...

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

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.

Today Is My Birthday. All Of You Need To Eat A Piece Of My Flesh...



AN SOISGEUL AIR REIR NAOMH MARC

1. CAIBIDEIL

Teagasg Eoin Baistidh: Criosda air a bhaisteadh leis: Criosda a gairm a dheisciopul, 'sa deanamh moran mhiarailtean.

T OISEACHD soisgeul Iosa Criosda, Mac Dhe.

2 Air reir 's mar tha e sgriobhte san fhaidh Isaias: seall, cuiridh mi m' aingeal roimh do ghnuis, a reiticheas do shlighe romhad.

3 Guth neach ag eigheach san fhasach: Reitichibh slighe an Tighearna, agus dianaibh a rathadain direach.

4 Bha Eoin anns an fhasach a baisteadh, 'sa searmonachadh baisteadh an aithreachais gu mathanas pheacannan.

5 Agus chaidh duthaich Iudea uile mach ga ionnsuidh, agus muinntir Ierusalem gu leir, is bhaisteadh iad leis ann an abhuinn Iordain ag aideachadh am peacannan.

6 Agus bha Eoin air eideadh le fionnadh chamhal, is crios leathair mu mheadhon; agus dh' ith e locuist is mil fhiadhaich. Agus shearmonaich e ag radh:

7 Tha fear nas cumhachdaiche na mise tighinn as mo dheigh: neach nach airidh mise air cromadh sios is barail a bhrogan fhuasgladh.

8 Bhaist mise sibh le uisge; ach baistidh esan sibh leis an Spiorad Naomh.

9 Is thachair, gun tainig Iosa anns na laithean sin bho Nasareth Ghalile; agus bhaisteadh e le Eoin ann an abhuinn Iordan.

10 'S air ball a direadh as an uisge, chunnaic e neamh fosgailte, 's an Spiorad mar chalman a tearnadh 'sa fantuinn air.

11 Agus thainig guth bho neamh : Is tusa mo Mhac gaolach, is mor mo thlachd dhiot.

12 Agus ghrad-ghreas an Spiorad e dhan fhasach.

13 Agus bha e san fhasach da-fhichead latha, agus da-fhichead oidhche; is bhuaireadh le Satan e; 's bha e comhla ris na h-ainmhidhean, agus bha na h-ainglean a frithealadh dha.

14 'S an deigh do dh' Eoin a bhith air a chuir an greim, thainig Iosa do Ghalile, a searmonachadh soisgeul rioghachd Dhe,

15 'S ag radh: Tha 'n t-am air a choimhlionadh, 's tha rioghachd Dhe aig laimh; deanaibh aithreachas, agus creidibh san t-soisgeul.

16 'Sa gabhail ri taobh muir Ghalile, chunnaic e Simon,agus Anndra a bhrathair, a cur lion sa mhuir (oir b' iasgairean iad.),

17 Agus thuirt Iosa riutha: Thigibh leanaibh mise, agus ni mi iasgairean dhaoine dhibh.

18 Agus ghrad dh' fhag iad na lin, is lean iad e.

19 'Sa gabhail as a sin ceum beag air adhart, chunnaic e Seumas mac Shebede agus Eoin a bhrathair, 's iad a caradh nan lion sa bhata:

20 Agus ghairm e iad san uair. 'Sa fagail an athar Sebede maille ris an luchd thuarasdail sa bhata, lean iad e.

21 Agus chaidh iad a stigh do Chapharnaum; agus air dha a dhol a stigh gun dail air na laithean sabaid dhan t-sinagog, theagaisg e iad.

22 Agus ghabh iad ioghnadh ri theagasg: oir bha e gan teagasg mar neach aig an robh cumhachd, 's chan ann mar na Sgriobhaich.

23 Agus bha san t-sinagag aca duine anns an robh spiorad neoghlan, is dh' eigh e

24 Ag radh: Ciod an comunn eadar sinn agus thusa, Iosa bho Nasareth? An tainig thu gus ar sgrios? Is aithne dhomh co thu, Aon Naomh Dhe.

25 Is mhaoith Iosa air, ag radh: Bi samhach, agus gabh a-mach as an duine.

26 'S an spiorad neoghlan ga reubadh, 's ag eigheach le guth ard, chaidh e mach as.

27 Agus ghabh iad uile ioghnadh, ionnus gun d' fharraid iad 'nam measg fhein, ag radh: De tha so? De an teagasg ur so? oir tha e toirt orduigh le cumhachd do na spioraid neoghlan fhein, agus tha iad umhail dha.

28 'Agus sgaoil iomradh air gun dail feadh duthaich Ghalile uile.

29 'Sa dol a mach air ball as an t-sinagog, thainig iad maille ri Seumas is Eoin gu tigh Shimoin is Anndra.

30 Agus bha mathair-cheile Shimoin 'na laidhe ann am fiabhras; agus dh 'innis iad dha gun dail mu deidhinn.

31 Agus thainig e, 'sa breith air laimh oirre thog e i is ghrad-dh' fhag am fiabhras i, agus fhreasdail i dhaibh.

32 'S nuair thainig am feasgar, 'sa chaidh a ghrian fodha, thug iad ga ionnsuidh iadsan uile a bha easlainteach, agus anns an robh deomhain.

33 'S bha am baile uile air cruinneachadh aig an dorus.

34 Agus leighis e moran, a bha air an leireadh le iomadh gne ghalar, agus thilg e mach moran dheomhan, 's cha do leig e leo labhairt, a chionn 's gum b' aithne dhaibh e.

35 'S ag eirigh ro-mhoch, 'sa dol a mach, chaidh e gu aite fas; is rinn e urnaigh an sin.

36 Agus lean Simon e, agus iadsan a bha comhla ris.

37 'S nuair a fhuair iad e, thuirt iad ris: Tha iad uile gad shireadh.

38 Is thuirt e riutha: rachamaid dha na bailtean sa choimhearsnachd, gus an searmonaich mi an sin cuideachd: 's gur ann air son so a thainig mi.

39 'S bha e teagasg 'nan sinagogan, 's feadh Ghalile uile, 'sa tilgeadh a-mach dheomhan.

40 Agus thainig lobhar ga ionnsuidh, a guidhe air; 'sa tuiteam air a ghluinean,thuirt e ris: Ma 's aill leat, is urrainn dhut mo ghlanadh.

41 'Sa gabhail truais ris, shin Iosa a lamh, 'sa beantuinn dha, thuirt e ris : Is aill leam: bi glan.

42 'S nuair thuirt e so, ghrad-dh' fhag an luibhre e, agus bha e air a ghlanadh.

43 'S thug e sparradh cruaidh dha, agus leig e air falbh e gun dail;

44 'S thuirt e ris: Fiach nach innis thu do neach sam bith : ach falbh, fiach thu fhein don ard-shagart, agus tairg air son do ghlanaidh na nithean a dh' orduich Maois, mar theisteanas dhaibh.

45 Ach air dhasan a dhol a mach, thoisich e ri innse, 's ri sgaoileadh an sgeoil; air chor 's nach b' urrainn dha a nis a dhol a stigh don bhaile gu follaiseach, ach dh' fhuirich e a mach ann an aiteachan fas, agus chrunnaich iad as gach aite ga ionnsuidh.

And The Meek Shall Inherit Meek Genes...

Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move.

That was one of the worst sentences that I've ever typed, I think.

And because this is already so bad, it makes me want to stop. But I don't think that I will for now. I am waking up, even though it's past midnight, even though the gosssamer goading of things that I should be doing cling to my head and make me flail around my hands like some kind of epileptic/tourettic voodoo doctor.

If I could cast spells on people, I would first, uncast the many spells that have been cast upon me. I would first start with the physical ones and then move on down the list. It would be an honor for me to roll bones made of your fingertips. To spit on them and then to mingle them with the fresh blood of a sacrificed chicken.

Because I'm cheap and lazy - I'd probably just throw some KFC in the dirt and then spit on that. That made absoultely no sense. I think.

My father met Col. Sanders once. Emperor Hirohito of Japan. George Lucas. Eartha Kitt. And a descendant of Adolph Coors.

The first two are true. The rest are lies.

Typing tonight is my Battle School. Like Ender Wiggin, I am too tired to play like I used to, but will still win, even though I groan loudly whenever I move. Use this piece of writing as proof.

Like Lightning - Except Only Slower - And More Like A Buzz, Instead Of A JOLT...

Sorry. I was talking about my mother's vagina.

No. I was talking about the state of my my mind.

But, yet, when one says a comment like the one that I previously stated - there's no amount of anything that can amount to something even close to the thing that I was going to tell you that really wasn't about anything anyway.

"Through the use of MasterCard fraud-fighting tools that proactively monitor for fraud, MasterCard was able to identify the processor that was breached," the company said in its statement.

Ghosts pop up every so often.

Especially when you go out.

Ray Parker Jr. knows what's up.

Y' know, I Feel Sorry For People Who Don't Drink. Cuz' When They Wake Up In The Morning - That's The Best That They're Going To Feel All Day.





Happy Birthday, you awesome, dead bastard.