A random skinny model girl walks up to me and is all up on my shit in like two seconds flat and in no time at all we're giving each other head all over the place doin handstands and all kinds of stuff I don't normally do. Her boobs barely move because they are so small. Her labia were abnormally long, so long I could feel them sliding underneath my tongue. I didn't say anything about it, who needs to feel self conscious right?. Her vagina had vacuum suction so even before I decided to go for it I was being sucked in from like six inches away. All in all it was an enjoyable situation made better by the fact that I had no idea who the woman was. I think sometimes its best that way. At least if you wanna try out hand stands and serious labia sucking.
I happened upon all my former band mates staging a really super hooptie reunion thing. I've seen things like this before, they all try to get their shit together without me but it never works out. When I show up, they play it off like they don't care that nobody showed up and the sound system sucks and they look like a bunch of morons up there on stage desperately trying to be rock stars. I'm always the perfect gentleman, I feign support and interest when really I'm am laughing my head off inside. There is always some douchebag reporter there from the least popular neighborhood crap zine conducting an interview in which they totally play down my role, not even mentioning me or anything and when the reporter asks them about me they get all defensive as if I was merely incidental to their popularity but then the reporter looks around at the miserable failure of a gig and shoots back a few passive aggressive remarks about how they maybe should think about including me a little more and also asking if they heard about this or that anecdote wherein I am totally awesome and rad while they all look at the ground and fiddle with their shoelaces. Meanwhile I'm standing by feeling half sorry for them and half fuck you idiots. Rod is running around looking like a total moron with his fake hairsprayed mohawk acting like he is funny but the only person who ever laughed a sincere laugh at a Rod joke was Rod. Poor dude, if i didn't think he was a total cunty runt of a douchebag momma's boy, I'd feel sorry for him. We reap what we sow. John seemed to be with me in spirit if not in physical location. Jon is more patient and forgiving than I am. Or at least he wants people to think he is. He isn't confident enough to allow people to think he's the dick we all ultimately are. I think he'd rather be the top beta male than the weakest alpha and lord knows he'd be against the whole definition of alpha male anyway. Where's the sensitivity in that? That's not emo.
I took a trip to Israel but the whole thing was nothing but a big camera debacle. It seemed like every camera I brought malfunctioned, broke or was just too hard to figure out. With one of them, the lens just popped off and I made a makeshift camera obsura and was entertaining every one with big projections from the outside world onto the motel wall. It was amazing how bright the images were, almost like a projector. I actually might like this camera better broken than I did when it worked. I did get sick of explaining what a camera obscura was. You'd think people would already know. It's true what they say about the Jews, they will try to part you from your money at every turn -- I blame my camera problems on them. I never had these types of troubles stateside. fuckin jews. Stupid haircuts and hats too.
January 27, 2006
January 23, 2006
Bedtime Adventures in a Dirt Lot in The Deep Ghetto, Gene Simmons Boots for Chico-n-TigerDog and Maury Povich's War on Terror
I decided to move my bed out into the middle of a big garbage filled dirt lot in the deep ghetto of Oakland. The air was damp and it made my blankets all moist, cold and sticky but there was a strong wireless internet signal coming thorough to my powerbook and it was free. Besides, who ever said experiments had to be comfortable? The ghetto residents thought my setup was quite amusing. Most of the crackheads would just walk by on their way to buy crack and look at me as if *I* was out of MY mind. I could hear some of their conversations and I transcribed them as they went.
"Watch yoseff, dat thurr white boy is a set up, if you go nurr'm yo gunna git yoseff busted."
"I hurrd it's some kind of art school bowshit"
"Nah g, dat dood was put thurr to be a target knowwhuddamsayin? You go nurr dat dude and shit gonna FLY!"
It was hard to sleep but I wasn't really there to sleep anyway, I was mostly there to prove to myself that I could sleep amongst the garbage and filth. Also, everybody likes fresh air.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a real gangster looking dude working up the nerve to approach me. I started getting nervous because he was obviously casing me out waiting to make a move.
Sure enough he started strolling his way through the dirt lot in my direction. I noticed all the other onlookers all start looking the other way the same way they did when I was pistol whipped and robbed in the same neighborhood on Emily's birthday a few years ago. He sped up his pace and I tried to play it cool. Seconds later he was gipping a pistol tucked in his low slung drawers.
"Aaiight, hurrs what's gonna go dan, you gonna hand over dat thurr computer and you won't get smoked."
I quickly closed my powerbook and tucked it under my arm.
"Listen negro, my whole life is on this computer. You're gonna have to kill me to take my life. But if you do kill me I will infest your brain for eternity. Trust me, you don't wanna kill me."
He was apparently not used to this response. He had a look of utter confusion on his face.
"Call fucking 911 you retards! What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
I fumbled for my cellphone completely stunned that once again the onlookers were completely apathetic.
"The fact you negroes won'lift a finger to HELP is WHY you live in the ghetto. ACT ghetto and you will BE ghetto! Don't you fucking get it?"
The dude who was trying to rob me quickly put on some thick black framed geek glasses and put in his iPod earbuds and took off running.
"Somebody call 911!!" I yelled as I took off running after him dialing 911 on my own phone.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"Some nigger wearin' horn rimmed glasses just tried to rob me and he's runnin' down lake forrest blvd."
"Did he actually rob you sir?"
"No because I wouldn't fucking let him"
"Well it sounds like you got things under control then."
"Fuck you bitch."
I hung up and began my man hunt.
I soon ran into a friend who was walking all three of my dogs plus a special mixed dog/tiger breed. We walked all over the place but soon we lost interest in finding the fucker who tried to steal my laptop. People would cower and get all nervous when they saw the tigerdog and it wasn't such a mystery why because the tiger dog had a really aggressive tiger gait and it would charge anything that came near. We walked so much I began to worry that our animals were getting blisters. Sure enough, Chico's feet were worn down to the bone. It was very sad and I felt terrible. I made him and the other dogs some shoes out of some tin foil and duct tape. When they were done they looked like Gene Simmons boots. Everyone thought they were awesome.
Maury Povich contacted me about helping him with his new "War Machine Radio Show."
"Merkley, as you know war has been privatized and I'm starting a new show called Missle Radio. Basically you aim missles at people and make them listen to you. It's gonna do wonders for the war on terror. I mean why not be entertaining about it all right?"
"Wow -- i see what you mean."
I took a look through Maury's binoculars and I could see cross hairs lined up on some kind of training camp.
"See we broadcast our show and anyone who is listening becomes available for being blown up -- now all we have to do is make a show that is interesting to the worst people. All we have to do is broadcast a show that appeals to Osama Bin Laden and boom, he's right there in our cross hairs."
I kept looking at all the things in the cross hairs of these amazing binoculars. I could see a couple of Mormon temples carved out in the side of a cliff. I thought that was unusual. Were they trying to copy the Pueblos?
On my way home I tried to take a short cut but every back alley I encountered had locked gates, presumably to lock up all the vintage motorcycles that seemed to be anywhere. I fiddled with the lock on one set of gates and this little round old man with no shoes or teeth approached me. He was holding a lit cutting torch.
"Have you ever heard the story of the thirty shoes?" he asked. One of his eyes was cloudy and probably blind.
"No" I replied as I sped up my pace and caught the next bus.
On the bus there were what may as well have been two different versions of that same dude and they both wanted to argue with me about SF politics. I wasn't interested.
"Get the fuck out of here you fucking speed freak hippies."
"Watch yoseff, dat thurr white boy is a set up, if you go nurr'm yo gunna git yoseff busted."
"I hurrd it's some kind of art school bowshit"
"Nah g, dat dood was put thurr to be a target knowwhuddamsayin? You go nurr dat dude and shit gonna FLY!"
It was hard to sleep but I wasn't really there to sleep anyway, I was mostly there to prove to myself that I could sleep amongst the garbage and filth. Also, everybody likes fresh air.
Out of the corner of my eye I could see a real gangster looking dude working up the nerve to approach me. I started getting nervous because he was obviously casing me out waiting to make a move.
Sure enough he started strolling his way through the dirt lot in my direction. I noticed all the other onlookers all start looking the other way the same way they did when I was pistol whipped and robbed in the same neighborhood on Emily's birthday a few years ago. He sped up his pace and I tried to play it cool. Seconds later he was gipping a pistol tucked in his low slung drawers.
"Aaiight, hurrs what's gonna go dan, you gonna hand over dat thurr computer and you won't get smoked."
I quickly closed my powerbook and tucked it under my arm.
"Listen negro, my whole life is on this computer. You're gonna have to kill me to take my life. But if you do kill me I will infest your brain for eternity. Trust me, you don't wanna kill me."
He was apparently not used to this response. He had a look of utter confusion on his face.
"Call fucking 911 you retards! What the fuck is wrong with you people?"
I fumbled for my cellphone completely stunned that once again the onlookers were completely apathetic.
"The fact you negroes won'lift a finger to HELP is WHY you live in the ghetto. ACT ghetto and you will BE ghetto! Don't you fucking get it?"
The dude who was trying to rob me quickly put on some thick black framed geek glasses and put in his iPod earbuds and took off running.
"Somebody call 911!!" I yelled as I took off running after him dialing 911 on my own phone.
"911 what's your emergency?"
"Some nigger wearin' horn rimmed glasses just tried to rob me and he's runnin' down lake forrest blvd."
"Did he actually rob you sir?"
"No because I wouldn't fucking let him"
"Well it sounds like you got things under control then."
"Fuck you bitch."
I hung up and began my man hunt.
I soon ran into a friend who was walking all three of my dogs plus a special mixed dog/tiger breed. We walked all over the place but soon we lost interest in finding the fucker who tried to steal my laptop. People would cower and get all nervous when they saw the tigerdog and it wasn't such a mystery why because the tiger dog had a really aggressive tiger gait and it would charge anything that came near. We walked so much I began to worry that our animals were getting blisters. Sure enough, Chico's feet were worn down to the bone. It was very sad and I felt terrible. I made him and the other dogs some shoes out of some tin foil and duct tape. When they were done they looked like Gene Simmons boots. Everyone thought they were awesome.
Maury Povich contacted me about helping him with his new "War Machine Radio Show."
"Merkley, as you know war has been privatized and I'm starting a new show called Missle Radio. Basically you aim missles at people and make them listen to you. It's gonna do wonders for the war on terror. I mean why not be entertaining about it all right?"
"Wow -- i see what you mean."
I took a look through Maury's binoculars and I could see cross hairs lined up on some kind of training camp.
"See we broadcast our show and anyone who is listening becomes available for being blown up -- now all we have to do is make a show that is interesting to the worst people. All we have to do is broadcast a show that appeals to Osama Bin Laden and boom, he's right there in our cross hairs."
I kept looking at all the things in the cross hairs of these amazing binoculars. I could see a couple of Mormon temples carved out in the side of a cliff. I thought that was unusual. Were they trying to copy the Pueblos?
On my way home I tried to take a short cut but every back alley I encountered had locked gates, presumably to lock up all the vintage motorcycles that seemed to be anywhere. I fiddled with the lock on one set of gates and this little round old man with no shoes or teeth approached me. He was holding a lit cutting torch.
"Have you ever heard the story of the thirty shoes?" he asked. One of his eyes was cloudy and probably blind.
"No" I replied as I sped up my pace and caught the next bus.
On the bus there were what may as well have been two different versions of that same dude and they both wanted to argue with me about SF politics. I wasn't interested.
"Get the fuck out of here you fucking speed freak hippies."
January 22, 2006
The Unwelcome Dance Party Drop-in, Jane "Liar" Fonda and Slam Dunking On Meryl Streep
I woke up to the sound of keys, the door opening and people entering my house.
"What the fuck? Who's there?"
"Hey Merks, it's Don Steele. I brought by some people for you to meet."
I was instantly filled with complete and utter rage because there is NOTHING I hate more than the unannounced "DROP IN".
I looked across the great big dimly lit basement expanse to see a bunch of random people filing into my home. I immediately ascertained that Don Steele was bringing by some out of town family members because these people certainly didn't look like his regular crowd nor did they look local. I hate it when people use my joint as a tourist attraction.
I wanted desperately to blow up at Don and let him know just how ENTIRELY rude it is to treat my home as another san francisco tourist attraction. The people just kept filing in and spreading out throughout my joint. They were picking through things, picking stuff up, looking really closely at anything they could find, my rage was completely overwhelming. I had absolutely NO warning, my house was a mess, I wasn't even dressed and here was Don Steele organizing a party at my house, pouring himself and everyone else my booze, leaving my refrigerator open, this was so unlike Don, he is usually the courteous one who doesn't bring just anyone over.
As people would come over to the edge of my bed to introduce themselves I would keep saying stuff like "WHAT A SURPRISE" sarcastically of course but people would just laugh thinking I was just being funny when really I was wanting to dump acid on everyone vaporizing them into a painful eternal mist of get-the-fuck-out.
Don Steele was crying in the bathroom. He sensed or overheard that I was pissed and he felt ashamed. Now I was even more pissed because I had to add pity and shame to my list of feelings.
At this point the DJ and sound equipment had arrived along with a group of movers and cleaners who began moving my furniture around and spraying everything down with a goopy cleaning solution applied with a big fire hose. The three inches of dust under my bed turned into a thick paste.
I had enough.
I was so filled with rage that I decided I better leave before I actually murdered someone.
As a made my way towards the stairs leading up and out of my dark basement apartment I could see that a huge dance was going on in the ballroom. It was a bunch of black women dancing to some serious booty bass two step. It looked fun enough but the main thing I was thinking was why I didn't use the ballroom more often. I practically forgot I even had it.
I caught a cab across town and as happens from time to time the cab driver remembered me and was very excited to see me.
"Our last conversation was so intriguing I am so glad to see you. I have been driving by your house for months hoping to give you a ride again."
He had a big mustache and reminded me of the nerdy birdlike manager of the all you can eat restaurant where I was employed as a 16 year old kid.
"Randall right?"
"Holy moly you remembered? Hey ya wanna go to the lighthouse or something?"
"No thanks Randall, I'm in a sour mood and I really just want some food."
"No problemo señor!"
Holy crap was this dude a dork.
We arrived at my destination but instead of dropping me off, Randall decided to walk in with me. I was not all too excited about my new puppy but I didn't have the energy to shake him. Besides, he looked like an assistant and was behaving as one as well. He might be useful.
The party was a swanky affair with all the rich people and artists in the area, everyone knew me but I wasn't feeling like stopping to chat with anyone. I finally figured out that Randall was just gonna be a pest because he kept saying;
"Hey I think that person knows you."
"Yeah, everybody knows me Randall, just keep walkin."
"Don't ya think you should stop and say hi?"
"Hey Randall thanks for the ride." I said as I slipped him a hundred bucks even though I already paid him outside.
My passive aggressive handshake sealed the deal. The sad look on Randall's face was quite hard on my heart. I hate hurting people's feelings.
I walked down into the vip bar and as I descended the stairs a very familiar face was looking at me. It was someone I had met once before but I don't think I really knew him. He pointed at me and gave me the thumbs up as if to say "lookin sharp pal" I did the same back but I was wracking my brain trying to figure out how I remembered him. The man sitting next to him was obviously his brother, they looked nearly like twins except the brother had black hair and a beard and my mystery pal had white hair.
Meryl Streep tugged at my jacket to say hi but I was so frustrated trying to remember the dude who was looking at me with that familiar look that I shrugged her off.
"Hey sweetie, you look dynamite." I said.
Demi Moore was sitting across the way, the old reporter Charles Kerault was there.
"Hey what's the name of that dude with the white hair over there? He keeps giving me the thumbs up and I think I'm supposed to remember him" I asked a friend standing next to me. But before my friend could answer a woman sitting at the table turned towards me and said:
"Merkley, you know him, that's my dad."
It was was Jane Fonda. Of course, Henry Fonda, I knew him. I finally had the confidence to wave back at him without getting into a mess. Just as I was doing so I REALLY figured out who it was and it WASN'T Henry Fonda, it was Paul Newman. Man he looked old. Why would Jane Fonda tell me Paul Newman was her dad? What a liar. She's always been weird.
I noticed that Paul Newman was standing up from his dinner so I went over to prove that remembered him. I reached out my had to shake his but he slid out and his brother grabbed my hand instead. I don't remember having ever met him so I played it safe:
"Nice seein ya" I said.
"Merks my man" he said.
Uncomfortable dude silence for 4 seconds.
"Well, I'm out, I'm gonna go shoot some hoops with Meryl, Demi and Jane and the girls."
"Ah -- as you should!" he said.
The girls and I had a weird game of basketball with a flat basketball that I was able to slam dunk with one hand. The girls were all laughing their heads off because -- well -- what can I say -- I'm fucking hilarious.
"What the fuck? Who's there?"
"Hey Merks, it's Don Steele. I brought by some people for you to meet."
I was instantly filled with complete and utter rage because there is NOTHING I hate more than the unannounced "DROP IN".
I looked across the great big dimly lit basement expanse to see a bunch of random people filing into my home. I immediately ascertained that Don Steele was bringing by some out of town family members because these people certainly didn't look like his regular crowd nor did they look local. I hate it when people use my joint as a tourist attraction.
I wanted desperately to blow up at Don and let him know just how ENTIRELY rude it is to treat my home as another san francisco tourist attraction. The people just kept filing in and spreading out throughout my joint. They were picking through things, picking stuff up, looking really closely at anything they could find, my rage was completely overwhelming. I had absolutely NO warning, my house was a mess, I wasn't even dressed and here was Don Steele organizing a party at my house, pouring himself and everyone else my booze, leaving my refrigerator open, this was so unlike Don, he is usually the courteous one who doesn't bring just anyone over.
As people would come over to the edge of my bed to introduce themselves I would keep saying stuff like "WHAT A SURPRISE" sarcastically of course but people would just laugh thinking I was just being funny when really I was wanting to dump acid on everyone vaporizing them into a painful eternal mist of get-the-fuck-out.
Don Steele was crying in the bathroom. He sensed or overheard that I was pissed and he felt ashamed. Now I was even more pissed because I had to add pity and shame to my list of feelings.
At this point the DJ and sound equipment had arrived along with a group of movers and cleaners who began moving my furniture around and spraying everything down with a goopy cleaning solution applied with a big fire hose. The three inches of dust under my bed turned into a thick paste.
I had enough.
I was so filled with rage that I decided I better leave before I actually murdered someone.
As a made my way towards the stairs leading up and out of my dark basement apartment I could see that a huge dance was going on in the ballroom. It was a bunch of black women dancing to some serious booty bass two step. It looked fun enough but the main thing I was thinking was why I didn't use the ballroom more often. I practically forgot I even had it.
I caught a cab across town and as happens from time to time the cab driver remembered me and was very excited to see me.
"Our last conversation was so intriguing I am so glad to see you. I have been driving by your house for months hoping to give you a ride again."
He had a big mustache and reminded me of the nerdy birdlike manager of the all you can eat restaurant where I was employed as a 16 year old kid.
"Randall right?"
"Holy moly you remembered? Hey ya wanna go to the lighthouse or something?"
"No thanks Randall, I'm in a sour mood and I really just want some food."
"No problemo señor!"
Holy crap was this dude a dork.
We arrived at my destination but instead of dropping me off, Randall decided to walk in with me. I was not all too excited about my new puppy but I didn't have the energy to shake him. Besides, he looked like an assistant and was behaving as one as well. He might be useful.
The party was a swanky affair with all the rich people and artists in the area, everyone knew me but I wasn't feeling like stopping to chat with anyone. I finally figured out that Randall was just gonna be a pest because he kept saying;
"Hey I think that person knows you."
"Yeah, everybody knows me Randall, just keep walkin."
"Don't ya think you should stop and say hi?"
"Hey Randall thanks for the ride." I said as I slipped him a hundred bucks even though I already paid him outside.
My passive aggressive handshake sealed the deal. The sad look on Randall's face was quite hard on my heart. I hate hurting people's feelings.
I walked down into the vip bar and as I descended the stairs a very familiar face was looking at me. It was someone I had met once before but I don't think I really knew him. He pointed at me and gave me the thumbs up as if to say "lookin sharp pal" I did the same back but I was wracking my brain trying to figure out how I remembered him. The man sitting next to him was obviously his brother, they looked nearly like twins except the brother had black hair and a beard and my mystery pal had white hair.
Meryl Streep tugged at my jacket to say hi but I was so frustrated trying to remember the dude who was looking at me with that familiar look that I shrugged her off.
"Hey sweetie, you look dynamite." I said.
Demi Moore was sitting across the way, the old reporter Charles Kerault was there.
"Hey what's the name of that dude with the white hair over there? He keeps giving me the thumbs up and I think I'm supposed to remember him" I asked a friend standing next to me. But before my friend could answer a woman sitting at the table turned towards me and said:
"Merkley, you know him, that's my dad."
It was was Jane Fonda. Of course, Henry Fonda, I knew him. I finally had the confidence to wave back at him without getting into a mess. Just as I was doing so I REALLY figured out who it was and it WASN'T Henry Fonda, it was Paul Newman. Man he looked old. Why would Jane Fonda tell me Paul Newman was her dad? What a liar. She's always been weird.
I noticed that Paul Newman was standing up from his dinner so I went over to prove that remembered him. I reached out my had to shake his but he slid out and his brother grabbed my hand instead. I don't remember having ever met him so I played it safe:
"Nice seein ya" I said.
"Merks my man" he said.
Uncomfortable dude silence for 4 seconds.
"Well, I'm out, I'm gonna go shoot some hoops with Meryl, Demi and Jane and the girls."
"Ah -- as you should!" he said.
The girls and I had a weird game of basketball with a flat basketball that I was able to slam dunk with one hand. The girls were all laughing their heads off because -- well -- what can I say -- I'm fucking hilarious.
January 21, 2006
Raymi's New Meat Dress, The Razorblade Waving Toothless Sandwich Eater and The PedalBrain Dead Chick
Raymi was wearing a raw t-bone steak meat dress she just got and she was really excited about it. At first I thought it was real meat but looking more closely it was just finely embroidered fabric that glistened like meat with sewn in ivory that looked like t-bones. The sewing was so precise you could see every strand of muscle tissue and it even had the iridescence meat tissue has when you look at it really closely. We were walking down an average looking street with Jamie who kept acting like his army jacket was a cape while standing on railings, cars, trash cans and what not. Nobody was laughing and I don't think he was trying to be funny I just think he likes standing on tall stuff.
As we approached an intersection, there was a stereotypical looking homeless type man with a long beard and scraggily partially dreaded hair and he was mumbling something at Raymi and me. As I often do when confronted by obnoxious homeless assholes I said something equally obnoxious back to him and Raymi started laughing and walking like a cripple.
"You think that's funny sonny boy -- you think you're funny you and yer little friend?"
The homeless dude had a razor blade and he was thrusting it at me with a little twisting motion in his wrist.
"Raymi, watch out he has a rusty razor blade"
"Oooooh scary" Raymi said as she leaned up against a wall right next to the dude and started pretending to read a book.
I couldn't tell if she was doing it to blend in and act like she wasn't there or if she was doing it as an act of courage and defiance, either way I think the homeless dude was equally baffled so he kinda calmed down. Still mumbling he walked over to the traffic box attached to the traffic light pole, he opened it up and took out a big submarine sandwich and after taking a big toothless bite shoved the rest into his ragged tweed jacket.
A minute or two later a crazy black woman got off the bus and started trying to walk with us. Raymi and I kept thowing and kicking things in her path to try to make her fall down and stop following us. eventually I kicked an old bicycle into her path and she fell on it and the pedal went straight into her brain and she was basically dead. Her brain had soap bubbles on it which was strange. Raymi and I laughed an uncomfortable completely unfunny "what the fuck?" kind of laugh. What else can you do?
I have no Idea where Jamie went. He was probably standing on something waving his "cape".
As we approached an intersection, there was a stereotypical looking homeless type man with a long beard and scraggily partially dreaded hair and he was mumbling something at Raymi and me. As I often do when confronted by obnoxious homeless assholes I said something equally obnoxious back to him and Raymi started laughing and walking like a cripple.
"You think that's funny sonny boy -- you think you're funny you and yer little friend?"
The homeless dude had a razor blade and he was thrusting it at me with a little twisting motion in his wrist.
"Raymi, watch out he has a rusty razor blade"
"Oooooh scary" Raymi said as she leaned up against a wall right next to the dude and started pretending to read a book.
I couldn't tell if she was doing it to blend in and act like she wasn't there or if she was doing it as an act of courage and defiance, either way I think the homeless dude was equally baffled so he kinda calmed down. Still mumbling he walked over to the traffic box attached to the traffic light pole, he opened it up and took out a big submarine sandwich and after taking a big toothless bite shoved the rest into his ragged tweed jacket.
A minute or two later a crazy black woman got off the bus and started trying to walk with us. Raymi and I kept thowing and kicking things in her path to try to make her fall down and stop following us. eventually I kicked an old bicycle into her path and she fell on it and the pedal went straight into her brain and she was basically dead. Her brain had soap bubbles on it which was strange. Raymi and I laughed an uncomfortable completely unfunny "what the fuck?" kind of laugh. What else can you do?
I have no Idea where Jamie went. He was probably standing on something waving his "cape".
Fun Tomato Goop Jelly, Butterface The Cock Blocker and Fake Fights With Mike
I suppose it's not completely impractical to have a tomato sauce table specifically designed for making tomato sauce. I mean, let's just say you were a professional tomato saucer, you'd want the big hole in the middle that sucked off all the peels and you'd probably appreciate the little grooves that separated the little seeds from the tomato jelly. Nobody ever uses just the tomato seeds. They should. the tomato jelly goop is fun to play with. I couldn't remember why my bucket had so many canned tomato sauce lids in it. I was probably cheating. I have a way of blocking out my own sins.
Another nifty gadget is the one that keeps an accurate count of every person on every bus or train in your area at any given time. Its a great little palm pilot add on. You can change the prefs so that you can see the exact number of passengers that have ever ridden any given train. My one complaint is that without commas, the number 988566782291 hardly makes any sense, there is no way that many people have ridden that one particular train anyway. I don't care if it IS the most popular downtown train either. That number can't be right.
Butterface is a great dog and everything but I'm not super thrilled when she wrestles her way between me and a beautifully naked woman. I like it even less when I try to move her out of the way to get a little boob to chest action and the beautiful girl goes "awwwe, don't kick her out". Butterface was salting my game. That girl sure did look great naked, I never expected her tall runway model body to look that good because I really prefer shorter slightly more curvy girls. She was also way more fun to fuck than to hang out with. She had a lot of sweetness in her eyes.
I decided to walk around with my white t-shirt pulled up over my head for a while. It shielded me from the heat. I walked on over to the hoopty 7-11 across the street to buy a slurpee but they didn't even have a slurpee machine. Isn't that like the anchor that every 7-11 needs? Yeah, well they didn't have one and when I asked, the dude pointed at the blender and told me he'd make me a slurpee with it. He poured in some sunkist orange soda, some crushed ice and turned it on. What do you know -- it worked. I had him add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and it ended up tasting just like a creamcicle. Of course everyone wanted on after that. Copy cats.
I went back over to my childhood best friends house to hang out. They still had all the dark fake wood paneling. There were many different family members there. Lots of kids I had never seen, black kids too -- since when? Since it was Saturday, the kids all organized a Saturday afternoon dance party in the kitchen. They sure were having a hell of a lot of fun.
My mom was there and I got into a somewhat civil conversation with her for once. I talked about how much I hated being a child with all the restrictions and what not and I asked her if she could tell that back then.
"You were a very intense child, you have always been an adult. You never really were a kid I don't think."
Yeah, well that makes a lot of sense. I never did like kids much, I always thought adults were cooler.
My brother Mike was there. He looked so much like he did when he was a kid. We did some fake fighting, I pretended to slap his face a billion times and we laughed at how stupid we were acting. I liked touching my brother's face. That side of my family was never a really huggy or touchy and I think we missed out on a lot because of it. I think it's a good idea to touch your brother's face every once in a while, even if you're just playing around fake fighting. He is a good brother. I was sad when I had to leave him.
Another nifty gadget is the one that keeps an accurate count of every person on every bus or train in your area at any given time. Its a great little palm pilot add on. You can change the prefs so that you can see the exact number of passengers that have ever ridden any given train. My one complaint is that without commas, the number 988566782291 hardly makes any sense, there is no way that many people have ridden that one particular train anyway. I don't care if it IS the most popular downtown train either. That number can't be right.
Butterface is a great dog and everything but I'm not super thrilled when she wrestles her way between me and a beautifully naked woman. I like it even less when I try to move her out of the way to get a little boob to chest action and the beautiful girl goes "awwwe, don't kick her out". Butterface was salting my game. That girl sure did look great naked, I never expected her tall runway model body to look that good because I really prefer shorter slightly more curvy girls. She was also way more fun to fuck than to hang out with. She had a lot of sweetness in her eyes.
I decided to walk around with my white t-shirt pulled up over my head for a while. It shielded me from the heat. I walked on over to the hoopty 7-11 across the street to buy a slurpee but they didn't even have a slurpee machine. Isn't that like the anchor that every 7-11 needs? Yeah, well they didn't have one and when I asked, the dude pointed at the blender and told me he'd make me a slurpee with it. He poured in some sunkist orange soda, some crushed ice and turned it on. What do you know -- it worked. I had him add a scoop of vanilla ice cream and it ended up tasting just like a creamcicle. Of course everyone wanted on after that. Copy cats.
I went back over to my childhood best friends house to hang out. They still had all the dark fake wood paneling. There were many different family members there. Lots of kids I had never seen, black kids too -- since when? Since it was Saturday, the kids all organized a Saturday afternoon dance party in the kitchen. They sure were having a hell of a lot of fun.
My mom was there and I got into a somewhat civil conversation with her for once. I talked about how much I hated being a child with all the restrictions and what not and I asked her if she could tell that back then.
"You were a very intense child, you have always been an adult. You never really were a kid I don't think."
Yeah, well that makes a lot of sense. I never did like kids much, I always thought adults were cooler.
My brother Mike was there. He looked so much like he did when he was a kid. We did some fake fighting, I pretended to slap his face a billion times and we laughed at how stupid we were acting. I liked touching my brother's face. That side of my family was never a really huggy or touchy and I think we missed out on a lot because of it. I think it's a good idea to touch your brother's face every once in a while, even if you're just playing around fake fighting. He is a good brother. I was sad when I had to leave him.
January 16, 2006
The Blood Spitting DRAGon Queen, The Mystery of The Burning Stroller and The Pathway of Sleeping Asian Heads
I never fight with my step-dad Boyd, he's always been super cool and funny, basically the best step-dad a person could ask for which made it really strange that he was totally jerkin me around telling me that I had to pay for the new stairway in the basement. I was at first willing to pay for a little but then when he started acting like it was my obligation I kinda got pissed. All the yelling was no fun, even though he's quite a bit older now and I am no longer a scrawny kid, it still seems like he could kick my ass if he had too.
Taking a walk through the concourse I found myself at the center of attention because I had wandered into the middle of some musical production that was going on in one of the banquet rooms. I spotted a flaming red headed drag queen that I thought was this friendly gay kid named Patrik from the local SF hipster scene but then I realized it wasn't him and thinking back, it very well may have been Eddie Izzard. Anyway, as he approached me I could see his costume was designed to look like he was spitting up blood all over on his golden sequined dress. It was a pretty good costume obviously designed to capitalize on the fear of AIDS. He was singing some lyrics about a blood spitting dragon which I thought was a pretty obvious but effective lyric for a rabid drag queen with AIDS. His song was sung to the familiar tune of "My Way" made famous by Elvis. As I passed him and it was apparent that the spotlight was on the two of us and I had become the audience participation audience member. One of his lyrics required a response from me and looking down into the lapel microphone attached to my shirt, I felt like I knew exactly the response his performance needed. I said something super poetic to the effect that blood spitting or not, he was a gorgeous MAN. My emphasis on MAN was apparently the surprise the audience was wanting because it got a very good response. The drag queen feigned some embarrassment and I quickly made my awesome exit as the drag queen stretched out his long arms as if to say "no don't go". It was all super gay and dramatic and cheesy, basically just what the queens seem to enjoy. Thinking back I wished I had more time to prepare for my one liner.
As I made my way out of the theater I noticed dozens of scantily clad, extremely gorgeous women hiding in the wings awaiting their cue. They all looked at me as if I had just completely stolen the show, like I was some kind of instant celebrity. Chicks love a man who can hang with drag queens without getting weird or uncomfortable and while maintaining a completely masculine comportment. Most men don't know this which is fine by me. It's never a bad thing to be the only available straight and masculine man in a room full of gays and hot straight women.
I had a brief conversation with some preachy fuck who was giving shit to his wife and kids about eating healthy. He was a fat ass and had bad skin. his family all looked completely fine and normal so his speech was retarded and I picked it apart to show just what an ass he was being.
Later there was an accident involving a badly burned stroller and I could see that there was a big opportunity for someone to fuck with the evidence so I took it upon myself to watch over it and not compromise the integrity. It occurred to me that the badly burned and twisted curved ends of a baby's stroller was a very disturbing image and that it might serve the interests of the relatives of the victim of this accident to cover them up or something. I used a dishtowel to obscure it from view. I turned my head for a minute and when I turned back someone had put brand new bicycle grips on the stroller's handlebars. Foul play was afoot and the person I suspected was the cigar smoking African cab driver with the red beret I had the previous evening. He was pretty shifty, when I asked what kind of tobacco he was smoking he held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. I'm no expert but I know the difference between cigar, pipe and cigarette smoke. Plus he was standing there with a guilty look on his face. I lifted up the stroller and took it into the other room where he couldn't fuck with it anymore.
Somebody gave me some famous woman's used purse on the condition that I didn't use it as it was intended to be used. The suede was very very soft but also gave off the appearance of a finely beaded or sequined surface. I tore off long strips of the soft covering and ate them and it was surprisingly tasty and had the texture of a fresh stick of Wrigley's chewing gum. Surely eating the purse was not it's intended use. I became so focused on the careful deconstruction that I nearly stepped on at least a dozen sleeping Asian's heads that were poking out of the make shift mattress tents in the impromptu village in the park. It just seems like a bad Idea to sleep with your head poked out from under the mattresses or furniture out onto the narrow pathways between the mattress tents.
When I finally arrived at breakfast I poured myself and the little black girl a couple of bowls of what looked to be delicious granola. The milk was thin and gray. Someone came by to tell me that the granola was all gone but I knew they were mistaken because I had just barely poured two bowls and I was halfway finished with mine. But then I looked down and realized he was right and what I was really eating was just ordinary uncooked hard white rice. Turns out I hadn't even poured it into the bowl, I had actually dumped a few measley grains into the puddle of thin gray milk on a dirty cookie sheet. The little black girl was not impressed. I need to pay more attention.
Later I was able to watch the replays by scratching the little squirrel's cheek for fast motion and scratching his little wet nose for slow motion. The Replay Squirrel, what a great idea.
Taking a walk through the concourse I found myself at the center of attention because I had wandered into the middle of some musical production that was going on in one of the banquet rooms. I spotted a flaming red headed drag queen that I thought was this friendly gay kid named Patrik from the local SF hipster scene but then I realized it wasn't him and thinking back, it very well may have been Eddie Izzard. Anyway, as he approached me I could see his costume was designed to look like he was spitting up blood all over on his golden sequined dress. It was a pretty good costume obviously designed to capitalize on the fear of AIDS. He was singing some lyrics about a blood spitting dragon which I thought was a pretty obvious but effective lyric for a rabid drag queen with AIDS. His song was sung to the familiar tune of "My Way" made famous by Elvis. As I passed him and it was apparent that the spotlight was on the two of us and I had become the audience participation audience member. One of his lyrics required a response from me and looking down into the lapel microphone attached to my shirt, I felt like I knew exactly the response his performance needed. I said something super poetic to the effect that blood spitting or not, he was a gorgeous MAN. My emphasis on MAN was apparently the surprise the audience was wanting because it got a very good response. The drag queen feigned some embarrassment and I quickly made my awesome exit as the drag queen stretched out his long arms as if to say "no don't go". It was all super gay and dramatic and cheesy, basically just what the queens seem to enjoy. Thinking back I wished I had more time to prepare for my one liner.
As I made my way out of the theater I noticed dozens of scantily clad, extremely gorgeous women hiding in the wings awaiting their cue. They all looked at me as if I had just completely stolen the show, like I was some kind of instant celebrity. Chicks love a man who can hang with drag queens without getting weird or uncomfortable and while maintaining a completely masculine comportment. Most men don't know this which is fine by me. It's never a bad thing to be the only available straight and masculine man in a room full of gays and hot straight women.
I had a brief conversation with some preachy fuck who was giving shit to his wife and kids about eating healthy. He was a fat ass and had bad skin. his family all looked completely fine and normal so his speech was retarded and I picked it apart to show just what an ass he was being.
Later there was an accident involving a badly burned stroller and I could see that there was a big opportunity for someone to fuck with the evidence so I took it upon myself to watch over it and not compromise the integrity. It occurred to me that the badly burned and twisted curved ends of a baby's stroller was a very disturbing image and that it might serve the interests of the relatives of the victim of this accident to cover them up or something. I used a dishtowel to obscure it from view. I turned my head for a minute and when I turned back someone had put brand new bicycle grips on the stroller's handlebars. Foul play was afoot and the person I suspected was the cigar smoking African cab driver with the red beret I had the previous evening. He was pretty shifty, when I asked what kind of tobacco he was smoking he held up a pack of Marlboro Reds. I'm no expert but I know the difference between cigar, pipe and cigarette smoke. Plus he was standing there with a guilty look on his face. I lifted up the stroller and took it into the other room where he couldn't fuck with it anymore.
Somebody gave me some famous woman's used purse on the condition that I didn't use it as it was intended to be used. The suede was very very soft but also gave off the appearance of a finely beaded or sequined surface. I tore off long strips of the soft covering and ate them and it was surprisingly tasty and had the texture of a fresh stick of Wrigley's chewing gum. Surely eating the purse was not it's intended use. I became so focused on the careful deconstruction that I nearly stepped on at least a dozen sleeping Asian's heads that were poking out of the make shift mattress tents in the impromptu village in the park. It just seems like a bad Idea to sleep with your head poked out from under the mattresses or furniture out onto the narrow pathways between the mattress tents.
When I finally arrived at breakfast I poured myself and the little black girl a couple of bowls of what looked to be delicious granola. The milk was thin and gray. Someone came by to tell me that the granola was all gone but I knew they were mistaken because I had just barely poured two bowls and I was halfway finished with mine. But then I looked down and realized he was right and what I was really eating was just ordinary uncooked hard white rice. Turns out I hadn't even poured it into the bowl, I had actually dumped a few measley grains into the puddle of thin gray milk on a dirty cookie sheet. The little black girl was not impressed. I need to pay more attention.
Later I was able to watch the replays by scratching the little squirrel's cheek for fast motion and scratching his little wet nose for slow motion. The Replay Squirrel, what a great idea.
January 15, 2006
The Asshole Style Biting Step-Dick, The Clueless Rastafarian Farmer and The 85 Year Old Speed-Escalator Stunt Women
My asshole step brother Todd was selling his big white truck. I have no idea how he was able to afford it. Some kind of crime no doubt. I was very surprised to see that he had ordered tuck and roll white leather interior, that's more like something I would do. It fucking pisses me off when he bites my style. I cant have some asshole violent criminal running around with my style, at least not one to whom I'm related.
speaking of steps, My ex step mom, my dad's second wife, was totally chillin at his house with her new lesbian lover. I guess I may have suspected her to be a lesbian before. I always noticed that most of her women friends were quite butchy and there certainly were a lot of camp outs and hiking excursions. tennis too. Tennis is definitely a sign of female faggotry. Oh well, it all seemed natural enough. She seemed quite happy.
I was trying to sneak a few pictures of this woman and her friends but they noticed me. they didn't seem to mind but they were hanging out with a rastafarian farmer who kept coming over to my hiding place to tell me he wasn't cool with having his picture taken. at first I was avoidning hurting his feelings by not telling him that I wasn't interested in taking his stupid photo but he kept coming over and making a pest of himself.
"Dude, trust me, I have no interest in taking pictures of rastafarian farmers. Go to burning man and leave me the fuck alone."
Why do people always force me into hurting their feelings so that they'll leave me the fuck alone? Get a hint douchebags and leave with your dignity. Sheesh.
Super super fast escalators are FANTASTIC especially when they are filled with a bunch of 85 year old stunt women doing tricks n'shit.
speaking of steps, My ex step mom, my dad's second wife, was totally chillin at his house with her new lesbian lover. I guess I may have suspected her to be a lesbian before. I always noticed that most of her women friends were quite butchy and there certainly were a lot of camp outs and hiking excursions. tennis too. Tennis is definitely a sign of female faggotry. Oh well, it all seemed natural enough. She seemed quite happy.
I was trying to sneak a few pictures of this woman and her friends but they noticed me. they didn't seem to mind but they were hanging out with a rastafarian farmer who kept coming over to my hiding place to tell me he wasn't cool with having his picture taken. at first I was avoidning hurting his feelings by not telling him that I wasn't interested in taking his stupid photo but he kept coming over and making a pest of himself.
"Dude, trust me, I have no interest in taking pictures of rastafarian farmers. Go to burning man and leave me the fuck alone."
Why do people always force me into hurting their feelings so that they'll leave me the fuck alone? Get a hint douchebags and leave with your dignity. Sheesh.
Super super fast escalators are FANTASTIC especially when they are filled with a bunch of 85 year old stunt women doing tricks n'shit.
January 14, 2006
Boraxo Butter Homemade Sex Lube, The Chip Crispiness Test Dwarfchild and The Insensitive Green Villians
After much discussion a few people began concocting their favorite sex lube recipes. The kitchen was crowded and super messy from the party last night so I took my ingredients and big mixing bowl into the bedroom right off the kitchen. Let's see if I remember the ingredients, 4 cubes of butter, a smidge of hair conditioner, some Boraxo, olive oil, a variety of lotions, I pretty much made it up along the way obviously drawing from experience and the times I desired a little lube in a pinch, although I never used butter or boraxo before, I'm not sure that's even a good idea. It certainnly felt as if I was on a winning track as the ingredients squished through my fingers.
Back in the kitchen I searched for a clean glass but they were all smeared with big thick smudges of lipstick and the soap was doing nothing but making the lipstick smears turn into a goopy sludge which was resisting even the absorbent coarse fibers of my shirt. Damn I was thirsty.
There were lots of leftover chips from the party before. Some post menopausal snooty woman was going around throwing away anything that had been opened even if there were no chips missing. I tactfully mentioned that she was being rather wasteful and she shot off a snotty gaze and said:
"This California air is like a hot shower, these things are all soggy and stale."
She was completely full of shit. She didn't even try one. I pulled a handful of chips out of the bag and inserted one into the open mouth of a nearby slightly retarded looking rosy cheeked infant/midget type person. The resulting noise was a very crispy crunch that lasted for at least twenty chomps. My point was proven. To celebrate my victory I lifted the midget/infant creature above my head. Her body felt like that of a small dog in my seemingly gigantic sprawling hand. Her ribs were tiny and delicate. Chip crumbs fell down into my eyes as she continued chomping while laughing. Ah victory.
Duane Call, one of my best friends ever, showed up with his brother Jason Call, Chad Bagley and some other old friends from Provo. They were all dressed up in vintage green suits and hats that might remind one of comic book villians. One of the was wering a full green face mask and I assumed it was that fucking cunt of a douchebag, backstabbing former room mate of mine Bill Hayes so I ignored him. I quickly ascertained that they were there to be in the movie that was happening.
"Hey, what's this all about? How come nobody called me about this?" I asked feeling more than a little left out.
"Well Merks, this might come as a surprise to you, but you're not the first person we think of when opportunity arises."
Ouch, that one hurt, especially coming from Duane because generally we have this mutual ego boosting attitude towards one another especially in public and he was obviously using this opportunity to quite publicly knock me down a few pegs. I thought about what I might have done to warrant such a slap in the dick but I couldn't think of anything.
I hurried back to the locker room and began going through my gigantic locker looking for green clothing. I wasn't about to let all those dudes humiliate me like that and shut me out of the gig. If they wanted to act like that, well I was gonna get the best green get up around and slide right into action. Trouble was that I couldn't put together the right combination, just when I thought I found the best pair of pants I'd realize that they weren't pants but a seat cushion or sleeping bag. Time was running out so I started looking through my step brother Chad Simmons' locker. He had a bunch of green suits in there. I found one green plaid jacket that I thought was actually mine.
Chad showed up and I was quite embarrassed to be rifling through his locker,
"Hey Chad, is this jacket mine?"
"Um, I don't think so" he said with his kind and humble voice, "I think I may have let you borrow it once but I think you might have forgotten to return the pants."
He was totally right.
All of Steve Martin's 12 children came by, they were packing up the station wagon as the film they were working on had just wrapped. One of them said:
"Hey are you one of the green villains?"
"Uhh"
"Man YOU ARE GONNA RULE as a green villian"
All of them nodded their heads in agreement. Apparently they are big fans of mine. I should have known, what with all the praise I always get from their dad.
Back in the kitchen I searched for a clean glass but they were all smeared with big thick smudges of lipstick and the soap was doing nothing but making the lipstick smears turn into a goopy sludge which was resisting even the absorbent coarse fibers of my shirt. Damn I was thirsty.
There were lots of leftover chips from the party before. Some post menopausal snooty woman was going around throwing away anything that had been opened even if there were no chips missing. I tactfully mentioned that she was being rather wasteful and she shot off a snotty gaze and said:
"This California air is like a hot shower, these things are all soggy and stale."
She was completely full of shit. She didn't even try one. I pulled a handful of chips out of the bag and inserted one into the open mouth of a nearby slightly retarded looking rosy cheeked infant/midget type person. The resulting noise was a very crispy crunch that lasted for at least twenty chomps. My point was proven. To celebrate my victory I lifted the midget/infant creature above my head. Her body felt like that of a small dog in my seemingly gigantic sprawling hand. Her ribs were tiny and delicate. Chip crumbs fell down into my eyes as she continued chomping while laughing. Ah victory.
Duane Call, one of my best friends ever, showed up with his brother Jason Call, Chad Bagley and some other old friends from Provo. They were all dressed up in vintage green suits and hats that might remind one of comic book villians. One of the was wering a full green face mask and I assumed it was that fucking cunt of a douchebag, backstabbing former room mate of mine Bill Hayes so I ignored him. I quickly ascertained that they were there to be in the movie that was happening.
"Hey, what's this all about? How come nobody called me about this?" I asked feeling more than a little left out.
"Well Merks, this might come as a surprise to you, but you're not the first person we think of when opportunity arises."
Ouch, that one hurt, especially coming from Duane because generally we have this mutual ego boosting attitude towards one another especially in public and he was obviously using this opportunity to quite publicly knock me down a few pegs. I thought about what I might have done to warrant such a slap in the dick but I couldn't think of anything.
I hurried back to the locker room and began going through my gigantic locker looking for green clothing. I wasn't about to let all those dudes humiliate me like that and shut me out of the gig. If they wanted to act like that, well I was gonna get the best green get up around and slide right into action. Trouble was that I couldn't put together the right combination, just when I thought I found the best pair of pants I'd realize that they weren't pants but a seat cushion or sleeping bag. Time was running out so I started looking through my step brother Chad Simmons' locker. He had a bunch of green suits in there. I found one green plaid jacket that I thought was actually mine.
Chad showed up and I was quite embarrassed to be rifling through his locker,
"Hey Chad, is this jacket mine?"
"Um, I don't think so" he said with his kind and humble voice, "I think I may have let you borrow it once but I think you might have forgotten to return the pants."
He was totally right.
All of Steve Martin's 12 children came by, they were packing up the station wagon as the film they were working on had just wrapped. One of them said:
"Hey are you one of the green villains?"
"Uhh"
"Man YOU ARE GONNA RULE as a green villian"
All of them nodded their heads in agreement. Apparently they are big fans of mine. I should have known, what with all the praise I always get from their dad.
January 13, 2006
My Dad The Talent Agent, The Crowd Pleasing FartHorn and Johnny Carson's Glued On Beard
My dad decided to take on a new profession as a talent agent. His first client/act was an older fella who looked a little like Steve Martin or Johnny Carson but who's talents were unknown to me. My dad was a little anxious or nervous about his first pitch happening in the morning so he called on me to give him tips and perhaps critique his salesmanship. He had purchased a new outfit for his client much like the outfits my dad always sported while I was growing up.
"What do you think about his get up?"
"Well dad, if you guys are auditioning for a part as twins you just might get it."
"Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." He said then sped off.
Left to my own devices I concentrated my attention on a chubby but cute little 8 or 9 year old girl sitting in the old worn out bleachers. She was dressed in a dark blue Little Bo Peep type dress and she was looking at me as if she wanted to ask me a question.
"What can I do for you young lady?"
"I have an audition tomorrow as well, do you mind giving me some pointers?"
"What is your talent?"
"Oh I don't really know."
"Can you sing?"
"Anybody can sing"
"Can you act?"
"I can act like a turtle."
"Well then I suggest you put together an act that involves a singing turtle."
Upon that suggestion the rest of the patrons seated in the old bleachers erupted in applause. At first I thought the applause was due to my excellent advice but then I noticed all the band equipment around me and remembered that I was there to perform. As usual, I arrived having rehearsed nothing, thinking that winging it is the true testament of pure genius. The big tortoise shell drums were there, I could play those, my guitar amp was there but a dog had peed on it so that wasn't a very good option. I dug through the trunk of odd instruments and found an old set of funny vaudeville horns. I knew what they were immediately but they were of a design that I hadn't previously seen. They were covered in the same type of yellowed and weathered fabric which you might find on some old vintage luggage from the 40s or 50s. I pressed the button on the bigger horn and it made a very nice air raid type siren noise and I muttered to myself;
"This is gonna be a good sound effect during the symphony."
Then I pressed the button on the smaller horn and it let out the loudest, most realistic wet fart noise any non-butthole could possibly make. The old women sitting in the bleachers giggled with delight so I pointed it straight at them and did it again much to the merriment of all in attendance. Nothing better than a functional amplified fart button at your fingertips when you're in the entertainment business.
My dad returned with his client who I then recognized actually WAS Johnny Carson. I'm not sure why I didn't recognize him before. Probably because you wouldn't expect your dad to decide to become a talent agent one day only to have one of the most desirable talents in the world as a client the next day. Nevermind the fact that said talent is in fact dead, although that didn't occur to me at the time either.
Johnny Carson began making beard small talk with me, explaining that he always wanted to have a beard but the studio execs wouldn't allow it.
"Well, in order to avoid that screw up next time, I would suggest that you arrive to your audition tomorrow sporting a beard. It's not beards that execs hate, It's change." I said.
Johnny Carson smiled, reached into his pocket and pulled out some spirit gum beard glue and a nice puff of gray beard hair and in less than a minute was sporting a very realistic well groomed beard.
"I like it. Thanks Merkley" Johnny said.
"Yeah, thanks. You're a good son, you're my good son." my dad said as he squeezed my arm and rubbed my hair.
"What do you think about his get up?"
"Well dad, if you guys are auditioning for a part as twins you just might get it."
"Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." He said then sped off.
Left to my own devices I concentrated my attention on a chubby but cute little 8 or 9 year old girl sitting in the old worn out bleachers. She was dressed in a dark blue Little Bo Peep type dress and she was looking at me as if she wanted to ask me a question.
"What can I do for you young lady?"
"I have an audition tomorrow as well, do you mind giving me some pointers?"
"What is your talent?"
"Oh I don't really know."
"Can you sing?"
"Anybody can sing"
"Can you act?"
"I can act like a turtle."
"Well then I suggest you put together an act that involves a singing turtle."
Upon that suggestion the rest of the patrons seated in the old bleachers erupted in applause. At first I thought the applause was due to my excellent advice but then I noticed all the band equipment around me and remembered that I was there to perform. As usual, I arrived having rehearsed nothing, thinking that winging it is the true testament of pure genius. The big tortoise shell drums were there, I could play those, my guitar amp was there but a dog had peed on it so that wasn't a very good option. I dug through the trunk of odd instruments and found an old set of funny vaudeville horns. I knew what they were immediately but they were of a design that I hadn't previously seen. They were covered in the same type of yellowed and weathered fabric which you might find on some old vintage luggage from the 40s or 50s. I pressed the button on the bigger horn and it made a very nice air raid type siren noise and I muttered to myself;
"This is gonna be a good sound effect during the symphony."
Then I pressed the button on the smaller horn and it let out the loudest, most realistic wet fart noise any non-butthole could possibly make. The old women sitting in the bleachers giggled with delight so I pointed it straight at them and did it again much to the merriment of all in attendance. Nothing better than a functional amplified fart button at your fingertips when you're in the entertainment business.
My dad returned with his client who I then recognized actually WAS Johnny Carson. I'm not sure why I didn't recognize him before. Probably because you wouldn't expect your dad to decide to become a talent agent one day only to have one of the most desirable talents in the world as a client the next day. Nevermind the fact that said talent is in fact dead, although that didn't occur to me at the time either.
Johnny Carson began making beard small talk with me, explaining that he always wanted to have a beard but the studio execs wouldn't allow it.
"Well, in order to avoid that screw up next time, I would suggest that you arrive to your audition tomorrow sporting a beard. It's not beards that execs hate, It's change." I said.
Johnny Carson smiled, reached into his pocket and pulled out some spirit gum beard glue and a nice puff of gray beard hair and in less than a minute was sporting a very realistic well groomed beard.
"I like it. Thanks Merkley" Johnny said.
"Yeah, thanks. You're a good son, you're my good son." my dad said as he squeezed my arm and rubbed my hair.
January 10, 2006
The Magic Hoverability of Tin Foil, The Best Mug of Ice Water and The Cowboy Attorney
I suppose roads are nice, but it's not like we really need them now that we all have hovercrafts. I mean taking off over fields and cresting mountain tops is a hell of a lot of fun. It's really opened up a whole new world of travel. No longer do we have to see something way off the road and be content with the distant view, now we can just hover on over and check it out. the future is pretty cool. I like these new hovering tin foil flying saucers the kids all are making too. What a successful fad, I mean those things are everywhere just spinning and hovering at about 4 feet above the ground. How many years did we have tin foil before we discovered that if you fold it just so, the natural magnetic fields of the earth hold it above the ground in the air? Such a remarkable discovery. I like this new green world dotted with tin foil flying saucers. The bright sparkly silver looks really great against the green grassy plains and dark bluegray skies.
This whole day has been like a tall glass of ice water both metaphorically and literally. I don't think I have enjoyed a big tall mug full of ice water this much since those hot summer days in Utah. I can really see what my step dad Boyd saw in these big mugs of ice water. But I really do wish people would just stop putting pieces of garbage in perfectly good frosty mugs of ice cold water. It's just not right. I'm just gonna lay right here on this couch and enjoy this tall glass of ice cold water.
Riding horses with The Cowboy Attorney was pretty interesting. I'd never been to any outlaw camps, hell I didn't even know there was such a thing as outlaw camps. What the fuck is this the wild west? Who calls themselves The Cowboy Attorney anyway? These motherfuckers are probably all brokeback fags. "The Cowboy Attorney" pssshhhhh.. how gay. I hope they don't think I'm gay.
"Howdy, I'm The Cowboy Attorney."
"It's OK boys, he's The Cowboy Attorney, let'm through."
I do have to admit though, I am glad I have a connected dude like The Cowboy Attorney to show me around. I did fear for my life a little. The criminal dude on the horse really did look like he could kick some serious ass, even his horse looked like a bad ass motherfucker. I'll bet these dudes are soooo pissed about Brokeback Mountain ---- yeah right, these dudes don't see movies, they are too busy hiding out from the law and taking meetings with "The Cowboy Attorney".
BTW, why do tough dudes always think I'm cool? My whole life tough dudes have always been on my side. Tough dudes are nearly always impressed with artistic talent, you might not think it but it's true. If you ever end up in prison and you can draw, you'll be home free -- open up the tattoo shop and get ready to be the coolest dude around man.
This whole day has been like a tall glass of ice water both metaphorically and literally. I don't think I have enjoyed a big tall mug full of ice water this much since those hot summer days in Utah. I can really see what my step dad Boyd saw in these big mugs of ice water. But I really do wish people would just stop putting pieces of garbage in perfectly good frosty mugs of ice cold water. It's just not right. I'm just gonna lay right here on this couch and enjoy this tall glass of ice cold water.
Riding horses with The Cowboy Attorney was pretty interesting. I'd never been to any outlaw camps, hell I didn't even know there was such a thing as outlaw camps. What the fuck is this the wild west? Who calls themselves The Cowboy Attorney anyway? These motherfuckers are probably all brokeback fags. "The Cowboy Attorney" pssshhhhh.. how gay. I hope they don't think I'm gay.
"Howdy, I'm The Cowboy Attorney."
"It's OK boys, he's The Cowboy Attorney, let'm through."
I do have to admit though, I am glad I have a connected dude like The Cowboy Attorney to show me around. I did fear for my life a little. The criminal dude on the horse really did look like he could kick some serious ass, even his horse looked like a bad ass motherfucker. I'll bet these dudes are soooo pissed about Brokeback Mountain ---- yeah right, these dudes don't see movies, they are too busy hiding out from the law and taking meetings with "The Cowboy Attorney".
BTW, why do tough dudes always think I'm cool? My whole life tough dudes have always been on my side. Tough dudes are nearly always impressed with artistic talent, you might not think it but it's true. If you ever end up in prison and you can draw, you'll be home free -- open up the tattoo shop and get ready to be the coolest dude around man.
January 09, 2006
Judge Flappy Toupee's Filing Cabinet of Wind, The Secret Order of Douchebags and a Pack of LIES!
My meeting with the judge was a little nerve wracking. He was a nice enough man about eighty or so. His eyes were cloudy but showed years of wisdom and a bit of mischief like he really knew how to laugh. I was quite certain that I wouldn't be able to fudge my way into his good graces. I explained to him that the other judge who set out the terms of my probation had solved most of the problems that he seemed to be researching. He looked up at me as if to say
"Son, I have been doing this for five billion years."
He stood up and went to the filing cabinet, opened it up and out blew a gust of wind lifting the front of his toupee into a completely upright flapping position. Papers, documents, plants and clothing were flying out of the filing cabinet at a rather comical rate but he stayed peering and shuffling though the hurricane until he found the files he needed ---. The other litigants in the room all pretended not to notice the disaster happening before their eyes. The judge slowly walked back over to me and asked:
"What was the name of your judge?"
"I don't remember but he looked just like the dude who played Herman Munster and I think it may have actually been him because I saw him play a judge in a movie perhaps with Joe Pesci."
"I'm not familiar with any judge named Herman Munsters"
"Well he has a really long head and droopy eyes."
"Ah yes -- Jerry -- he's a rascal."
Just then one of the other patrons of the court hopped up on the balcony and started a really annoying brown nosing campaign that was totally transparent to everyone in the room. he was dressed somewhat like a court jester or some other douchebag from some old english court.
"Say your honor, I believe I heard through the grape vine that you are familiar with the secret order of the three kings."
Oh brother, this guy was a real piece of work. His hair was cut in the same fashion as those powdered wig faggots from days of yore.
"I too am part of the secret order." he said as he bowed and crossed his legs like he was in some gay movie.
Everyone in the room collectively rolled their eyes and let out a sigh that unmistakeably translated into "Ahhhh fuuuuuck you doood."
My mind went back to gather the details of my meeting with Judge Herman Munster but it was hard for me to put into order the exact conditions of my parole and I think I just kept getting my case confused with that case in the Joe Pesci movie.
"It says here that you must get a gym membership and exercise daily -- have you done so?" asked Judge Flappy Toupee.
"Well not really but I am definitely making movements towards those ends." I lied.
"How so?"
"Working on the house, playing with the dogs etc... also I have a car that has pedals and it's a bitch workout to drive." I lied some more.
"How is your diet?"
"Fine I suppose -- it could definitely use more vegetables." Holy shit I'm a liar.
"Son, I have been doing this for five billion years."
He stood up and went to the filing cabinet, opened it up and out blew a gust of wind lifting the front of his toupee into a completely upright flapping position. Papers, documents, plants and clothing were flying out of the filing cabinet at a rather comical rate but he stayed peering and shuffling though the hurricane until he found the files he needed ---. The other litigants in the room all pretended not to notice the disaster happening before their eyes. The judge slowly walked back over to me and asked:
"What was the name of your judge?"
"I don't remember but he looked just like the dude who played Herman Munster and I think it may have actually been him because I saw him play a judge in a movie perhaps with Joe Pesci."
"I'm not familiar with any judge named Herman Munsters"
"Well he has a really long head and droopy eyes."
"Ah yes -- Jerry -- he's a rascal."
Just then one of the other patrons of the court hopped up on the balcony and started a really annoying brown nosing campaign that was totally transparent to everyone in the room. he was dressed somewhat like a court jester or some other douchebag from some old english court.
"Say your honor, I believe I heard through the grape vine that you are familiar with the secret order of the three kings."
Oh brother, this guy was a real piece of work. His hair was cut in the same fashion as those powdered wig faggots from days of yore.
"I too am part of the secret order." he said as he bowed and crossed his legs like he was in some gay movie.
Everyone in the room collectively rolled their eyes and let out a sigh that unmistakeably translated into "Ahhhh fuuuuuck you doood."
My mind went back to gather the details of my meeting with Judge Herman Munster but it was hard for me to put into order the exact conditions of my parole and I think I just kept getting my case confused with that case in the Joe Pesci movie.
"It says here that you must get a gym membership and exercise daily -- have you done so?" asked Judge Flappy Toupee.
"Well not really but I am definitely making movements towards those ends." I lied.
"How so?"
"Working on the house, playing with the dogs etc... also I have a car that has pedals and it's a bitch workout to drive." I lied some more.
"How is your diet?"
"Fine I suppose -- it could definitely use more vegetables." Holy shit I'm a liar.
January 08, 2006
A Hero Gets Wet but Stays Dry, The Tar Dipped Chicken Derby and Cancer Survival With The Osmonds
I was laying on a New Jersey beach with a couple of friends, it was very crowded and somewhat dirty. I thought I was far enough from the waves to stay dry, I was fully dressed in a suit as always so that was an important detail. I had my head resting on the sand and my eyeball was as close to the ground as possible without touching it. Just as I was really feeling good about my ability to locate myself in just the right place for such a show as the one I was watching of the sheets of water approaching and receding, a sheet of water rolled right in and consumed me spraying over me and rolling me up. The first thing I thought about was my phone which I quickly snatched out of my pocket finding it dry as a bone. Except for a few beads of water here and there my suit was dry too. I had forgotten that water needs time to sink in and of course a quickly approaching and receding wave on a beach is obviously moving too fast to get a person wet. You have to soak if you wanna get wet. Duh. I stood up with my old high school pal Andrew Tso and he too remarked that he was momentarily tricked by the water thinking that he'd get wet. We should have paid more attention in high school physics.
We walked toward the mini truck show that was being held at the beach and which was also the reason for the crowded beach. At the water's edge there was a lowered mini truck that was apparently stuck in the wet sand. Looking around I noticed many mini trucks in the same predicament. Andrew had made his way around to the first one I noticed which was in a full throttle rev attempting to free itself. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the truck's front end lift up wheelie style so high that it flipped over backwards onto my friend Andrew's head. I was only slightly concerned because the truck was pretty small and my friend Andrew is a barrel chested Navajo, surely he'd survive. I ran towards the upside down truck and found Andrew's head poking out from underneath, some other asshole standing near by apparently couldn't be bothered to help me lift the truck off of my friend so I was left to do it myself. No big deal, it wasn't even very heavy, plus I know how to use leverage.
When Andrew emerged I thought I could see a really large dent on his chest and shoulder area. It appeared as if he had broken some major bones. He shook it off and claimed to be o.k. the driver of the truck sped off without so much an apology or thank you for tipping his truck back over. What a dick.
As the TV crews descended on Andrew to interview him about his incredible survival story it was revealed that the driver of the truck was a childhood neighbor of Andrew's and that every time that dude got a new car, he would brag and brag about it only to have it destroyed in some fashion minutes later. Andrew claimed to have known the truck was going to flip over. i was still worried about his broken bones but he was apparently feeling fine. Nobody mentioned my heroics or that I single handedly lifted an entire truck off my friend and surprisingly I wasn't annoyed by that fact even though some douchebag sound man had his boom mic blocking my view.
I was excited to get back to my new room in the place I was staying. It was an exact replica of Mr. Brady's den where he'd conduct his architecture business. It was the same room that Greg Brady turned into his new "pad" in the episode where he started to call his parents Mike and Carol instead of mom and dad. I spent a bit of time trying to hook up the cable to the few vintage Brady era television sets in my new room but I soon realized that those old TVs weren't set up for cable. I chopped up a few chickens and threw them in the oven instead. Turns out the oven put on a better show than a TV could anyway. The bottom of the oven was like a big aluminum pan that would tilt, shift and slide throwing the chicken and whatever else was on it's greasy surface sliding back and forth and to and fro cooking it all evenly. Sometimes the chicken would bash into the side of the oven so hard it would momentarily turn inside out which was damn convenient because I could gauge exactly how pink it was in the middle. It sure was making me hungry. One of the chickens appeared to be burnt black on one side which for a moment cast doubt on the effectiveness of this type of cooking method, that was until I remembered that I had dropped the chicken in some hot black tar before I put it in the oven. I could smell the tar.
Later I attended a cancer survival benefit for a friend of a friend in Provo Utah. The benefit was held in a Mormon ward house in one of the very very large sunday school rooms with a stage. The Osmond Brothers made a special appearance because they apparently new the dude with cancer. All the Osmond brothers looked really good and in shape, they were all very young looking and had very stylish retro rock haircuts. They all kept their attention focused on the cancer dude and they were smiling and making jokes. I thought it was weird how it wasn't weird at all to have them walking around the room doing their act in front of our small 30ish people crowd when they were so famous when I was a kid. Life as a Mormon I suppose. Cimi was making herself very comfortable on my lap. Sometimes it's nice having a girl on your lap. Donny sure did look like my younger brother Dan.
Last night I was everybody's awesome older brother. At least it felt that way.
We walked toward the mini truck show that was being held at the beach and which was also the reason for the crowded beach. At the water's edge there was a lowered mini truck that was apparently stuck in the wet sand. Looking around I noticed many mini trucks in the same predicament. Andrew had made his way around to the first one I noticed which was in a full throttle rev attempting to free itself. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the truck's front end lift up wheelie style so high that it flipped over backwards onto my friend Andrew's head. I was only slightly concerned because the truck was pretty small and my friend Andrew is a barrel chested Navajo, surely he'd survive. I ran towards the upside down truck and found Andrew's head poking out from underneath, some other asshole standing near by apparently couldn't be bothered to help me lift the truck off of my friend so I was left to do it myself. No big deal, it wasn't even very heavy, plus I know how to use leverage.
When Andrew emerged I thought I could see a really large dent on his chest and shoulder area. It appeared as if he had broken some major bones. He shook it off and claimed to be o.k. the driver of the truck sped off without so much an apology or thank you for tipping his truck back over. What a dick.
As the TV crews descended on Andrew to interview him about his incredible survival story it was revealed that the driver of the truck was a childhood neighbor of Andrew's and that every time that dude got a new car, he would brag and brag about it only to have it destroyed in some fashion minutes later. Andrew claimed to have known the truck was going to flip over. i was still worried about his broken bones but he was apparently feeling fine. Nobody mentioned my heroics or that I single handedly lifted an entire truck off my friend and surprisingly I wasn't annoyed by that fact even though some douchebag sound man had his boom mic blocking my view.
I was excited to get back to my new room in the place I was staying. It was an exact replica of Mr. Brady's den where he'd conduct his architecture business. It was the same room that Greg Brady turned into his new "pad" in the episode where he started to call his parents Mike and Carol instead of mom and dad. I spent a bit of time trying to hook up the cable to the few vintage Brady era television sets in my new room but I soon realized that those old TVs weren't set up for cable. I chopped up a few chickens and threw them in the oven instead. Turns out the oven put on a better show than a TV could anyway. The bottom of the oven was like a big aluminum pan that would tilt, shift and slide throwing the chicken and whatever else was on it's greasy surface sliding back and forth and to and fro cooking it all evenly. Sometimes the chicken would bash into the side of the oven so hard it would momentarily turn inside out which was damn convenient because I could gauge exactly how pink it was in the middle. It sure was making me hungry. One of the chickens appeared to be burnt black on one side which for a moment cast doubt on the effectiveness of this type of cooking method, that was until I remembered that I had dropped the chicken in some hot black tar before I put it in the oven. I could smell the tar.
Later I attended a cancer survival benefit for a friend of a friend in Provo Utah. The benefit was held in a Mormon ward house in one of the very very large sunday school rooms with a stage. The Osmond Brothers made a special appearance because they apparently new the dude with cancer. All the Osmond brothers looked really good and in shape, they were all very young looking and had very stylish retro rock haircuts. They all kept their attention focused on the cancer dude and they were smiling and making jokes. I thought it was weird how it wasn't weird at all to have them walking around the room doing their act in front of our small 30ish people crowd when they were so famous when I was a kid. Life as a Mormon I suppose. Cimi was making herself very comfortable on my lap. Sometimes it's nice having a girl on your lap. Donny sure did look like my younger brother Dan.
Last night I was everybody's awesome older brother. At least it felt that way.
January 06, 2006
Slippery Meaty Sex, That Pussy Sean Penn and White Stars on a Sea of Blood Red Beef
It all started out with a whole mutherfuckin' bunch of sex sex sex. So much that I bent my dick. I could make one billion dollars going into the details of the sex I had last night. I could describe the textures, the fluids, the body parts, the sounds, the positions, but I'm afraid I'd just end up getting too turned on and then I'd have to go look at some porn for a minute so I'll just skip it after I leave some keywords to jog my memory in the future. Ah forget it, if I do that, someone might read this and know who it was I was having sex with. She should know anyway. She was one inch away from me at the time.
Later, after the sex, I was walking downtown SF and a big convertible double decker tour bus decided to park in the street and give the SF tourists who had gathered in San Francisco's new answer to Times Square a little free show. On the convertible bus were three drag queens, Johnny Depp and Sean Penn and they were singing Sonny and Cher songs all super gay and Christina Aguilerra style like they wanted to be En Vogue or something. Two of the queens were black, one had a really enormous mouth that he would open so wide when he sang that you could see all of his rotten teeth, fillings, the back of his throat and indeed the food he recently ate boiling around in his stomach. Johnny Depp and Sean Penn were obviously just there to say "Hey look at us, we're so liberal we hang out with drag queens". What a couple of douchebags. I booed both of them as loud as I could and kept yelling at Sean Penn:
"Sean Penn, you're a pussy and you don't know how to produce tears when you cry in movies Sean Penn."
He was doing his best to ignore me but I know he heard me, everybody heard me and they were all looking at me, most with looks of disproval but many who were laughing. Sean just kept whispering into Johnny Depp's ear like he hadn't heard me but even Johnny Depp was looking straight at me so I yelled;
"Ya may as well take Sean Penn's side on this one Depp cause you're a douchebag too!"
Anyway -- two more minutes of me humiliating them and the bus slugged off.
I ended up driving a car to the next destination. As I crested the steep freeway entrance ramp on 6th south in Salt Lake City, I could see that there were big changes since the last time I was there. First of all they added a few slot car lanes where the Dukes of Hazzard replica cars could speed in fast motion at what may have been 400 miles per hour. Seemed like a good idea, giant slot cars ---- people would drive their own oversized slot cars and position them above the groove in the freeway, a rod would drop down into the groove and some electric conductor plates would then make contact with the recessed metal tracks the road and off they went flying safely down the freeway at 400 miles per hour. I got in an argument with one of my passengers over whether or not the Dukes of Hazzard car was orange or red. I said orange, he said red, he was an idiot. I'm glad that dude disappeared shortly thereafter. The second big change to the on ramp was that it was no longer an on ramp but instead the driveway leading up to a great big fancy victorian filled with black people.
As we entered a black gentleman quickly surmised that we were lost or something.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, we were looking for a party at such and such.."
"Ok, back through that door and down the block"
Walking down that particular block meant walking right through all the connected victorians. We walked through messy bedrooms, opulent living rooms, cold kitchens, breezy patios and discombobulated back yards... it was strange that they didn't have sidewalks like most neighborhoods. I didn't mind though, I'm always interested in interiors more than exteriors.
In one powder room there was a gigantic pituitary freak woman in a prom dress, she was at her make up table putting on make up and she appeared quite happy that we had chosen to walk through her dressing room. Her horse-like smile was gigantic and revealed at least an inch worth of gums above her undersized teeth. I made well delivered yet completely insincere comments about how she looked stunning and was sure to be the belle of the ball and she blushed such a beet red that her acne white heads were like white stars floating on a sea of red beef. Oddly, it was kinda cute to see her smile like that. It almost made me cry. Ok. It made me cry. Fuck off.
Eventually we found our destination at which a bunch of balding men were comparing hair transplant stories and my hair became the topic of conversation.
"Your hair sure looks real" Some commented.
"Yeah, because it is."
With those words the tone of the party was obviously changed, I could sense that the rest of these fellas were now uneasy with a naturally unbald man in their presence. I attempted to make jokes about how I wanted to cut my hair into a horseshoe pattern because it looks so distinquished -- you know, like Frasier on TV but that just dug my hole deeper. They weren't buying it. One man offered me a big squishy misshapen mango to eat. I declined and put it back on one of the serving trays -- which by the way, half of the serving trays were laid out on the dirty floor and balding men in their dirty socks were stepping in between the stuffed mushrooms and other appetizers -- it was rather UNappetizing to say the least.
later in the gymnasium at the punk rock concert, the tour manager told me I couldn't have my flash camera. This totally pissed me off. I always have my camera, and this one was vintage and I didn't even want to take pictures of the stupid band anyway but it was the principle of the matter. I ALWAYS brought my camera to those shows with no trouble at all. I moaned and complained and got all hot and bothered to no avail. He wasn't gonna budge. Finally I opened up my camera and removed the vile of sandy substance that created the flash.
"What's this?"
"It's what makes the flash -- take it -- there -- satisfied?"
"No you have to give me the whole camera."
"Fuck that and fuck you -- you fucking asshole fuck. Your band sucks.
and I left.
Later, after the sex, I was walking downtown SF and a big convertible double decker tour bus decided to park in the street and give the SF tourists who had gathered in San Francisco's new answer to Times Square a little free show. On the convertible bus were three drag queens, Johnny Depp and Sean Penn and they were singing Sonny and Cher songs all super gay and Christina Aguilerra style like they wanted to be En Vogue or something. Two of the queens were black, one had a really enormous mouth that he would open so wide when he sang that you could see all of his rotten teeth, fillings, the back of his throat and indeed the food he recently ate boiling around in his stomach. Johnny Depp and Sean Penn were obviously just there to say "Hey look at us, we're so liberal we hang out with drag queens". What a couple of douchebags. I booed both of them as loud as I could and kept yelling at Sean Penn:
"Sean Penn, you're a pussy and you don't know how to produce tears when you cry in movies Sean Penn."
He was doing his best to ignore me but I know he heard me, everybody heard me and they were all looking at me, most with looks of disproval but many who were laughing. Sean just kept whispering into Johnny Depp's ear like he hadn't heard me but even Johnny Depp was looking straight at me so I yelled;
"Ya may as well take Sean Penn's side on this one Depp cause you're a douchebag too!"
Anyway -- two more minutes of me humiliating them and the bus slugged off.
I ended up driving a car to the next destination. As I crested the steep freeway entrance ramp on 6th south in Salt Lake City, I could see that there were big changes since the last time I was there. First of all they added a few slot car lanes where the Dukes of Hazzard replica cars could speed in fast motion at what may have been 400 miles per hour. Seemed like a good idea, giant slot cars ---- people would drive their own oversized slot cars and position them above the groove in the freeway, a rod would drop down into the groove and some electric conductor plates would then make contact with the recessed metal tracks the road and off they went flying safely down the freeway at 400 miles per hour. I got in an argument with one of my passengers over whether or not the Dukes of Hazzard car was orange or red. I said orange, he said red, he was an idiot. I'm glad that dude disappeared shortly thereafter. The second big change to the on ramp was that it was no longer an on ramp but instead the driveway leading up to a great big fancy victorian filled with black people.
As we entered a black gentleman quickly surmised that we were lost or something.
"Can I help you?"
"Yeah, we were looking for a party at such and such.."
"Ok, back through that door and down the block"
Walking down that particular block meant walking right through all the connected victorians. We walked through messy bedrooms, opulent living rooms, cold kitchens, breezy patios and discombobulated back yards... it was strange that they didn't have sidewalks like most neighborhoods. I didn't mind though, I'm always interested in interiors more than exteriors.
In one powder room there was a gigantic pituitary freak woman in a prom dress, she was at her make up table putting on make up and she appeared quite happy that we had chosen to walk through her dressing room. Her horse-like smile was gigantic and revealed at least an inch worth of gums above her undersized teeth. I made well delivered yet completely insincere comments about how she looked stunning and was sure to be the belle of the ball and she blushed such a beet red that her acne white heads were like white stars floating on a sea of red beef. Oddly, it was kinda cute to see her smile like that. It almost made me cry. Ok. It made me cry. Fuck off.
Eventually we found our destination at which a bunch of balding men were comparing hair transplant stories and my hair became the topic of conversation.
"Your hair sure looks real" Some commented.
"Yeah, because it is."
With those words the tone of the party was obviously changed, I could sense that the rest of these fellas were now uneasy with a naturally unbald man in their presence. I attempted to make jokes about how I wanted to cut my hair into a horseshoe pattern because it looks so distinquished -- you know, like Frasier on TV but that just dug my hole deeper. They weren't buying it. One man offered me a big squishy misshapen mango to eat. I declined and put it back on one of the serving trays -- which by the way, half of the serving trays were laid out on the dirty floor and balding men in their dirty socks were stepping in between the stuffed mushrooms and other appetizers -- it was rather UNappetizing to say the least.
later in the gymnasium at the punk rock concert, the tour manager told me I couldn't have my flash camera. This totally pissed me off. I always have my camera, and this one was vintage and I didn't even want to take pictures of the stupid band anyway but it was the principle of the matter. I ALWAYS brought my camera to those shows with no trouble at all. I moaned and complained and got all hot and bothered to no avail. He wasn't gonna budge. Finally I opened up my camera and removed the vile of sandy substance that created the flash.
"What's this?"
"It's what makes the flash -- take it -- there -- satisfied?"
"No you have to give me the whole camera."
"Fuck that and fuck you -- you fucking asshole fuck. Your band sucks.
and I left.
January 05, 2006
Texas, Shitty Tattoo Parlor Behavior and Thousands of Unchewed Chicletes
I joined my buxom blonde rock'n'roll DJ friend Christina on her road trip to Austin, I had been there before but this time I was going with a few retarded girls in hot pants and that's a good thing. We decided to visit a friend of hers at an out of the way, dingy tattoo parlor. We were there all of 2 minutes when she was in a chair getting the devil horns aka the Texas Longhorns hand sign language drawn up on her arm in big black and orange graphics. The texas Longhorns had just won the Rosebowl so the fever was everywhere in Texas. I think I was the only person not quite swept away. Christina was drunk and the tattoo was huge, taking up nearly her entire upper arm. She didn't have any other tattoos of which I was aware and I've known her long enough to know that a big sports/rock'n'roll dude tattoo would probably not be her first choice had she not been wasted on a road trip in Texas at the time. I tried to tactfully explain to her that she might want to wait, but I didn't want to start lecturing her right there in the tattoo shop. I'm unfamiliar with tattoo shop etiquette but I imagine that the inking chair is not the best place to make such speeches. The shop owner was a shortish dude with a mustache and long light brown hair who was sportin a seventies stoner look. I suppose he was just sportin your average tattoo shop look. Although he had a cheery comportment I could tell that I was raining on some kind of parade.
"Hey mann, sometimes ya gotta just do things in the moment. Ya think too long and nothin ever gets done. Mistakes can always be cleaned up, but life can never be re-lived dood."
I had to admit that there was a lot of wisdom coming out of that little stoner right then and there but it still didn't keep me from suggesting other alternatives to my friend Christina. We had another friend with us so I made the suggestion that we all get matching tattoos to commemorate the trip. My suggestion was something really super small in a barely noticeable place, like perhaps the devil horns logo like smaller than a dime somewhere. That idea was popular for like 3 seconds and then died out. I don't have a tattoo shop personality I don't think.
I ventured off from the group to explore the surroundings. Texans sure do throw a lot of gum on the ground and not just chewed up gum either, like full brightly colored unchewed Chicletes sparkled the ground everywhere I went. The Safeway parking lot was covered in them. I thought about taking pictures of it all but for some reason, pictures of stuff like that is beneath me or something. Something about photographing stuff on the ground just annoys me. Besides, I'm better than everything. I suppose I don't like things that don't have a real process connected with it. "Merely pointing and clicking is never enough for me" I kept thinking and then that phrase got stuck in my head -- "Pointing and clicking is never enough -- pointing and clicking is never enough..." It turned into a song that I'd sing for you right now but you wouldn't hear me because I don't have it set up that way. Too bad for you.
A little later I discovered that my wardrobe was missing and I needed to find some new clothes to wear. All I wanted was my regular suit wardrobe but suits were nowhere to be found. I was complaining about a shirt I was slipping over my head and that it had no pockets but once I got it down I realized that it DID have pockets. -- Why was I complaining about no pockets in the first place? I really hated the Che Guevara guerilla military garb that I was wearing, I looked in the mirror and I looked like a total idiot. Luckily, I had a nice pinstripe suit underneath it all. How did I forget about that? The pinstripe suit was great. Everyone loved it and things were back to normal.
That stoner tattoo dude was right, I wish I would have done the tattoo. I mean I could always fix it later.
"Hey mann, sometimes ya gotta just do things in the moment. Ya think too long and nothin ever gets done. Mistakes can always be cleaned up, but life can never be re-lived dood."
I had to admit that there was a lot of wisdom coming out of that little stoner right then and there but it still didn't keep me from suggesting other alternatives to my friend Christina. We had another friend with us so I made the suggestion that we all get matching tattoos to commemorate the trip. My suggestion was something really super small in a barely noticeable place, like perhaps the devil horns logo like smaller than a dime somewhere. That idea was popular for like 3 seconds and then died out. I don't have a tattoo shop personality I don't think.
I ventured off from the group to explore the surroundings. Texans sure do throw a lot of gum on the ground and not just chewed up gum either, like full brightly colored unchewed Chicletes sparkled the ground everywhere I went. The Safeway parking lot was covered in them. I thought about taking pictures of it all but for some reason, pictures of stuff like that is beneath me or something. Something about photographing stuff on the ground just annoys me. Besides, I'm better than everything. I suppose I don't like things that don't have a real process connected with it. "Merely pointing and clicking is never enough for me" I kept thinking and then that phrase got stuck in my head -- "Pointing and clicking is never enough -- pointing and clicking is never enough..." It turned into a song that I'd sing for you right now but you wouldn't hear me because I don't have it set up that way. Too bad for you.
A little later I discovered that my wardrobe was missing and I needed to find some new clothes to wear. All I wanted was my regular suit wardrobe but suits were nowhere to be found. I was complaining about a shirt I was slipping over my head and that it had no pockets but once I got it down I realized that it DID have pockets. -- Why was I complaining about no pockets in the first place? I really hated the Che Guevara guerilla military garb that I was wearing, I looked in the mirror and I looked like a total idiot. Luckily, I had a nice pinstripe suit underneath it all. How did I forget about that? The pinstripe suit was great. Everyone loved it and things were back to normal.
That stoner tattoo dude was right, I wish I would have done the tattoo. I mean I could always fix it later.
January 04, 2006
Lukewarm Slimy Ice Cubes, Frida Kahlo's Neglected Vagina and No Place to Sit Down
Somebody spilled a bunch of ice back stage, a whole bunch of ice. Where did they fucking get so much ice? There is no way we could ever use this much ice, it's everywhere. How many bags did they order anyway? This must be at least tree tons of ice. Is it part of the show? I don't get it, why the fuck does everything backstage have to be covered in ice? I can't even find a place to sit. I'm gonna find someone and get to the bottom of this ice shit, somebody needs to clean this up before it melts. Where the fuck is everyone? How come nobody told me about the ice? This isn't even the right kind of ice, these cubes are way to big to fit in the golden goblets we ordered. This ice is bullshit. It's not even cold. Who orders three tons of lukewarm oversized ice cubes. Is somebody filming some kind of movie here without my consent? These ice cubes are scratching my legs and getting me all wet. Great, now I got one in my shoe. What the fuck? Ice cubes aren't supposed to move around like this. Get out of my shoe you ice cube organism thing. I'm going out back to go for a walk. This place sure does look like the big field out behind my old middle school. Jesus Christ I wish I could find a place to sit down that wasn't all covered in LUKEWARM SLIMY ICE CUBES
Down on the corner there's a little competition going on to see who was San Francisco's most annoying woman. The competition is fierce, there are PETA women, NOW women all kinds of women representing various bullshit. One is a very hairy faced white woman dressed in african garb, still another has that Frida Kahlo look going on, she definitely smells like old ethnic food and neglected vagina. Oh man, I DID NOT want to SEE that neglected vagina. It looks like an old gray pastrami sandwich. why is it so HUGE? Are those COB WEBS?
I certainly wish I had my rifle to put an end to this poetry slam once and for all. Spirituality my ass, you're all a bunch of ugly cunts and no man would ever want you, that's why you hate men, because they hate you or at the very least vomit at the idea of your naked bodies. Wow, I just about vomited right then.
Why the fuck is there ice everywhere?
I need to sit down.
Down on the corner there's a little competition going on to see who was San Francisco's most annoying woman. The competition is fierce, there are PETA women, NOW women all kinds of women representing various bullshit. One is a very hairy faced white woman dressed in african garb, still another has that Frida Kahlo look going on, she definitely smells like old ethnic food and neglected vagina. Oh man, I DID NOT want to SEE that neglected vagina. It looks like an old gray pastrami sandwich. why is it so HUGE? Are those COB WEBS?
I certainly wish I had my rifle to put an end to this poetry slam once and for all. Spirituality my ass, you're all a bunch of ugly cunts and no man would ever want you, that's why you hate men, because they hate you or at the very least vomit at the idea of your naked bodies. Wow, I just about vomited right then.
Why the fuck is there ice everywhere?
I need to sit down.
January 03, 2006
The Dented Meathead, Way Too Much Jizz and The Elderly Homo Cylops
Some fucking oafish douchebag followed me to the payphone at the restaurant last night. During my call he kept grunting and moaning as if I had been there on the phone forever and he was waiting to hear about a heart transplant, like his call was way more urgent than mine. He kept staring at me and making remarks about billions of years passing until I'd be off the phone. The guy was a real asshole. I could tell he felt invincible, it was obvious that he was there having dinner with the World Federation Wrestlers who had a table about 20 feet away. He had a giant meaty head with an orange goatee. His kick ass facial expression was enhanced by oh maybe 20 miller genuine drafts. The more he pissed and moaned and tried to intimidate me into hanging up, the more my conversation loudly turned to more mundane chit chat:
"So what's that cat doing Right now? You can't see him anywhere? Go find him, I want to know what the cat is doing. That cat is sooo cute. I can wait. Have you talked to grandma lately?...."
And on and on I went provoking this meathead to the point of violence. Why I'd want to provoke a neanderthal 20 times my size is beyond me. I think it has something to do with intelligence and having a plan. You see, the phone receiver I was holding was made out of lead and if 10000 pound Howdy Doody made any moves at me, he was gonna get clobbered.
And that's exactly what happend 2 seconds later.
"Listen you little twit, Daddy needs the fucken phone" he bellowed.
Clunk -- I thwopped him on his forehead with the 20 pound receiver making an exact, 2 inch deep impression of the phone in his forehead. His eyes glazed over like he was gonna cry and he slowly turned around and went back to his table where he sat sulking and covering up the dent with his big fat hand. What a loser. I admit that I felt sorry for him.
I saw this girl I've known for a few years out in the parking lot, she always tries to make out with me but I never have because she is too young. Anyway, I won't go into details but we ended up having sex all over the place and it was pretty awesome even though the sprinklers kept coming on. There was way too much semen however, like pints and pints. I may need to go see the doctor.
Back at the office it was the managers last day. He's a total douchebag so everyone was glad he was leaving. He took eight billion years to pack up all his crap. People kept stopping by to say good luck and what not but as they'd turn away from him they'd roll their eyes and do the jack off sign language with their hands. The slick haired dude who was next in line for his job walked around all day with a new strut. He had lots of gel in his hair. It's always good to make a good impression.
Two elderly homos were in an emotional embrace in the hallway, apparently they hadn't seen each other for a long time and both were living as straights. Their wives were standing there pointing with stressed out looks on their faces demanding answers but the two fags just rocked back and forth hugging and crying as if they were the only two people on earth. The older one I noticed later was a cyclops.
"So what's that cat doing Right now? You can't see him anywhere? Go find him, I want to know what the cat is doing. That cat is sooo cute. I can wait. Have you talked to grandma lately?...."
And on and on I went provoking this meathead to the point of violence. Why I'd want to provoke a neanderthal 20 times my size is beyond me. I think it has something to do with intelligence and having a plan. You see, the phone receiver I was holding was made out of lead and if 10000 pound Howdy Doody made any moves at me, he was gonna get clobbered.
And that's exactly what happend 2 seconds later.
"Listen you little twit, Daddy needs the fucken phone" he bellowed.
Clunk -- I thwopped him on his forehead with the 20 pound receiver making an exact, 2 inch deep impression of the phone in his forehead. His eyes glazed over like he was gonna cry and he slowly turned around and went back to his table where he sat sulking and covering up the dent with his big fat hand. What a loser. I admit that I felt sorry for him.
I saw this girl I've known for a few years out in the parking lot, she always tries to make out with me but I never have because she is too young. Anyway, I won't go into details but we ended up having sex all over the place and it was pretty awesome even though the sprinklers kept coming on. There was way too much semen however, like pints and pints. I may need to go see the doctor.
Back at the office it was the managers last day. He's a total douchebag so everyone was glad he was leaving. He took eight billion years to pack up all his crap. People kept stopping by to say good luck and what not but as they'd turn away from him they'd roll their eyes and do the jack off sign language with their hands. The slick haired dude who was next in line for his job walked around all day with a new strut. He had lots of gel in his hair. It's always good to make a good impression.
Two elderly homos were in an emotional embrace in the hallway, apparently they hadn't seen each other for a long time and both were living as straights. Their wives were standing there pointing with stressed out looks on their faces demanding answers but the two fags just rocked back and forth hugging and crying as if they were the only two people on earth. The older one I noticed later was a cyclops.
January 02, 2006
Sheistey Burt Reynolds, Fat Woman Butt and Pig in a Poncho Fantastic
I don't care what anybody says, I think Burt Reynolds is sheistey and up to no good and I'll tell you why.
I was at dinner at his house with my old friend and occasional bandmate Adrian. The house was lovely, the dining room where we sat seemed as if it hadn't change since a remodel done during the success of Burt's Cannonball Run movies. The overly long dining room table was made out of a deep reddish magenta rosewood and was covered with a layer of gloss so thick it was as if it was topped with a layer of glass. I could even see my reflection. Boy did I look handsome.
Dinner took forever to come but that was OK because the seats were comfortable, what wasn't comfortable was the direction of the dinner conversation. Burt had a long spreadsheet tablet of paper laid out on the table. -- The sheets were very wide and skinny, like wide paper ribbons and on them he had Adrian's entire financial history written in sharpie and laid out in a timeline. He was pitching Adrian on some financial planning and some tax shelter schemes. As an observer, I was able to keep my attention focused on Burt's face while Adrian pointed to specific events in his financial timeline. Each time Adrian would make a suggestion or ask a certain tax related question about a certain event, Burt's big mustache would twitch, his stretched out plastic surgery impaired eyes would shift and dart around like a used car salesman and he'd say something along the lines of
"Whoa boy, now that's a doozie, ya gotta be real careful there cuz they'll gitchya."
He was blatantly fanning the flames of Adrian's financial fears an I knew it. I know people herald him as "The Financial Saint to The Stars" but I could smell a rat and that rat looked just like Burt Reynolds. I mean who has a nude portrait of Loni Anderson hanging over their dining room table? I don't care if they dated or not, they broke up like 20 years ago. What a sheister. Oh yeah , Catherine, one of my newer mySpace friends with the librarian glasses was there too. She didn't say anything but I could tell that she thought Burt Reynolds was a sheister too. MORE PROOF!
After dinner at Burt's we went to the set of a new video, show or some dealie in which Adrian was involved. I brought my video camera to document it all like the old days. It was super boring and I wouldn't even mention it at all except and a bit of terrible news was revealed while watching the instant replays. I could see myself from behind in some of the shots and it appears that I have developed an awful case of Fat Woman Butt. This is by FAR the worst way for a man to get fat. I will diet immediately. Fat Woman Butt on a man is grounds for suicide and that's no joke.
We took a break to watch a movie on mini DV. It was a Dr. Seuss Christmas movie that I had never seen. I sat in a recliner made out of packed snow. Lemme tell ya, there is nothing better than a recliner made out of snow and I was sure to let everyone know about it. BTW, whose bright Idea was it to invite my mother? She was bugging the crap out of me.
After the movie it was back to work. Adrian had a scene he was acting out with Robert DeNiro. DeNiro couldn't get his lines right. There was no director to be found so a peanut gallery which included myself and about 5 other geniuses formed and stepped in to help. It wasn't helping at all. Each time he'd do a line, three or four geniuses in the directors gallery would chime in with "Maybe you should go....". It was obviously becoming more about the many directors competing for influence than it was about art. By take 34 I was getting fed up and I stood up and began an angry rant:
"YOU NEED TO BE ANGRY YOU LITTLE PEICE OF SHIT!!" I screamed at DeNiro.
It was just the motivation he needed as he became livid at the notion of some Fat Woman Butted amateur directing him.
"Now channel that anger you are feeling towards me into the scene" I said.
He did it and everyone agreed that the next take was the best of DeNiro's career.
Told you I know what's up.
Later in the evening I had to choose which of the many holiday party invitations I was going to accept. They were all located pretty much in the same place so I thought I'd just swing by each one to see which one had the best food or highest ticket price to get in. I'm frugal like that. I think of value.
The place was a big dimly lit concourse divided into many different parties. Some looked like school cafeterias, some looked really Las Vegas loungey, it had sort of an airport food court vibe. I kept thinking,
"This is like a giant Mormon stake house. I haven't been in one of these things for years."
I stopped by many parties, said hello to the random friends and people who had invited me and then snuck out the side door to see what the next one was all about. I was most excited about the one to which my friend Tom Dumont had invited me. He's not known for being fooled by Hollywood hype which usually either means that the party is gonna be a complete bore or it's gonna be the highest quality around. I stopped at one of those "you are here" maps they have in the mall to get my bearings and I eventually found Tom's party. It was in a strip mall style movie theater. I went to the will call window and picked up my shiny gold VIP passes and went in.
"Where the fuck is seat 3718?" I mumbled to myself as I looked at the maze of aisles and layers of steps laid out before me"
As I wandered about, it became obvious that I arrived during a lull in the program. The theater seats were barely a 3rd full and people were scattered all over the multi tiered theater in no particular fashion except random. I finally figured out that 3718 meant row 37, seat 18 and I was kinda bummed because seat number 18 was obviously gonna be in the middle of the row. I spotted Dumont and we did our hellos and what not.
"So what did I miss?" I asked.
"Oh the B52's just finished, they were pretty good."
I'm not a big fan of the B52's so I was not bummed at all that I missed them.
The theater staff came out and made every person present feel as if they were in the way as they shuffled seats and tables from here to there. A loud foriegn voice came over the big blue loudspeaker and announced that a video was going to be the next big thing on the agenda but that if we wished to watch it it would be an additional $9.99. I complained to staff and showed them my VIP wristband, but the man just pointed to a sign and said;
"It's posted everywhere sir"
Sure enough it was. "All attendees must pay $9.99 to watch the video" The sign was very clear.
"Classy party Dumont" I teased, "I thought there was supposed to be dinner or something."
"You missed it and it was terrific. You should try to find the kitchen to see if you can still get a plate. totally worth it."
So I set off on a wild mexican goose chase to find the kitchen. I was still in the huge concourse so there were kitchens everywhere. I needed to find the RIGHT kitchen. Eventually I found myself outside the concourse in front of a catering wagon, you know, the shiny quilted chrome type that show up to construction work sites at lunch time. I stood in front of the three women round who worked there for 3 long minutes only waiting to ask them if they knew where the "All You Ever Needed" kitchen was but they were completely ignoring me even though there were no other customers. Finally I picked up a few of the hard purple candies on the counter in front of me and I threw them really hard one after another at one of the women totally beaning her in the head and glasses. When she turned to me I noticed that she wasn't a woman at all but a man with FAT Woman Butt disorder and he looked at me with a look of utter contempt.
"You have to admit, throwing hard candy to get your attention is pretty god damned hilarious." I tried to convince him.
"Yeah, I suppose it is" he agreed. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for the All You Ever Needed kitchen, I arrived late and I was hoping I could still get dinner."
"Wow, you were invited to that? That's like the most expensive ticket in town, not a dinner you want to miss. They are all gone, I saw them drive out about 15 minutes ago. Bummer. Want a Pig in a Poncho?"
"Pig in a poncho? Holy shit, I invented that! Sure I'll have one."
He placed a long mustard covered polish hot dog on a grilled flour tortilla, put some jalapeños on it, wrapped it up tight and handed it to me.
"No charge. Best invention ever, I bought my house with your invention."
"Good for you, the only thing I ever got from my invention was Fat Woman Butt."
Told you I know what's up.
I was at dinner at his house with my old friend and occasional bandmate Adrian. The house was lovely, the dining room where we sat seemed as if it hadn't change since a remodel done during the success of Burt's Cannonball Run movies. The overly long dining room table was made out of a deep reddish magenta rosewood and was covered with a layer of gloss so thick it was as if it was topped with a layer of glass. I could even see my reflection. Boy did I look handsome.
Dinner took forever to come but that was OK because the seats were comfortable, what wasn't comfortable was the direction of the dinner conversation. Burt had a long spreadsheet tablet of paper laid out on the table. -- The sheets were very wide and skinny, like wide paper ribbons and on them he had Adrian's entire financial history written in sharpie and laid out in a timeline. He was pitching Adrian on some financial planning and some tax shelter schemes. As an observer, I was able to keep my attention focused on Burt's face while Adrian pointed to specific events in his financial timeline. Each time Adrian would make a suggestion or ask a certain tax related question about a certain event, Burt's big mustache would twitch, his stretched out plastic surgery impaired eyes would shift and dart around like a used car salesman and he'd say something along the lines of
"Whoa boy, now that's a doozie, ya gotta be real careful there cuz they'll gitchya."
He was blatantly fanning the flames of Adrian's financial fears an I knew it. I know people herald him as "The Financial Saint to The Stars" but I could smell a rat and that rat looked just like Burt Reynolds. I mean who has a nude portrait of Loni Anderson hanging over their dining room table? I don't care if they dated or not, they broke up like 20 years ago. What a sheister. Oh yeah , Catherine, one of my newer mySpace friends with the librarian glasses was there too. She didn't say anything but I could tell that she thought Burt Reynolds was a sheister too. MORE PROOF!
After dinner at Burt's we went to the set of a new video, show or some dealie in which Adrian was involved. I brought my video camera to document it all like the old days. It was super boring and I wouldn't even mention it at all except and a bit of terrible news was revealed while watching the instant replays. I could see myself from behind in some of the shots and it appears that I have developed an awful case of Fat Woman Butt. This is by FAR the worst way for a man to get fat. I will diet immediately. Fat Woman Butt on a man is grounds for suicide and that's no joke.
We took a break to watch a movie on mini DV. It was a Dr. Seuss Christmas movie that I had never seen. I sat in a recliner made out of packed snow. Lemme tell ya, there is nothing better than a recliner made out of snow and I was sure to let everyone know about it. BTW, whose bright Idea was it to invite my mother? She was bugging the crap out of me.
After the movie it was back to work. Adrian had a scene he was acting out with Robert DeNiro. DeNiro couldn't get his lines right. There was no director to be found so a peanut gallery which included myself and about 5 other geniuses formed and stepped in to help. It wasn't helping at all. Each time he'd do a line, three or four geniuses in the directors gallery would chime in with "Maybe you should go....". It was obviously becoming more about the many directors competing for influence than it was about art. By take 34 I was getting fed up and I stood up and began an angry rant:
"YOU NEED TO BE ANGRY YOU LITTLE PEICE OF SHIT!!" I screamed at DeNiro.
It was just the motivation he needed as he became livid at the notion of some Fat Woman Butted amateur directing him.
"Now channel that anger you are feeling towards me into the scene" I said.
He did it and everyone agreed that the next take was the best of DeNiro's career.
Told you I know what's up.
Later in the evening I had to choose which of the many holiday party invitations I was going to accept. They were all located pretty much in the same place so I thought I'd just swing by each one to see which one had the best food or highest ticket price to get in. I'm frugal like that. I think of value.
The place was a big dimly lit concourse divided into many different parties. Some looked like school cafeterias, some looked really Las Vegas loungey, it had sort of an airport food court vibe. I kept thinking,
"This is like a giant Mormon stake house. I haven't been in one of these things for years."
I stopped by many parties, said hello to the random friends and people who had invited me and then snuck out the side door to see what the next one was all about. I was most excited about the one to which my friend Tom Dumont had invited me. He's not known for being fooled by Hollywood hype which usually either means that the party is gonna be a complete bore or it's gonna be the highest quality around. I stopped at one of those "you are here" maps they have in the mall to get my bearings and I eventually found Tom's party. It was in a strip mall style movie theater. I went to the will call window and picked up my shiny gold VIP passes and went in.
"Where the fuck is seat 3718?" I mumbled to myself as I looked at the maze of aisles and layers of steps laid out before me"
As I wandered about, it became obvious that I arrived during a lull in the program. The theater seats were barely a 3rd full and people were scattered all over the multi tiered theater in no particular fashion except random. I finally figured out that 3718 meant row 37, seat 18 and I was kinda bummed because seat number 18 was obviously gonna be in the middle of the row. I spotted Dumont and we did our hellos and what not.
"So what did I miss?" I asked.
"Oh the B52's just finished, they were pretty good."
I'm not a big fan of the B52's so I was not bummed at all that I missed them.
The theater staff came out and made every person present feel as if they were in the way as they shuffled seats and tables from here to there. A loud foriegn voice came over the big blue loudspeaker and announced that a video was going to be the next big thing on the agenda but that if we wished to watch it it would be an additional $9.99. I complained to staff and showed them my VIP wristband, but the man just pointed to a sign and said;
"It's posted everywhere sir"
Sure enough it was. "All attendees must pay $9.99 to watch the video" The sign was very clear.
"Classy party Dumont" I teased, "I thought there was supposed to be dinner or something."
"You missed it and it was terrific. You should try to find the kitchen to see if you can still get a plate. totally worth it."
So I set off on a wild mexican goose chase to find the kitchen. I was still in the huge concourse so there were kitchens everywhere. I needed to find the RIGHT kitchen. Eventually I found myself outside the concourse in front of a catering wagon, you know, the shiny quilted chrome type that show up to construction work sites at lunch time. I stood in front of the three women round who worked there for 3 long minutes only waiting to ask them if they knew where the "All You Ever Needed" kitchen was but they were completely ignoring me even though there were no other customers. Finally I picked up a few of the hard purple candies on the counter in front of me and I threw them really hard one after another at one of the women totally beaning her in the head and glasses. When she turned to me I noticed that she wasn't a woman at all but a man with FAT Woman Butt disorder and he looked at me with a look of utter contempt.
"You have to admit, throwing hard candy to get your attention is pretty god damned hilarious." I tried to convince him.
"Yeah, I suppose it is" he agreed. "How can I help you?"
"I'm looking for the All You Ever Needed kitchen, I arrived late and I was hoping I could still get dinner."
"Wow, you were invited to that? That's like the most expensive ticket in town, not a dinner you want to miss. They are all gone, I saw them drive out about 15 minutes ago. Bummer. Want a Pig in a Poncho?"
"Pig in a poncho? Holy shit, I invented that! Sure I'll have one."
He placed a long mustard covered polish hot dog on a grilled flour tortilla, put some jalapeños on it, wrapped it up tight and handed it to me.
"No charge. Best invention ever, I bought my house with your invention."
"Good for you, the only thing I ever got from my invention was Fat Woman Butt."
Told you I know what's up.
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