wrong or just plain boring - but sitting here looking like I do - just makes me feel like I'm an older boy writing a bunch of shit on a computer while the girlfriend gets ready. But I do have my fingernails painted - so maybe I'm not that old - just kind of retarded.

read warren ellis' Fell and/or Desolation Jones comic books. do it.

man, i love those nights when nothing's really happening and then you return the phone calls of a couple of friends (something that I'm trying to do w/ more regularity) and then it just turns into a whole shashed bang job of getting straight-pissed and then you wake up all head-thudded and w/ a friend on the couch asleep and then you take him home and remember that you have pictures of him putting his balls into Michelle's really expensive, fancy heels in your camera. this was w/ her permission, of course.

durka durka! what movie is that quote from?

my back still hurts from lifting a box of comic books last week

i dread bartending tomorrow night

my girlfriend is taking TWO hours to get ready and by the time that we arrive at the bar - it will be late. I'll have four drinks combined w/ the million that I'm having right now, and then when the bar closes and she's ready to pass out due to her two total drinks - I'll want to keep on going. This will cause some drunken strife. She'll also be up at 8 in the morning and I will be squealing like a freshly-shucked newborn from the vagina of a sweaty mother. I will regret that last sentence tomorrow morning when I re-remember it.

i like dean martin. much. not as much as drinking, but much. those last two words sounded like I was saying BUTT MUNCH. If you had a BUTT MUNCH for LUNCH then it would be a BUTT MUNCH LUNCH.

I need to stop this before Blogger eats it, and I do too.

get bloody pissed tonight, folks.

for me. just don't beat anybody up.

Bloc Party...

April (friend, not the month) had left. I started to watch The Peter Jennings Collection: Disc 1 with the girlfriend, who, of course, fell asleep. Right when we we're getting to the special report on Ecstasy and on the report about the history of the L.A.P.D. too! I bet when the Martians land and I have documented proof to show her on DVD - Sleeping Beauty'll miss that also, so no big deal.

Tony had flaked on me earlier. He was supposed to come over hours ago to pick up most of the old comic books of his that I was going to sell on eBay but never got really around to because I've got too many of mine that I'm trying to do the same to also.

Just a minute ago, Tom/friend and neighbor - scared the shit out of me while I was smoking in my backyard.

So. Mr. White Shirt Lead Guitarist Tony and Mr. Black Shirt Singer Tom are tonight's flake and boogeyman. I curse them. Watch them and curse them. Ask them to apologize while you watch this.

ENJOY...

So, I just realized...

That because I forgot money
and because I'm a poor bastard

instead of snacking on chips
and downing Coke after Coke at the office job

I'm drinking some green tea
and eating an apple.

Hippie.

Po...

Paid rent.
Went to the 7-11 before work to get much needed caffeine.
Realized I had 34 cents.
Am not alert.
Am very poor.

From Far Away, They Sound Like Angels. But, The Closer I Get, The More They Sound Like Braking Trains...



tonight
I got hit
by another driver
when I was driving to the gas station

I hit my head against my window frame
but I've been hit harder than that
so it wasn't that big of a deal

after getting his info
I put all of the paperwork crap in my car
and then started to walk inside to buy beer

Gas for MY internal combustion engine
not for the Toyota

I heard a smack
the poor, stupid bastard
had backed up into a black SUV
a Japanese family spilled out of it
looking confused

I stood there
no way, I thought
no fucking way
this guy just hit another car?

I stood there
nobody paid attention to me
I went inside and got my beer
came back out

I stood there
asked if the family needed a witness to the accident
the wife nodded no slightly

I stood there
then shrugged my shoulders
and got back into my car

I drove away laughing
and could hear the guy
cursing into his cell phone as I left

I rubbed my head
put on my blinker
turned right
went straight
turned on my blinker
turned right
then parked in my driveway

I was smiling
as I searched for my housekeys
and started to giggle
as I got inside

I closed the door
still shaking my head
relieved

because
somewhere
no matter what
there is always

somebody
having
a worse day
than you

You Are My Sunshine - My Only Sunshine. You Make Me Want To Poke My Fingertips Into My Eyes Until I Reach The Knuckles...

Stupid Internet.

For the last couple of hours tonight, I have seen many beautiful things because of your technological and very fresh, content-friendly existence.

This is why I hate you.

My OCD and sick curiousity loves you.

But the shit that I should've been writing - wants to eat your entrails like a German does sausages.

Happy Birthday To Fat Free Milk...

Three years of brilliance?

Or three years of wasted time?

Three years of both, huh?

The Straw...

It's funny that I threw out my back while lifting a box of comic books.

Old man.

Young man.

Just plain sad.

Ow.

I Don't Know If This Was Written For Fat Free Milk - But I Found It In An Old File...

John Constantine…

Waking up can be a mistake. Some days, I feel like I’ve made a bad choice. People who die in their sleep may be geniuses. Maybe they found out something in dreams that I never will. Maybe they had a divine moment of REM clarity and said holyshitfucknowigetitwhatthehellwasithinking? Then they’re done. Pop goes the cork. Bright burns the light. Sink the ship. Fries are done. Game Over, Ms. Pac Man. Fireworks. Smoke in the air. The crowd leaves. Holiday over. Laughing all the way to Narnia, Hogwarts, Orange County, Krynn, Hoth, Middle Earth, Oz, Hollywood, and to that place where The Brothers Lionheart went.

I’m quiet now. Maybe I cashed in all my emotional stocks way back in the 80’s and 90’s. I’ve made some bad investments. Now, I just seem to float around, all gossamer-like. Kind of like the one, thin spider web that seems to stick to your face no matter how much you claw at it when you go out in the back to water your lawn late at night. I won’t go away – but I’m not as big as I could’ve been. Just a bit annoying. Making my presence known. Not doing any real damage. Somebody once compared Jimi Hendrix to the thin wire filament of a burning light bulb. The light that burns twice as bright, burns half as long. That’s how I feel. Like the slow parts of a good movie. Radioactive waste. I know I’m still young, but you really should’ve known me before. I was crazier. I fucking either wanted to be left alone to scribble away in the darkness, to think, to break things,or wanted to question and tear the world apart. Now, I wish that everything was quiet. Silencio, por favor. I don’t think. And when I do. It passes through my brain like caffeine. All energy dissipates as soon as it’s fleetingly conjured. I smile a little, but always look like I’d be happier somewhere else. I wish I knew where that place was. It’s definitely not in front of a computer screen anymore. It’s definitely not outside. Definitely not inside my head, or out of it. What makes me feel happy now? I’m not depressed or anything. I’m just talking. I know that a lot of my biggest changes have happened in small amounts of time and sometimes the smallest change can happen in a long time. I know that if love and life played by our rules, that we’d all have that pretty, little picture in our head be a reality.

Slow, progressive, Earth-shaking change was cool back in the day. Spending a couple years here or there, doing the same ass things - but making adventures in the meantime...was cool – but, we were a lot younger then. What happens when the amount of time starts stacking? What happens when the amount of decay overpowers the fresh growth?

You get the fuck out of town. Okay. Where, and for how long? Guess you have to find out along the way, eh? Change yourself? Duh. Whatever. Instant change is like ramen noodles. Unsatisfying and shitty.

This might not make sense – but like I care. Keep your snide, little comments to yourself, or go visit a clever BLOG. Say what you want. Just don’t be funny because I’m doing all of the fake, unreal cleverness here.

You know why I liked Bukowski so much? Because he was honest. He was ugly. He was fake. He was the poetic John Merrick. He was sad. Depressed. Brilliant. A pig. He wanted to be left alone, but needed love on his own terms. He went postal before postal was postal – but he went postal on paper. That last sentence makes sense if you slow the fuck down.

Jumanji’s in my heart, but the Hellraiser Cube’s in my pocket. I don’t know what to do.

I really do wish that I could meet Han Solo and have a drink with him. He’d understand and just say a coupla gruff sentences that WOULD MAKE SENSE AND SUM UP THE WHOLE DEAL. Then we’d have more blue drinks served in Tupperware glasses.

After work today, I was at a stoplight and saw the mayor of my city walking across the crosswalk. I said hello to him and he said, Hi Kevynn! That’s nice, even if he is a politician.

I like my cats, my friends, toys, comic books. I also like porn, threatening mean people with violence, and fucked up music. I’m writing about absolutely nothing.

I need to live on a ranch and just make all of this stuff go away. Trust me – I’m not trying to be all complicated and deep. I’m far from that and I don’t want your sympathy. Your condolences are like cheap crack. It strings you out in the end. No caloric value to it. Ample amounts of empathy does not make a healthy diet. I need direction. Something other then TAKE A LEFT AFTER THE STOP SIGN or GET A NEW JOB. I need something…I need it like Dracula does. I’ll know it when I taste it. I used to watch my mother suck the marrow out of chicken bones when I was young. I tried it a couple of times. I remember her chasing around a couple of geese that I thought were pets. I remember her chopping their heads off with a cleaver, Wally. Feathers floating in the air and headless bodies flapping.

People talk too much. They need to just stop for a bit. Most of my days are just one, sticky, continuous conversation ball thrown at my head. Too tired to dodge em’. I just let it roll down my face. Nodnodnod yesyesyes. Bump on the head. Everybody just calm down, shut up, and leave everybody else alone. Walk around, play with your kids, walk the dogs – but, still…shut up. You’re about as original as…ME. Which isn’t much. I’m an ungrateful bastard. I’m the ugliest beautiful person you’ve ever met – but we all deserve to be hunted down like Frankenstein.

He’ll tell you…

Waking up can be a mistake.

Your faces turn angry red, while mine turns a cute shade of pink...

God Hates Fags?

Well, then my god hates gods that hate fags.

And apparently your god is a non-smoker in England.

fphhlbtt.

Spooky...

I just erased what I wrote because it was stupid.

I should have just left it because this is even stupider.

He'd Kick Rita's Ass...

The father lives kind of close to the path of The United States' latest hurricane. It's kind of funny when the only reason for people to start to talk about THE PLANET is when THE PLANET decides to grab us by the nuts and then head-butt us in them.

A head-butt in the nuts is harsh. This is a very powerful thing, to be head-butted in the nuts by THE PLANET. Imagine the OUCH that follows after something like that.

Anyway...I wrote for an hour or two tonight already on other stuff, so this is what you get - the dregs. I've already had to re-spell everything in this and I think that there are things that I've missed.

I don't even know what I'm talking about. You don't either - so we're square.

Is it fair that you don't get quality love-making tonight?

Because I've already spread my seed in other places?

Yes, bitch. Yes.

Now fix me a turkey pot pie.

P.S. Kick Rita's ass, Pops.

was getting very Thom Yorke and Jack Handy

thinking this
thinking that
mentally treading water
my head bending
and my heart squeezing

tonight, I forgot to notice the world turning

looked out of the window
and saw how red the sky was
I got up out of my seat
and noticed a rainbow
a half circle of clear colors against anger

I searched for my camera
the phone rang
the cat skittered around my feet
I almost gave up

I made it outside
stood in my front yard as cars streamed by
looking up
kids and mothers came out also

now the rainbows gone
and I think that the old man sitting inside before is gone too
he'll be back again
I know it's inevitable

but next time that he does show up
maybe it won't take a brilliant rainbow
to illuminate my haze

thinking this
thinking that
mentally treading water
my head bending
and my heart squeezing

...

thought that the boss was coming in so I clicked out of the post that I was writing. I was done with it too. Now it's gone. It was bloody too.

My Gigli...

Am I that desperate or either that LAZY for dialogue for the play that I'm writing that's due in March that I was interested in watching Jersey Girl to copy the flow of WHAT EXACTLY?

Clever pitter-patter?

Verbose blargh?

Poo diatribe?

God. Shoot me. The best bits of me today have been scatterred like Skittles across the minutes of this weird mess of a day. I mean, I couldn't even communicate properly w/ the girlfriend at the supermarket. I grunted and pushed the cart around.

Maybe that's it. Maybe REAL writers DON'T go to the supermarket AND DON't have the TV on like I do right now. Maybe REAL WRITERS don't write on blogs named after the first thing that one saw in the fridge. Maybe the fact that Ben Affleck's voice is a sneeze's spray away from me - is the reason why I don't deserve to write more tonight.

One does not receive the keys to the kingdom when one writes a sentence about keys to the kingdom. Tell me that you just didn't look at the TV screen again, man.

Say it's over, man...

Say it.

Okay...IT.

Found This While Looking Through Old Word Documents ( The "Kevin" Is Kevin Smith ) I Need To Look Through The Computer More...

Crap. I'm sorry. I've never done that before. I must have switched it with the other package that I sent to a different customer. If you could send me back the package I will fully compensate you. I can even send you the money via paypal before hand for the shipping>? This has never happened to me beforeplease let me know what is the most comfortable option for you. Thanks. Kev


BATMAN #638 VF/NM Red Hood is JASON TODD! Robin Joker

Batman #638 -
Jason Todd Revealed as the Red Hood!
Written by Judd Winick & Drawn by Doug Mahnke
1 Issue Total (Average Condition: Unread VF/NM)

You are bidding on the Red-Hot SOLD OUT Batman #638, which features the shocking revelation that the Red Hood is Jason Todd! Condition is Unread VF/NM condition.

You Get The Following Issues:
* Batman #638

Shipping is $4.50 (Secure packaging, Priority Mail) for mainland United States.
(Canada and outside USA please inquire before bidding)
I can combine multiple wins, please contact me after auction(s) end.

I accept money orders, checks (7-10 days to clear), and Paypal.
(Confirmed Addresses Only)
Do not bid if you do not intend to buy!!
Payment is due in 10 days. Any questions, feel free to email.


Simon: Oh, all that crap. 'Are you an angel?' Don't make me sick. Also, one thing as a kid I loved and I really appreciated it as a kid was that Star Wars had nothing to do with my life, nothing to do with my planet. Everything was completely alien. Even the cantina music, even though it was jazz, sounded kinda alien. And in the new ones, he's got American football droids on the TV and sportscasters droids and that awful line, 'hey, you wanna buy a deathstick?' Well, it's a fag, isn't it? Course it is. Don't link it to my world!

Kevin: Well, at least he's brought fags into space, finally. First he brought blacks, and then he's bringing gays. It'll be a much better universe.

...................

Girlfriend’s mad at me now because when she was on the phone arguing with her mom I threw a bag of old baseball park style peanuts that you can pick up for free at the weekly downtown farmers market.

So, she was yapping at her mother and I jumped into the room and yelled, PEANUTS!!! And meant to chuck them at her chest but they smacked her in the lip. So now she’s really fucking pissed at me. PEANUTS!!! I rock. Maybe I’ll get a job at Angel Stadium after she breaks up with me. (did I ever post this? Because, fuck - it made me laugh.)

THIS WAS LABELED UNDER "BATMAN" I felt like I found a cold beer snuggled way back in the back of the fridge.

Do I...

really want to talk about Werewolves?

Tri Ta Eata Pi...

It's sorority rush down the street again.
I've been hearing them clip and clop down the street in their heels.
Giggling. Parking their shiny compact cars.
And now screaming and clapping undecipherable white girl voodoo-type chants.

Today, for about five minutes, I entertained the idea of streaking naked by them while they were doing one of their noisy front yard activities.

I was THIS close away from calling a friend to have him wait for me down the street.

But...I obviously didn't go through with it because...I'm not writing this from jail.

Molly Malone, General Viet Or Fat Free Milk?

For whom do I blame for the madness that runs through my veins?

The Irish?

The Vietnamese?

Or Myself?

Jamal Just Said To Me...

that I should get a tattoo of a Spider Man suit on my chest. Now shouldn't Peter Parker do this? But to his whole body? All he'd have to do is to keep the mask in his back pocket and then he'd be set. He would never need to wear socks, either.

Payment Summary...



Sometimes you catch yourself being yourself - and you don't understand how you managed to grow up and become a dick. You start to tap your finger against your temples and then stop when brain starts to ooze out.

I feel like a million bombs reproduced at the rate of cockroaches and had an orgy in my gut and have now exploded. All that's left now - are regrets, memories and my two pointy fingers.

This is how I'm typing the drivel that you're reading now. But I'm leaving red blood marks on the keyboard letters.

I don't know why and when I became a wandering Frankenstein. Ask the Doctor. Ask the millions of innocent, little girls with snapped necks that I've left behind in my travels.

I am not a nice man.

I am not a nice monster.

I am not ANYTHING.

urgh

I was listening to Jisa Yu Holem Hand Blong Mi...

when Tony called me and told me that he was riding a bike and would be at my house soon. I said okay. The he called me back and said that he ate shit and thought that he was going to go home. I said no, to come. I got in my car and looked for him and then went all of the way around the block. I didn't find him and assumed that he went back home. When I got inside my house - Tony was there. He puked, cleaned up the blood from his elbow and is now talking to fat girls on the phone. I love Tony.

I...

don't trust anybody.

Mother Nature's A Cranky, Old Whore...

I'm so poor - I only donated five dollars, but it's better than nothing.

Go here, Bubba.

Fat Free Milk...

would like your help...

YOU

Need to tell me a story (or as many as you want) about a wild and crazy night involving drunkenness and a/or w/ members of the opposite sex. Tell me what you drank, what was the deal and why it was so memorable to you and - did you ever see the person afterwards?

Basically. Drunk story. Date or otherwise involving a guy or girl.

By responding to this, this means that you absolve all ownership of this particular embarrassing moment of your past for ME TO USE and to give you NO CREDIT. This might wind up in a story. I will become rich. You will die poor.

Thank you for your cooperation.

I'm Ready...



Dig?

William Shatner's Nights Will Always Be More Boring Than Mine Even Though He Lives In Outerspace...

I catch myself, sometimes, thumping my fist aginst the desk to a rythym that, if not produced from speakers come from within my own head - which is fine, just as long as the shit's catchy. People might think that I'm angry, though...which is okay because I'm a third angry all of the time anyway, with another third...cloudy-wishy-washy, and the other third...vacant.

I'm nodding my head up and down right now. The world is asleep. When I want to talk to people and to go out - everybody's always very, very, far away from me. And then, sometimes when I am out - all I get from everybody else is primal, fecal throwing. Which is better than nothing, but still stinks all the same.

For every minute that I'm bored out of my fucking mind tomorrow at work - I will trade that for two minutes worth of equal time when I get off and go bat-shit-crazy. I will be out and about because it will Thursday. I will be glad to not be working. I will be glad to think about...being glad.

I am the luckiest person in the whole world right now because I am me right here and you will never know what it's like because you suck, or are asleep. or grounded, or narrow-mindedly poo-headed, or on a spaceship, or a communist, or a Republican.

The great thing about tomorrow - besides not spell-checking this...

The GREATEST thing about tomorrow will be................
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I Blame
Frank Black,
Burl Ives
And The
Satisfyingly Dichotomous itunes...

for making me not further contribute to the great american novel. Instead of telling you about the further adventures of Jem, Scout and Boo Radley, instead of telling you about what Holden Caulfield did after the loony bin, instead of telling you about Payne and what he did after working for the Los Angeles Times, instead of telling you about what Tony, Chris, Kevin and Joel did after that horrible road trip, instead of telling you if the guy and girl's dating experiment worked or gave them further reason to avoid bars and alcohol, instead of telling you about Beezus killing Romona, instead of telling you about Hermione's muggle-born punk rock, drug-addicted children, instead of telling you about Chinaski snorting blow off of the breasts of Sophia Loren, instead of telling you about Ender Wiggin waking up and realizing it was all a dream right before his first visit from Col. Graff, instead of telling you about the same poison that killed Romeo, Juliet and Hamlet's mom, Instead of telling you about the penis ring of Sauron's, instead of telling you about Eliza Doolittle eventually getting Alzheimers, instead of telling you about The Old Man coming home and then going down to the local A&P and just buying an 8 oz. filet of shark, instead of telling you about Tom Sawyer writing under the pseudonym : Samuel Clemens, instead of telling you if Pennywise The Clown ever came back to the town of Derry, Maine, instead of telling you if the prince found the princess, instead of telling you if the bee found the honey, the fly found the shit, A found the Z, Ying found the Yang, if William The poker player found the Tell, if Norman found the Fell, and if the money inevitably made it back into Akbar the store owner's till.

Yes.
I Blame
Frank Black,
Burl Ives
And The
Satisfyingly Dichotomous itunes...

No Amount Of Looking Around The Room...

will provide enough inspiration to warrant me spending more than five minutes writing on this thing. Okay. That's it. More like 30 seconds.

Things That Make Me Happy In 2005 So Far...

Spider-Man Comics
Radiohead (still)
Remembering things that I've forgotten that I liked
ipods
Spider The Cat
Getting rid of stuff that used to be important to me - but is now...clutter
Getting drunk and shooting arrows in the backyard over with friends
Friends moving close
receiving books and skull head keychains in the mail
wearing ties to work. really? No. I'll scrap that.
shoot the moon
shut the box
singing out loud regardless if anybody's home
making my girlfriend laugh all of the time, even when she's tired and telling me to leave her alone and that she's trying to sleep
cleaning out my desk
visits from my sister
taking cruises
plants
ending this so that I can tell Chris on the phone about the Darth Vader mask that he's going to buy for a crapload of money because he's an even bigger nerd than I am...

Man...

I'm kind of nuts sometimes. I get in these moods where I decide to be bad and just start drinking through self-created bouts of madness. When I was playing poker with the guys the other night, I decided that I was totally bored and so I brought vodka. Ummm...hmmm...that's interesting. Vodka? I don't like vodka. When everybody asked me what I was drinking, I said, "Red Bull and Vodka". When they asked why I told them that I was bored. Hmphff. Okay. Bored. You're playing poker. Bored? Weird's more like it.

Yesterday was Bukowski's birthday so I decided to get really drunk. Made sense to me. It still makes sense to me, actually. Bukowski's birthday! I got pretty darn drunk too, I guess, In honor of ol' Hank Charles -

But----

I also did wake up this morning, forgetting that I had shaved my head down to stubble at my friend's house. I had a mohawk for a while too last night and I DO remember being bummed out that I couldn't keep it.

So. Now my head is cold.

I think I need to calm down when I get home. Watch a movie or something. Sort some comic books. Eat some sushi. Drink some water. Calm down.

This week isn't even half over yet
and I've already lost my money
and my friggin' hair.

Happy Birthday Hank!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Half Pepperoni, Half Baby's Breath And Some Sides Of Ranch Dressing Please...

So, if I, coming home from work late last night, considered getting the girlfriend flowers as a surprise - but opted instead to get her some frozen french bread pizzas - does this mean that I am totally unromantic or just that I know my girlfriend way too well?

bzzzzzzzzzz...



Tonight, I will be drinking with such powerful ferocity that my eyeballs will implode into my skull. The police will come inevitably. They'll try to catch me, but I'll be hard to contain because I'll be blind and bumping into things. I'll also be slippery because of all of the blood. By the time that I read this later tonight. It will be late, I'll be tired, my girlfriend will be mad at me, I"ll be hungry and I'll be cursing the soon-to-come bartending shift.

But. I'm here. Right now. Ready to go.

Ready for my one shot.

Let's go hurt ourselves.

Why Take My Peter Jennings When There's Always Your Tucker Carlson and Bill O'Reilly?

I told my boss today to expect me coming into the office limping more than usual.

She asked why, and I told her that I was starting to skateboard by myself again.

She asked why, and I told her that I was getting older and lazier and that I felt-

Do you think you're getting fat, she asked?

Ummm...no, I said.

So does this mean that my emerging beer gut is now noticeable?

And does this mean that I have to sit up straighter in my chair?

On the other hand, this weekend I was dropping off the rent check and skated to my landlords house. Some friends just bought a house right by ours so I asked Chris, one of the guys that was moving into the house if he needed any help when I saw him getting ready to unload a mattress off of his truck.

He said no thanks, and then stopped and realized that it was me and laughed because he thought that I was some sketer kid asking him to help and thought that that was a bit strange.

I laughed at that too. It reminded me of about a couple of years ago skating some steps with Ian downtown. An older man came out of the office building and started to yell at us,

"I've told you before to get out of here!"

I almost stopped to tell him that I'd never been there before but didn't when I realized that he didn't know how old I was and that to him I looked no different than a 14 year old. In his eyes we were all destructive, rude little punks anyway.

Which I am.

So. Anyway. I am feeling lethargic, but might not yet look as old as I feel. Yet.

But I do want to be able to see dirt in my belly button again.

We can't all be Jabba The Hutt, you know.

He was fortunate enough to have cackling Salacious Crumb around to pick him clean.

Post.

This is what I do when I sit down in this chair, right here, right by the light, on top of the desk, y' know that thing that holds all of the stuff that you do things on. Things like writing about things? It's full of a bunch of things too. There's, like little things in one of the little drawers and bigger things in some of the bigger drawers. Sometimes I've put things that don't really fit in the little drawer and I mutter curses as I try to open the little drawer

my girlfriend just asked me WHAT ARE YOU TYPING?

poof.

gone.

Like an arrow in a newborn baby's heart

this dies

now i'm going to watch MTV to see if Danny from The Real World will go back to Austin after burying his dead mom and start to schtup Melinda, the hot dummy-head that he lives with.

My 30 is equivalent to your 80...

I went through an old box of writing from jr. high to 94/95.

Strange indeeed.

I went through about half of it before I just gave up and decided that some things in dusty boxes are a pure joy to re-remember, but there's also an aspect of it that it sad. Sad in the sense that you've wasted a lot of time with your family and that you should've been a better corresponder. It's a kick though, to see some good, quality stuff that you wrote way back a million years ago.

Writing on a blog is not what that little boy from a long time ago would've expected to be doing in 05'. But, little boy would've been fucking floored that you could write something, and then have people instantly read it.

I can hear the trees sneezing tonight. Bless you.

I can hear nothing but Jack Kerouac reading something on my itunes and the hum of the air conditioner.

Spike Jones is on now, and I must end this. Nobody, and I mean, nobody can write while Spike Jones is on in the background.

Boy, man or sneezing tree...

My Swiss-Army Knife...

All I care about is going to the comic book store after work today.

That's it.

Oh, and calling my mother. I havent talked to her, in like, a year or two.

I have to, after seeing the Danny guy from The Real World crying after his mom kicked the bucket last night.

Yes, I watch bad television.

Yes, that gives me guilt.

Now, is it the quality of the television that I'm watching make me feel guilty or is the guilt inspired by the subject matter of the bad television that I'm watching?

What?

I don't know. Forget it.

comicbookstorecomicbookstorecomicbookstore

Brewed With The Finest Ingredients For A Smooth Refreshing Light Taste...

I think I'm waking up.

I feel like I've been asleep for a month

but without the reinvigorating benefits.

Yo, She Thinks She's Deeper Than C.S. Lewis' Wardrobe...

Carl Sagan Poos On Your Cheap Ice Chest Flying Thing...

I will personally fly alongside the space shuttle when it comes back to ensure its safe return. You would think that we'd be able to upgrade a space fleet so that they don't fall apart. The tiles on the space shuttle are like my teeth. Big gaping holes and wide, open spaces.

Forget the war. I'm going to further space exploration.

I'm getting off of this planet and starting my own colony somwehere else.

And Warren Ellis will be the Minister Of Defense And Alcohol.

The Only Thing...

Funny about my insomnia is...

nothing.

BUT

I AM

doing something

even if it's REALLY nothing

while you're doing nothing

and that's SOMETHING

isn't it?

Too stupid to be smarter.

Too smart to be stupid.

Too much. Too little.

Too lazy. Brain on fire.

One of these days - hopefully a great many days from now...

I'll be dead. Food for worms. Tattered burial clothing. Cracked bones.

I just forgot - I wont be all of those things above because I'm going to be cremated, even though I hate fire - but, I'll be cremated because it's the most unselfish thing to do when space is limited on planet Earth or planet California.

Just burn the shit.

I DO want my ashes to be chucked out into space, though. To someday be picked up by an advanced alien race and mick-mucked together in a petri dish like a Betty Crocker looks-like-poo-muffin. I want to be interrogated by pale blue, spindly, wide-eyed beings through thoughts. Why this? Why that? What were you...STUPID?, They'll press.

They'll also ask me about bad punctuation, my inabilty to take over the world and my lack of moral fiber.

I will speak of things. Strange things that will make no sense to them. I'll tell them about the pleasures of Bud Light that tastes like water but creeps up on you in a slow, progressive way. Much like a pleasurable anti-cancer. I will tell them about love. I will tell them about the joy of two-dimensional comic books. I will confuse them with tales of two-dimensional people, also.

I will regale them with Star Wars stories. They will scoff, snort, and sneer. I will end up publishing these stories and selling them to the alien youth market.

That last sentence was really dumb. Pretend I didn't write it.

They'll ask me tons of questions. I will answer honestly.

I will tell them about the voices in my head. I will tell them that I think that one is my grandmother, even though she died when I was 5 or 6, and seems to have developed an immense amount of patience, which is different than the grandmother that I barely knew, because as far as I remember and know, she was very set in her ways and wouldn't of ever of had a conversation deeply about anything that was geared outside of her beliefs. But I still love her because she was a badass and taught me to read at a great age, and she was nicknamed Bubba and she wasn't fat so how's that for fun?

I will tell the aliens who put me back together again about the voice in my head that is the sad and bemused future me. The one that knows that the young me is too headstrong to really listen, but every once in a while will sit down and have a serious and open-minded conversation with you.

Years from now, in a floating space station or by being interrogated via alien telepathy - I will start to remember things that I took for granted while I was in that funny, frail form on Earth. I will remember cats, poems, hugs and blood. I will remember mind-expanding conversations and youthful excursions. I will see stars. I will feel the dirt beneath my toes. I will remember what it was like to be alive.

I will think of disposable nights

like tonight

that last

forever.

Dude.

The other day I bought a bag of potatoes and it's totally smelling up the house. And now I don't know where to put the bag of potatoes. We have no room for a bag of potatoes.

Also, on the vegetable front...I have an avacado pit. As far as I remember...can't you stick some toothpicks in one, half-immerse it in water, and then a plant will start growing out of it? I made a bet with friends that this would happen years ago and all I ended up with was a cup of smelly water and I had to throw it away.

Did I just imagine that you could do this?

Or was it a potatoe?

I'm spelling potatoes wrong, huh?

potato?

potatoe.

tomatoe. tomato.

Whatever Song This Is, Playing - I Don't Like It...



But I'm too busy typing crap that you and I won't remember tomorrow.

By this time tomorrow, I will just be getting home from Hollywood from a horseback ride. I will probably've been very drunk before, but after the stupid freeway ride that always bores me to death the one in every six months that I go out to Hollywood...ummm what was I saying?. Ummm...I was saying that my buzz will be worn off and that I'll be tired.

Oh. I will not be drinking whilst atop the beast. I will be drinking at the Mexican restaurant that we're going to. Drinking whilst horseback riding WOULD be Friggin' A Awesome, though. I COULD bring my gals flask, eh?

I will not die on tomorrow nights horse. That will be up to my girlfriend. I grew up around horses and she's never touched one. How will I get home?

Please pick me up if you live in LALA/HOLYWEIRD.

Thank you.

"Groovy!"...

Everybody should write at least ONE horror film.

F U In The A, Kid...

That's what I should've said after my bartending shift when I was at the 24 grocery store inquiring to the pimply, half-asleep checker about the new Harry Potter book. I knew that they were carrying it, but couldn't find it. He just looked at me blankly and slooooooowly asked another clerk who ignored him. So I told him to forget it. He said nothing. I said nothing also. It was 3 in the morning. I will get it now. Right after I type this. Because I am old and weird.

Why...

Do old men smell like eggs?

When I'm old, I want to smell like pipe smoke and the cheap perfume of hookers...or maybe like the perfume of cheap hookers, instead. Yeah that sounds better, I think.

Whatever.

Dogs Of War...

I'm glad that I wear socks and shoes because if I didn't...

The I'd never appreciate how good it feels to take them off.

I Came Up With The Title Of Fat Free Milk Because I looked In The Fridge...



And now, folks...it's been awhile, but I just may - start to do some productive things. REAL things. I will try not to let my real imaginary world affect my imaginary real world.

Three things to work on.

The second Marvel Comics submission.
The Mad Magazine Freelance thing.
Have to work on the totally simple thing that the library girl was going to give to Cartoon Network.
Dig out the old notebooks and re-type.
And talk to the already twice-over-published loyd about his literary agent so that maybe he can get me a meeting.

Fuck the screenplays. They're like ex-girlfriends to me now. Best left forgotten unless you have to deal with them out of necessity.

Maybe there's a Cafepress.com for fun book in there once I find out the costs, tech specifics, idiot-friendly factor and copyright-so-that-I-can-reprint issues.

Any help? Coo.

Not? Coo too.

Runaway Ralph And April's 30th Birthday...



Once again, the outside cat left me a present in the form of a splayed out, large, dead rat. So, I got some newspapers and shuffled over to the back yard and swung it by its tail over the chainlink fence but it hit the top and bounced back and hit my sandaled right foot. Then I picked it up by its body and hucked it over hand and now it's gone.

I love cats.

I love coming home.

I love rat blood and brains on my big toe.

Kind Of Funny...

Drunk friends call tonight while I write this. I was originally going to write about phobias. I talk to them, tell them to hold on, and drop the phone by the computer speakers. I think that they're now listening to MUSE. After I am done typing this senten - oh wait....they hung up.

This was funny. A little bit.

Rivers Cuomo...

I will only allow myself to play Texas Hold Em' once a month from now on.

I can only afford to suck horribly at things every so often as oppossed to my regular routine.

But even typing this makes me want to play even more.

Yet, poor people shouldn't gamble. Apparently I haven't learned this yet.

I suck at a lot of things.

But, yet, writing about things that I suck at...seems to be my forte.

Would I rather have words in the place place of good luck, winnings and sense of luck-dodging accomplishment?

No.

I am the best WORST poker player ever.

Greatest Hits...

I really don't know anything about my grandparents. I have no sense of family history beyond my mother and father, and even then, it's sketchy. It's sad to think that 30 years from now, when I have children, that they'll ask questions that I won't be able to answer. Yet, the only sick comfort that I have about this is that someday there'll be a great grand ME that'll be writing this same sentence, frustratingly, years and years from now......

I Am The Jedi Master Of Potential Stomach Aches...

So, If I pulled some steak out of the freezer that was left over from The Fourth Of July, then blended some onions, garlic, pepper, beer and A1 Sauce together and am now marinating it to BBQ later - is this how I'm going to go out? Will my actions today be an ulcer later?

Wish my butt luck.

I Fart Just As Much As You Breathe...

I feel old, fat, slow and stupid more often than before, but then my friends and I all crank call each other's offices on a daily basis, so we can't be that old yet.

Or maybe we just never grew up in the first place. I don't know.

The Beginning Of Tommorows Headache Starts Tonight...

But I did promise my neighbors that I wouldn't tape fireworks on top of one of my motorcycle helmets and run up and down their stairs like I did last year.

So that's good.