There is a neighborhood down south completely filled with gigantic identical victorian mansions, like 50 of them all at least 4 stories high, 40 rooms each, crazy jagged roof lines, bay windows, turrets, covered in dark brown shingles, you know, the whole deal. Nobody knows about the neighborhood because early in the last century an eccentric billionaire covered the entire thing with a gigantic bunker to protect it from world war II which, as the story goes, he accurately predicted 20 years in advance.
Anyway, I went there yesterday, one of the few to ever be invited. I forget the billionaires name but his super pale red headed great grand daughter was the one showing me around. He certainly was paranoid about bombs, the ceiling over this gigantic structure was pure iron and cement and over three feet thick. You can tell that he was attempting to keep the bunker a little in keeping with the victorian design, well, as much as you can with bunker materials anyway. If you can imagine a structure that is one part cathedral, one part bunker, one part parking garage and one part Donald Trump Cobwebs and filled with 50 identical victorian mansions you'll get the picture.
As much I wanted to stick around and rummage through all the vacant mansions, the reason why I was in Southern Cal was that another friend of mine was purchasing a mansion of his very own and he wanted me to come and consult bout certain possible design ideas. The place was huge and prettty cool. I was really happy that he too was going for victorian/edwardian because I was really expecting him to hop on the trendy boring train and go mid century modern, yawn. So I helped him out there for a bit making it look fantastic.
Later I met up with some siblings for lunch.
"whatcha doin in southern cal?" asked my brother.
"Oh I just bought a house down here." I said.
"Really? what did you do with your house in SF?"
"Sold it." I said. "I got 7 million for it so I bought a big victorian mansion up in the hills."
Right about then I realized I was telling a big fat lie. Not sure why it didn't seem like a lie when it first started coming out of my mouth but by the time I was finished saying it I realized that A) I didn't sell my house in SF and B) I was referring to the house my friend just bought and C) I really had no interest in moving to LA.
"Well lets go check it out." said my sister.
"Uhhh, ummm, ok, except I can't remember how to get there I don't think." I wasn't lying.
"How can you not know how to get to your own house?" asked my brother.
That's when I changed the subject.
That's also when some cousins showed up driving a red honda civic that was exactly twice the size, to scale, of a regular honda civic, a homemade version at that. It was cool because it made all the people inside it look like munchkins. Too bad it also took up two lanes on the freeway and caused major traffic jams and horrible car accidents or it might be really fun to drive around more than once a week.
Also I had sex with the red haired great grand daughter girl with the really really really white skin.
She had a blue vagina.
What can I say?
I had to.
I'm patriotic.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught believing your own accidental bullshit.
Your Time Magazine's Reflex of The Year,
Pee Shivers
December 21, 2007
December 20, 2007
The Truth Behind Michael J. Fox's Recent Bout With Squirm Disease, The Old Paper German Hotel & Then and Then and Then and Then..
Remember the Family Ties episode where Alex gets hooked on speed? Well I have writing credits on that show.
Last night I was trying to tell people this as we were watching it and everyone was accusing me of being a liar so the whole time we're watching it I told them the long story about how I met Michael J. Fox and he really was on drugs and I lectured to him about how if he kept doing drugs he'd end up with Stephen Hawkings disease (confirmed speed freak). Obviously MJ didn't take my advice and he's payin for it now, but my speech is what inspired that episode and they gave me full writing credits.
"Just wait till the end of the show you little fucks and you'll see my name in the credits as a writer." I said as my sister stood on the other side of the room smelling the placard commemorating all my great achievements.
When the end came we slowed down the TV and watched the credits and Lo and BEHOLD!!!>>>>>.......
No credit for merkley???
I was half pissed and half embarrassed until I remembered that I made up the whole story when I was a kid but I told it so many times that I actually developed a memory of it happening.
Ahhh shut up, I can hear you moaning. Before you get all high on your chihuahua about the lies of my youth, let me ask you this:
Did Michael J. Fox end up with a squirmy disease?
I rest my case.
If I say it happened,
whether it actually did or not,
IT HAPPENED.
Best take note.
After that I checked into an old german hotel made out of old german paper in which there was a giant sofa that made me feel like I was 10. The next door neighbor girl who has the window next to mine was there trying to make me jealous hanging out with some chump. It bugged the hell out of me that it worked, but I didn't let on, instead I went into the theater and performed an awesome impromptu play for my high school drama teacher who is my biggest fan.
Then I made a book cover out of glued pencils.
Then I won an argument with some idiot about CREDIT.
Then I got smashed up against a wall behind a big metal door.
Then I argued with the hotel staff about their no visitor policy and how it was going to destroy my play.
Then I lots of other stuffed.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught sticking your nose quite literally in your siblings achievements.
Your Favorite Winter Olympic Memory,
Tanya Harding
Last night I was trying to tell people this as we were watching it and everyone was accusing me of being a liar so the whole time we're watching it I told them the long story about how I met Michael J. Fox and he really was on drugs and I lectured to him about how if he kept doing drugs he'd end up with Stephen Hawkings disease (confirmed speed freak). Obviously MJ didn't take my advice and he's payin for it now, but my speech is what inspired that episode and they gave me full writing credits.
"Just wait till the end of the show you little fucks and you'll see my name in the credits as a writer." I said as my sister stood on the other side of the room smelling the placard commemorating all my great achievements.
When the end came we slowed down the TV and watched the credits and Lo and BEHOLD!!!>>>>>.......
No credit for merkley???
I was half pissed and half embarrassed until I remembered that I made up the whole story when I was a kid but I told it so many times that I actually developed a memory of it happening.
Ahhh shut up, I can hear you moaning. Before you get all high on your chihuahua about the lies of my youth, let me ask you this:
Did Michael J. Fox end up with a squirmy disease?
I rest my case.
If I say it happened,
whether it actually did or not,
IT HAPPENED.
Best take note.
After that I checked into an old german hotel made out of old german paper in which there was a giant sofa that made me feel like I was 10. The next door neighbor girl who has the window next to mine was there trying to make me jealous hanging out with some chump. It bugged the hell out of me that it worked, but I didn't let on, instead I went into the theater and performed an awesome impromptu play for my high school drama teacher who is my biggest fan.
Then I made a book cover out of glued pencils.
Then I won an argument with some idiot about CREDIT.
Then I got smashed up against a wall behind a big metal door.
Then I argued with the hotel staff about their no visitor policy and how it was going to destroy my play.
Then I lots of other stuffed.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught sticking your nose quite literally in your siblings achievements.
Your Favorite Winter Olympic Memory,
Tanya Harding
December 19, 2007
Neighborly Late Night Macaroni Noises, Taking The Pillow Bridge to Sandwichville & The Multi Racial Polygamist Racists That Run General Motors
A really cute girl I have been flirting with lately moved in next door about a week ago. I never really realized how close my window is to what is now her window until she moved in. Since I already knew her before she moved in, I'm pretending that she chose that apartment largely in part due to the window placement being just inches from mine. We quickly got in the habit of leaving our windows open so that we could lay in bed and have conversations with each other. Her bed is literally like a foot from mine. It's almost like having a roommate except there is no feeling of having your personal space invaded. If I were romantic I'd describe the smell of her freshly washed hair and body breezing into my room but I'm not romantic so I will just cut to the chase.
Last night in the middle of the night we figured out that if we smashed our pillows right up against each other through the windows, it actually created a bridge strong enough to outstretch our bodies and actually share the same space. We spent a few minutes half in my house, half in hers, you know just testing out our little pillow bridge but then we figured out how easy it is for her to crawl out of her window and into mine in the middle of the night for some interesting activities that involve a little nudity and macaroni and cheese noises. So that's what we did.
She has a tattoo on her neck that smells like caramel.
After we were done on my side of the pillow bridge we crawled back through the window into her bed and she popped a porn dvd in the computer. At first I was like,"oh, ok, nothin wrong with a little late night porn." But then I realized that the girls in the porn were her and another girl that I recently photographed. It was kinda surprising but not nearly as surprising as my reaction which ranked somewhere between jealousy and a feeling of abandonment. I couldn't quite determine where my wussy reaction was coming from. Then I realized that it was because nobody invited me to the party where they made the porn. Had I BEEN invited It might've been different. She tried to tell me that they made it especially for me but I didn't believe her until she called a shiny asian roommate of hers into the room and we did sandwichy type junk til THEY both got jealous of EACH OTHER -- see how I turn that shit around? I know what the fuck I'm doing. Ok, I had nothing to do with it, bitches are territorial motherfuckers.
Not sure why, but I think I have a crush on girl I recently photographed now that I have seen her doing porn, leftover Mormon Oppression Over Correction Syndrome I bet
Anyway, all was all interrupted when an old friend of mine from Utah showed up looking for his shiny asian cousin who lived next door on the other side. I quickly put 2 and 2 together and realized that his cousin was the baloney in the sandwich I just mentioned so I kept real quiet about it and changed the subject real quick like.
I herded my friend back into his car and he insisted that I get in it with him. I thought for sure he was gonna bust me about doing naked stuff with his shiny asian cousin but instead we just drove to the big General Motors headquarters in Oakland where his polygamist family were in charge of everything and discussing the recent news that his negro cousin was accused of murder and of course everyone was shaking their heads at the "coincidence" it was the only negro family member of the family that was ever accused of a crime and the worst part is that they all believed he did it, you know on the account of him bein negro, duh. Just kidding, How could I ascertain that info from a couple dozen wagging heads? BECAUSE ALL WHITES BELIEVE IT WHEN BLACKS ARE ACCUSED OF CRIME THAT'S WHY. Just kidding.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying "just kidding" after totally true shit to absolve yourself of all responsibility.
Your Favorite YouTube Search Query
Masturbating Animal
Last night in the middle of the night we figured out that if we smashed our pillows right up against each other through the windows, it actually created a bridge strong enough to outstretch our bodies and actually share the same space. We spent a few minutes half in my house, half in hers, you know just testing out our little pillow bridge but then we figured out how easy it is for her to crawl out of her window and into mine in the middle of the night for some interesting activities that involve a little nudity and macaroni and cheese noises. So that's what we did.
She has a tattoo on her neck that smells like caramel.
After we were done on my side of the pillow bridge we crawled back through the window into her bed and she popped a porn dvd in the computer. At first I was like,"oh, ok, nothin wrong with a little late night porn." But then I realized that the girls in the porn were her and another girl that I recently photographed. It was kinda surprising but not nearly as surprising as my reaction which ranked somewhere between jealousy and a feeling of abandonment. I couldn't quite determine where my wussy reaction was coming from. Then I realized that it was because nobody invited me to the party where they made the porn. Had I BEEN invited It might've been different. She tried to tell me that they made it especially for me but I didn't believe her until she called a shiny asian roommate of hers into the room and we did sandwichy type junk til THEY both got jealous of EACH OTHER -- see how I turn that shit around? I know what the fuck I'm doing. Ok, I had nothing to do with it, bitches are territorial motherfuckers.
Not sure why, but I think I have a crush on girl I recently photographed now that I have seen her doing porn, leftover Mormon Oppression Over Correction Syndrome I bet
Anyway, all was all interrupted when an old friend of mine from Utah showed up looking for his shiny asian cousin who lived next door on the other side. I quickly put 2 and 2 together and realized that his cousin was the baloney in the sandwich I just mentioned so I kept real quiet about it and changed the subject real quick like.
I herded my friend back into his car and he insisted that I get in it with him. I thought for sure he was gonna bust me about doing naked stuff with his shiny asian cousin but instead we just drove to the big General Motors headquarters in Oakland where his polygamist family were in charge of everything and discussing the recent news that his negro cousin was accused of murder and of course everyone was shaking their heads at the "coincidence" it was the only negro family member of the family that was ever accused of a crime and the worst part is that they all believed he did it, you know on the account of him bein negro, duh. Just kidding, How could I ascertain that info from a couple dozen wagging heads? BECAUSE ALL WHITES BELIEVE IT WHEN BLACKS ARE ACCUSED OF CRIME THAT'S WHY. Just kidding.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying "just kidding" after totally true shit to absolve yourself of all responsibility.
Your Favorite YouTube Search Query
Masturbating Animal
December 18, 2007
How Yalls Be The Benefactors of My Miracle Diet, Bitch Makes One Weak Ass Whiskey Coke Slurpee & Frowny Korean Cunts Threaten Me With Kim Jong Illness
I've already bragged to alls yalls about how I lost 350 lbs in three months by completely eliminating oxygen from my diet but since most of you don't live here in the great gay mecca, yalls don't get to see how the fine citizens of SF are the true benefactors of my miracle weightloss. How are THEY the benefactors yalls ask? Well, ever since the drop, I , of course, never pass an opportunity to take my shirt off and by opportunity I mean any situation involving the public aka yalls at large. Yalls would too if YALLS waist was only 16 inches and yalls pectoral muscles rippled and twitched even at rest.
</yalls>
So yeah, last night I shitrlessly waited around for stuff to happen. I waited at bars, I waited in waiting rooms full of snakes, I waited in hotel rooms with bad lighting, I even waited around on a park bench. Save an old friend ignoring me at the bar where she has recently become bartender, nothing happend. Ok so she didn't ignore me completely but she was totally blowing me off and not taking my drink order. So what if I was busy shirtlessly reading and refusing to make eye contact, she is my friend, she should have brought me my favorite drink without even having to ask. When she did finally bring my drink, although her sentiment was apologetic and worth the waity, I didn't really want an entire pitcher of weak whiskey Coke Slurpee. NO TIP FOR HER.
Later in the day I was invited to an old friend's old roommate's new illegal apartment. I had to snek through 5 million backyards to get there and in every one of those 5 million back yards were 10 korean ladies with frownlines ten inches deep just waiting to take my picture and report me to the housing board even though I WAS JUST ATTEMPTING TO VISIT SOMEONE I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO VISIT!!, MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS KOREA!!
Anyway once we finally got there I taught her some of my 3d paint texturing methods and we turned her crappy little back yard hut into the fricken TAJ MAJAL. good thing a bunch of diaper sporting muslims didn't get all bow downy in the back yard. They all stink like pizza shops. Not that that's bad, just makin conversation. Why don't you just relax?
I forgot to mention that for the entire day my old Navajo pal from high school followed me around with his expensive digital video camera. He dropped the camera at least 10 times. Don't think he was cut out for show biz.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing "You be Kim Jong Illin" to old frowny Korean bitches who don't like RUN DMC on account of straight up RACISM.
Your Favorite Saintly Collectors of Starving Brown Kids,
Brad & Ang
</yalls>
So yeah, last night I shitrlessly waited around for stuff to happen. I waited at bars, I waited in waiting rooms full of snakes, I waited in hotel rooms with bad lighting, I even waited around on a park bench. Save an old friend ignoring me at the bar where she has recently become bartender, nothing happend. Ok so she didn't ignore me completely but she was totally blowing me off and not taking my drink order. So what if I was busy shirtlessly reading and refusing to make eye contact, she is my friend, she should have brought me my favorite drink without even having to ask. When she did finally bring my drink, although her sentiment was apologetic and worth the waity, I didn't really want an entire pitcher of weak whiskey Coke Slurpee. NO TIP FOR HER.
Later in the day I was invited to an old friend's old roommate's new illegal apartment. I had to snek through 5 million backyards to get there and in every one of those 5 million back yards were 10 korean ladies with frownlines ten inches deep just waiting to take my picture and report me to the housing board even though I WAS JUST ATTEMPTING TO VISIT SOMEONE I DIDN'T EVEN WANT TO VISIT!!, MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS KOREA!!
Anyway once we finally got there I taught her some of my 3d paint texturing methods and we turned her crappy little back yard hut into the fricken TAJ MAJAL. good thing a bunch of diaper sporting muslims didn't get all bow downy in the back yard. They all stink like pizza shops. Not that that's bad, just makin conversation. Why don't you just relax?
I forgot to mention that for the entire day my old Navajo pal from high school followed me around with his expensive digital video camera. He dropped the camera at least 10 times. Don't think he was cut out for show biz.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing "You be Kim Jong Illin" to old frowny Korean bitches who don't like RUN DMC on account of straight up RACISM.
Your Favorite Saintly Collectors of Starving Brown Kids,
Brad & Ang
December 15, 2007
The Tiniest Camper Ride, Gayin It Up For The Passive Aggresso Closet Homo Director & It's Not The Actual Poopstain That Bugged Me But The PRINCIPLE!!!
I took a ride in the smallest camper on earth. My feet were sticking out the back and my face was smashed up against the front window. My friend was riding with me and his bony elbow was stabbing the crap out of me. That's the last time I'm gonna agree to that kind of bullcrud. I'm riding up front from now on.
When we got to the flea market I realized that once again my fucking shoes were gone. I'm thinking about seeing a therapist about this. For all I know I have some kind of unknown mental disorder that causes me to abandon my shoes without realizing it.
Anyway, luckily we were at the flea market and there were plenty of shoes around although none of them were totally RAD like I like.
I bargained with a fat old woman about a huge furry yellow rug. She claimed it was on layaway and that I had to be a member of a certain family lineage to qualify to buy it so I played some Jedi mind tricks on her and bought it for half price.
I hated Star Wars by the way and I regret using that "jedi" reference above but I'm not gonna go back and change it now that I have spent 20 seconds typing the current sentence. Yeah, 20 seconds, you heard me. I never learned how to type, two fingers fuckers -- deal.
Later on at the read-through for the new movie I'm in, the director/writer seemed like he really wasn't digging the way I was delivering my lines. Rather than communicating to me what he was after, he just passively aggressively shifted in his seat and twisted his fingers. I took a second and looked at him up and down and determined that he was a closeted homo so even though nothing about the script suggested that my character was gay I decided to give it a 100% Paul Lynde meets Charles Nelson Riley spin and lo and behold a gigantic smile flopped off his head. Then I chased him around with doing my best gay run, you know, way over doing it like a show off.
"Come-ere YOU QUEEN, why didn't you tell me you wawnted me to be a hoe-moe, I'm gowna pich yo butt." I yelled.
I just realized I sounded like whatzername from The Carrol Burnett Show who spun off and did Mammas Family, umm I think Mamma was her name.
Or maybe it was Gomer Pile, anyway, it was OLD SCHOOL homo for sure.
Anyway my fag impersonation was a big hit and from then on I was the hero of the set. I admit that I maybe let it go to my head a little because I started bossing everyone around telling them how to do their jobs including the special effects dudes who couldn't make a convincing flying smoke ball to save their dicks. It's not like I was just arguing to argue, I'm just extremely annoyed with incompetence. My two best friends from high school were there and being the suckups they are, refused to back me up, hoping somehow their yes-man-ness would somehow magically advance their acting careers. Of course suckups never get where they wanna go unless where they wanna go is Douchebag Film Directors Lower Bowels Land.
Which ain't a bad vacation spot in all truthfulness, well that's what gay penises tell me anyway.
I know you're sitting there thinking that I was probably being unreasonable on the movie set but that's because you don't know that one of my biggest complaints was with the wardrobe department that expected me to wear a wet costume complete with a clearly visible 9 inch long poop stain on the ass flap. SEE? Don't jump the gun with your judgments. You don't know me.
I'm still in character a little bit. That's dedication.
PRINCIPLES PEOPLE --- HAVE THEM.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving the closet gay director a slow wedgy to prove you ain't bothered by his homocity.
Your Gay Run Champion
Ronald RayGun
When we got to the flea market I realized that once again my fucking shoes were gone. I'm thinking about seeing a therapist about this. For all I know I have some kind of unknown mental disorder that causes me to abandon my shoes without realizing it.
Anyway, luckily we were at the flea market and there were plenty of shoes around although none of them were totally RAD like I like.
I bargained with a fat old woman about a huge furry yellow rug. She claimed it was on layaway and that I had to be a member of a certain family lineage to qualify to buy it so I played some Jedi mind tricks on her and bought it for half price.
I hated Star Wars by the way and I regret using that "jedi" reference above but I'm not gonna go back and change it now that I have spent 20 seconds typing the current sentence. Yeah, 20 seconds, you heard me. I never learned how to type, two fingers fuckers -- deal.
Later on at the read-through for the new movie I'm in, the director/writer seemed like he really wasn't digging the way I was delivering my lines. Rather than communicating to me what he was after, he just passively aggressively shifted in his seat and twisted his fingers. I took a second and looked at him up and down and determined that he was a closeted homo so even though nothing about the script suggested that my character was gay I decided to give it a 100% Paul Lynde meets Charles Nelson Riley spin and lo and behold a gigantic smile flopped off his head. Then I chased him around with doing my best gay run, you know, way over doing it like a show off.
"Come-ere YOU QUEEN, why didn't you tell me you wawnted me to be a hoe-moe, I'm gowna pich yo butt." I yelled.
I just realized I sounded like whatzername from The Carrol Burnett Show who spun off and did Mammas Family, umm I think Mamma was her name.
Or maybe it was Gomer Pile, anyway, it was OLD SCHOOL homo for sure.
Anyway my fag impersonation was a big hit and from then on I was the hero of the set. I admit that I maybe let it go to my head a little because I started bossing everyone around telling them how to do their jobs including the special effects dudes who couldn't make a convincing flying smoke ball to save their dicks. It's not like I was just arguing to argue, I'm just extremely annoyed with incompetence. My two best friends from high school were there and being the suckups they are, refused to back me up, hoping somehow their yes-man-ness would somehow magically advance their acting careers. Of course suckups never get where they wanna go unless where they wanna go is Douchebag Film Directors Lower Bowels Land.
Which ain't a bad vacation spot in all truthfulness, well that's what gay penises tell me anyway.
I know you're sitting there thinking that I was probably being unreasonable on the movie set but that's because you don't know that one of my biggest complaints was with the wardrobe department that expected me to wear a wet costume complete with a clearly visible 9 inch long poop stain on the ass flap. SEE? Don't jump the gun with your judgments. You don't know me.
I'm still in character a little bit. That's dedication.
PRINCIPLES PEOPLE --- HAVE THEM.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving the closet gay director a slow wedgy to prove you ain't bothered by his homocity.
Your Gay Run Champion
Ronald RayGun
December 13, 2007
The Swampy Southern California Money Garden, A Pickle Bottle Of Money For a Shithouse in a Glass Box & Barry Bonds' Bionic Butthole
Went to Southern California to visit a friend yesterday. He bought a new house and boy oh boy was it ever a doozie. Generally I am unimpressed when people go nuts spending millions of dollars on more and more stuff, increasing the size of their homes by building additions and tennis courts and such, but my friend really took the time to WASTE his money, and by that I mean by spending it on completely ridiculous things such as a money garden. Of course the money garden would be great if it actually grew money but that would require magic and magic doesn't exist now does it? No this was merely a garden made out of folded and glued hundred dollar bills, a couple million dollars worth at least. At first I wanted to take the line of thinking that he could have done something better with the money, like maybe buying a new fake leg for a gimp, but then again I liked the idea that he was really putting on display how unimportant money really is. After all it's just paper.
He also had a rotating bedroom, a bunch of fake caves and 15 or 20 family members living in huts around the property. None of it was really aesthetically pleasing but hey, can't blame a guy for trying.
the other thing interesting was that his huge mutli-million dollar estate was smack dab in the middle of one of the shittiest poorly kept neighborhoods I have ever seen. I always thought southern Cal was a desert but this neighborhood was covered with all kinds of mold and moss. Nobody had painted their houses in decades at least. The whole thing was in a state of decay.
"You know, that house would be perfect for a project I have wanted to do since I was a kid." I said to him as I pointed out a particularly decrepit mid-sized house with missing windows and shingles.
"Yeah what project is that?" he asked.
"I have always wanted to take an old house like that and build a green house, about twice the size of the original house, around it, you know to encase the house so that it never needs paint again, it just gets preserved just like it is, like putting it in a bottle. It would also be cool to build a quonset hut around it too but then nobody could see what an awesome idea it is."
"Well you should buy it. Those people are assholes."
"If I had to execute every idea I ever had I'd never have time to think of new ideas, why don't YOU buy it and do my idea."
"OK I will."
Then we went and he bought the house with a big pickle bottle full of money. I don't need no big projects.
I think ALL athletes should take steroids as much as they want. I think sports should be about freaks. I propose more drugs, more bionics and even weaponry be added to the list of things encouraged in sports. Bring on the freakshow is what I say. Boxing would be so much cooler if the audience could throw rocks and the blow torches were mandatory. Blow torches now are optional. That's lame.
Oh yeah, there was a dead person floating in my friends pool, I was gonna say something to him about it but I didn't want to be rude.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to steal the fake wifi frogs from the real swamp.
Your Never Ending Boring Gay Joke,
Ryan Seacrest
He also had a rotating bedroom, a bunch of fake caves and 15 or 20 family members living in huts around the property. None of it was really aesthetically pleasing but hey, can't blame a guy for trying.
the other thing interesting was that his huge mutli-million dollar estate was smack dab in the middle of one of the shittiest poorly kept neighborhoods I have ever seen. I always thought southern Cal was a desert but this neighborhood was covered with all kinds of mold and moss. Nobody had painted their houses in decades at least. The whole thing was in a state of decay.
"You know, that house would be perfect for a project I have wanted to do since I was a kid." I said to him as I pointed out a particularly decrepit mid-sized house with missing windows and shingles.
"Yeah what project is that?" he asked.
"I have always wanted to take an old house like that and build a green house, about twice the size of the original house, around it, you know to encase the house so that it never needs paint again, it just gets preserved just like it is, like putting it in a bottle. It would also be cool to build a quonset hut around it too but then nobody could see what an awesome idea it is."
"Well you should buy it. Those people are assholes."
"If I had to execute every idea I ever had I'd never have time to think of new ideas, why don't YOU buy it and do my idea."
"OK I will."
Then we went and he bought the house with a big pickle bottle full of money. I don't need no big projects.
I think ALL athletes should take steroids as much as they want. I think sports should be about freaks. I propose more drugs, more bionics and even weaponry be added to the list of things encouraged in sports. Bring on the freakshow is what I say. Boxing would be so much cooler if the audience could throw rocks and the blow torches were mandatory. Blow torches now are optional. That's lame.
Oh yeah, there was a dead person floating in my friends pool, I was gonna say something to him about it but I didn't want to be rude.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to steal the fake wifi frogs from the real swamp.
Your Never Ending Boring Gay Joke,
Ryan Seacrest
Judging By The Douche Riding It, It Might Have Been A Bidet Motorcycle, Drunk In Sunday School & Stretchy Nipples and Orphans on Good Morning America
I saw a motorcycle yesterday that looked like a toilet, not like a funny toilet joke bike, but kind of an accidental toilet. I suppose most of it was because it was all white, and you know how new crotch rocket style bikes are all smooth and lumpy, you know, kinda like the profile of your toilet bowl, well this one just went a little further. It's not a really bad idea really. Toilets are useful. But I did want to flush it. The douchebag riding it probably didn't think it looked like a toilet. He looked like he thought it was really cooool.
I sometimes go back to church to kinda fuck with the system, you know, cuz churches aren't really too adept at kicking people out that want to come especially if they are like me and pretend that they really want to be there. Seems like a lot of people go to church for that reason these days. As they were holding elections for the new sunday school president, a bunch of us hooligans hung out in the back taking swigs out of our flasks as we mocked the elections and basically just threw in a wrench wherever we thought there needed to be one. The woman in charge, who was unfortunately not all too different in appearance from The Church Lady was getting impatient with us but you could see that she believed that the lord was testing her so she grinned and bore it whenever we fucked with her.
The new church organs have all kinds of cool beats and vintage synth sounds. I created some pretty sick jams. The congregation pretended not to like them but I know in their head they were thinking "Ah yeah, dis is da SHIT rightch hurr!". White people think with bad black voice when they hear sick beats. It's a fact.
Later on a super coked out girl wearing a transparent bikini was trying to get me to have sex with her but her coked outness was really unattractive, plus we were standing around with a bunch of orphans that Meredith Viera was interviewing for Good Morning America. Well, actually, that's the part that made me consider doing it because how cool would that be for america to see early in the morning, let alone the orphans.
Anyway she had super stretchy nipples, like gum almost.
Oh yeah, I lost my shoes again and it wasn't because I was drunk. I think someone is stealing them.
I'm going to pee on a motorcycle now.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing to orphans about transparent underpants even though the words "transparent underpants" sound so musical together.
Your Third Favorite Cast Member of Friends,
Ross
I sometimes go back to church to kinda fuck with the system, you know, cuz churches aren't really too adept at kicking people out that want to come especially if they are like me and pretend that they really want to be there. Seems like a lot of people go to church for that reason these days. As they were holding elections for the new sunday school president, a bunch of us hooligans hung out in the back taking swigs out of our flasks as we mocked the elections and basically just threw in a wrench wherever we thought there needed to be one. The woman in charge, who was unfortunately not all too different in appearance from The Church Lady was getting impatient with us but you could see that she believed that the lord was testing her so she grinned and bore it whenever we fucked with her.
The new church organs have all kinds of cool beats and vintage synth sounds. I created some pretty sick jams. The congregation pretended not to like them but I know in their head they were thinking "Ah yeah, dis is da SHIT rightch hurr!". White people think with bad black voice when they hear sick beats. It's a fact.
Later on a super coked out girl wearing a transparent bikini was trying to get me to have sex with her but her coked outness was really unattractive, plus we were standing around with a bunch of orphans that Meredith Viera was interviewing for Good Morning America. Well, actually, that's the part that made me consider doing it because how cool would that be for america to see early in the morning, let alone the orphans.
Anyway she had super stretchy nipples, like gum almost.
Oh yeah, I lost my shoes again and it wasn't because I was drunk. I think someone is stealing them.
I'm going to pee on a motorcycle now.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing to orphans about transparent underpants even though the words "transparent underpants" sound so musical together.
Your Third Favorite Cast Member of Friends,
Ross
December 11, 2007
My Big Scene With Richard Dreyfuss, The Broccoli Snail Moss Cave & Mr. Archibald's Unwelcome Attention to My Pants
I haven't really talked about it but I've been cast as the lead awesome dude in a big hollywood movie. I forget to show up to the set half the time. That's a lie, I just have an aversion to obligation so I pretend to forget.
Last night we were shooting my scene with Richard Dreyfuss, I haven't read the script because hollywood movies are so predictable that as soon as any other actor says his line all I have to do is say what line I think would come next only more cryptic delayed response style and the director thinks I'm some kind of Robin Williams genius. So anyway, yeah, the elevator shaft scene: Bad guy falls down an elevator shaft. SHOCKING, The only thing is, and I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the stunt man died. But that's what they get paid for.
STUNT MAN STRIKE!!
So yeah, I was saying, my scene with Dreyfuss required me yelling at him using all kinds of insults. Of course it was easy for me because I have always considered him to be extremely annoying and weasley so I just let loose and his veins popped out of his forehead and his face turned red just like he was constantly in What About Bob and so I made fun of his veins and squeaky voice and then I could see that he was actually getting mad for real so I got even more insulting because he is really super short and I thought how cool it would be to drive him to the point of violence.
Anyway, he didn't punch me like I hoped. What a wuss.
Nearby there were some caves that I decided to explore. The walls were covered with a type of green moss that would recoil like like a snails antennae if you got too near. Kinda like broccoli meets -- uh, snail antennae. The interesting part of this moss/mold type substance was that, upon entering the cave it would immediately start sprouting from one's very own hair follicles. Did I mention the cave had a giant moving sidewalk in it? Yeah, kinda touristy, but anyway it was very entertaining watching everyones hair turn into broccoli snail afros. Pubes too. People take their clothes off in the cave because broccoli pubes are fun to see. Admit it.
BTW, if I was a kid who wanted to express my dislike for broccoli to my mother in one word I would simply pronounce it the same way as the deadly disease e-coli: broc-coli and then I might really over do the "broc" part, like "BRAAAAHHWWWK", like a barf sound. But I love broccoli, always have, that's why I leave my jokes here for YOU to use.
Speaking of barf sounds, I made a visit back to my old high school math class. Mr. Archibald was still the teacher, he still looked like a dinosaur bird and he still thought he was funny. This time though I wasn't just some kid, I was a movie star so he was all trying to be nice to me. He brought a whole handful of pens over to my desk.
"Oh you crazy Mr. Archibald, you always did like to overdo it in the pen department." I laughed as I hollywood charm insulted him.
"I see you brought a snack" He said as he was looking down at my crotch area.
I looked down to see if I had left my zipper open, I always suspected Archibald was homo and his comment really grossed me out. But then I noticed he was just acknowledging the bottle of Jim Beam poking out of my pocket.
Still, I don't want Mr. Archibald looking at my pockets. He's even more weasely than Richard Dreyfuss.
In other news, my dad designed his own personal logo shaped like a dragon fly. I told him it was gay and should abandon it immediately. We are honest with things like that, dad and I.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught pouring melty cheese all over everyone in the broccoli cave.
Your Loving Mother,
BRITNEY SPEARS JOKE!
Last night we were shooting my scene with Richard Dreyfuss, I haven't read the script because hollywood movies are so predictable that as soon as any other actor says his line all I have to do is say what line I think would come next only more cryptic delayed response style and the director thinks I'm some kind of Robin Williams genius. So anyway, yeah, the elevator shaft scene: Bad guy falls down an elevator shaft. SHOCKING, The only thing is, and I probably shouldn't tell you this, but the stunt man died. But that's what they get paid for.
STUNT MAN STRIKE!!
So yeah, I was saying, my scene with Dreyfuss required me yelling at him using all kinds of insults. Of course it was easy for me because I have always considered him to be extremely annoying and weasley so I just let loose and his veins popped out of his forehead and his face turned red just like he was constantly in What About Bob and so I made fun of his veins and squeaky voice and then I could see that he was actually getting mad for real so I got even more insulting because he is really super short and I thought how cool it would be to drive him to the point of violence.
Anyway, he didn't punch me like I hoped. What a wuss.
Nearby there were some caves that I decided to explore. The walls were covered with a type of green moss that would recoil like like a snails antennae if you got too near. Kinda like broccoli meets -- uh, snail antennae. The interesting part of this moss/mold type substance was that, upon entering the cave it would immediately start sprouting from one's very own hair follicles. Did I mention the cave had a giant moving sidewalk in it? Yeah, kinda touristy, but anyway it was very entertaining watching everyones hair turn into broccoli snail afros. Pubes too. People take their clothes off in the cave because broccoli pubes are fun to see. Admit it.
BTW, if I was a kid who wanted to express my dislike for broccoli to my mother in one word I would simply pronounce it the same way as the deadly disease e-coli: broc-coli and then I might really over do the "broc" part, like "BRAAAAHHWWWK", like a barf sound. But I love broccoli, always have, that's why I leave my jokes here for YOU to use.
Speaking of barf sounds, I made a visit back to my old high school math class. Mr. Archibald was still the teacher, he still looked like a dinosaur bird and he still thought he was funny. This time though I wasn't just some kid, I was a movie star so he was all trying to be nice to me. He brought a whole handful of pens over to my desk.
"Oh you crazy Mr. Archibald, you always did like to overdo it in the pen department." I laughed as I hollywood charm insulted him.
"I see you brought a snack" He said as he was looking down at my crotch area.
I looked down to see if I had left my zipper open, I always suspected Archibald was homo and his comment really grossed me out. But then I noticed he was just acknowledging the bottle of Jim Beam poking out of my pocket.
Still, I don't want Mr. Archibald looking at my pockets. He's even more weasely than Richard Dreyfuss.
In other news, my dad designed his own personal logo shaped like a dragon fly. I told him it was gay and should abandon it immediately. We are honest with things like that, dad and I.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught pouring melty cheese all over everyone in the broccoli cave.
Your Loving Mother,
BRITNEY SPEARS JOKE!
A Dingleberry on a Sheep Dog's Butt, My Multi-Billion Dollar TV Game Show Deal & Work Your Way OUT of The Mail Room DUDE
I was invited to watch the taping of a new MTV5 program for bands in which all the members are total douchebag 40 something types who never even came close to making it but still cling to the dream like a dingleberry on a sheep dogs butt.
I shouldn't have been surprised when the lead singer of the opening act was the lead singer of my old band from Provo. But I was surprised, not because he was a dingleberry on a sheep dogs butt, but because he wasn't fat and bald anymore, instead he was a fairly in shape Mexican dood who seemed delighted to see me there off in the wings, like I came to see HIM.
"Ha, there's merkley, standin in the wings while I'm up here in the spotlight. Boy I'm sure showin him up. Who's the man NOW huh merkley???" He thought in his head.
"Holy shit, it's bad enough that you accepted the offer to be on a show mocking your very type but the fact that you got spray tanned and had lipo is down right SAD" I thought in my head.
Then we both gave both gave a thumbs up nod to each other.
After the show I pitched my idea for a new reality based game show set in an african village in which overweight american celebrity contestants pick one of 25 numbered gunny sacks held by famine stricken african aids victims, one of which contains an egg salad sandwich, the rest contain anything ranging from a cup of rice to monkey droppings, to a handful of dirt. The fat celebrity contestant gambles away all the other gunnysacks hoping the town's only sandwich is in the one he chose. The famine aids people get to fight over the contents of every gunnysack he gambles away so they are all bad vibing him to not get the sandwich. It's hosted by Richard Simmons. It's kinda like Survivor meets biggest loser meets Howie Mandell and it's called Meal or No Meal.
Bono will sing the theme song.
Of course they offered a contract on the spot so long as the famine stricken aids victims I end up casting are also HOT.
That's fair.
Of course before I signed, I made my way down to the mail room to fed ex the agreement to my lawyer and who do you think was down there holdin court? None other than my old lead singer. It seems he took the phrase "working your way up from the mail room" a little too literally.
Anyway, seems he was in charge down there.
I stood there for a second waiting for my old friend the mail room boss to assert his way out of one of his co-worker's never ending drones so I could fed ex my multi million dollar TV show deal to Jerry Spence. From experience I knew assertion would never ever happen in one billion years. There is a good reason he was workin the mail room. No offense to mail room people.
"Hey boss man pal, how bout growin some nutts and asserting yourself out of the most boring story ever told and mailing my package?" I tossed my envelope and he fumbly caught it."
"Fuck, merkley wasn't supposed to see me in the mail room." He thought.
Then I went and had a sandwich and thought about how awesome my show is gonna be.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught NOT saving african villages by NOT bringing water bottley hollywood people to town.
Your Humane Ambassador To Everywhere,
Extreme Makeover African Village Edition
I shouldn't have been surprised when the lead singer of the opening act was the lead singer of my old band from Provo. But I was surprised, not because he was a dingleberry on a sheep dogs butt, but because he wasn't fat and bald anymore, instead he was a fairly in shape Mexican dood who seemed delighted to see me there off in the wings, like I came to see HIM.
"Ha, there's merkley, standin in the wings while I'm up here in the spotlight. Boy I'm sure showin him up. Who's the man NOW huh merkley???" He thought in his head.
"Holy shit, it's bad enough that you accepted the offer to be on a show mocking your very type but the fact that you got spray tanned and had lipo is down right SAD" I thought in my head.
Then we both gave both gave a thumbs up nod to each other.
After the show I pitched my idea for a new reality based game show set in an african village in which overweight american celebrity contestants pick one of 25 numbered gunny sacks held by famine stricken african aids victims, one of which contains an egg salad sandwich, the rest contain anything ranging from a cup of rice to monkey droppings, to a handful of dirt. The fat celebrity contestant gambles away all the other gunnysacks hoping the town's only sandwich is in the one he chose. The famine aids people get to fight over the contents of every gunnysack he gambles away so they are all bad vibing him to not get the sandwich. It's hosted by Richard Simmons. It's kinda like Survivor meets biggest loser meets Howie Mandell and it's called Meal or No Meal.
Bono will sing the theme song.
Of course they offered a contract on the spot so long as the famine stricken aids victims I end up casting are also HOT.
That's fair.
Of course before I signed, I made my way down to the mail room to fed ex the agreement to my lawyer and who do you think was down there holdin court? None other than my old lead singer. It seems he took the phrase "working your way up from the mail room" a little too literally.
Anyway, seems he was in charge down there.
I stood there for a second waiting for my old friend the mail room boss to assert his way out of one of his co-worker's never ending drones so I could fed ex my multi million dollar TV show deal to Jerry Spence. From experience I knew assertion would never ever happen in one billion years. There is a good reason he was workin the mail room. No offense to mail room people.
"Hey boss man pal, how bout growin some nutts and asserting yourself out of the most boring story ever told and mailing my package?" I tossed my envelope and he fumbly caught it."
"Fuck, merkley wasn't supposed to see me in the mail room." He thought.
Then I went and had a sandwich and thought about how awesome my show is gonna be.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught NOT saving african villages by NOT bringing water bottley hollywood people to town.
Your Humane Ambassador To Everywhere,
Extreme Makeover African Village Edition
December 08, 2007
Not Felting With The Arrogant Prick Fur Traders, My Axe Incident With Chief HeadLikeFourBurgers & "Massausage™", I Invented IT
As cool as fur traders seem to be from a distance, they are a bunch of arrogant pricks close up. Trust me, I spent a bunch of time with some of them last night. It might seem cool to live in shitty conditions just sittin round killing animals and ripping off their furbags, I mean , yeah, SEEMS cool, but when you are actually hanging out tryin to make jokes, you realize that they are all a bunch of arrogant pricks. Did I say all that twice? GOOD.
All I wanted to do was a little felting. If you don't know what that is, it's where you take a handful of fur and basically rub is all together to make the fibers get all tangled together ultimately creating felt. It ain't easy, I used to felt the hair my dogs and cats shed, it's kinda therapeutic. Well these arrogant pricks from last night wouldn't give up any of the fur scraps, It's not like I was asking for a PELT, I was asking for fucking fur that was useless, HAIR. They were all arrogant pricks. Close up that is.
They sure did have a lot of raccoons. Some were pets, most were piled up dead.
Luckily I had an appointment to introduce a local celebrity in the little town square. Unluckily I couldn't find my shoes or pants. The arrogant pricks all made suggestions about what I should do, pointing out all kinds of lame pants and stupid sport shoes with pumps and zippers all over the fuck and . I wasn't about to get onstage with no fur trader hip hop gear Knowwhudmsayn? Feelmeh?
Yeah, so I skipped out on the intro and didn't leave the fur shack until the town square emptied out. It was almost dark. I grabbed the nearest fur trench coat and stepped out into the dusk. I was dressed one part homeless, one part pimp, one part crazy and four or five parts flasher. Whatever, the dirt streets were empty.
A big station wagon pulled up about 100 feet in front of me and a big tall homeless indian fella with a big scar the size of four half cooked hamburger patties on his face crawled out. He went around to the back and pulled out an old stainless steel sink deal that looked like it came out of a fancy restaurant. He carried it over and just plopped it down in front of the house where all the Arrogant Prick Fur Traders lived. He was trying to get rid of it. I wanted it, but instead of playing cool til he left, something, probably having to do with my outfit, caused me to do exactly the opposite of smart.
"Uh, excuse me, you can't leave that there, the dudes in that house are friends of mine and they hate it when people just dump their shit." I lied, not minding nearly enough of my own business.
The hamburger faced indian turned to me and stared at me for a second like I had just told him his mom looks like Bob Hope.
Then I noticed he was holding an axe.
Not just any axe, the big crazy kind you see warriors in comic books swinging around. Where do gigantic indian people get those axes anyway?
I regretted saying anything.
He began to walk towards me, obviously wanting to chop off a chunk of my head, which is what you KNOW would happen, there is no way he wouldda just made a clean swipe and lopped off my head, of COURSE just a chunk of head would come out first and fall in the dirt and then I'd have to pick it up and rinse the dirt off in the gutter. I hate unskilled hamburger faced murdering indians. I mean COME ON, learn how to use an axe.
Back to the story. So I decided to go down the road for about 2 seconds but then I realized it was a dead end. I was doing my best to keep calm and not acknowledge that he was about to take chunks out of my skull, I even considered playing dead for a second but then I remembered that he was a human being and not a moose.
This is the part where I started regretting not putting on some of the Arrogant Prick Fur Trader's hip hop sneakers.
But even then, I knew that if I ran he would probably run faster and was probably looking forward to the chase. It was obvious by the four hamburger scar that he was not new to axe fights.
So what did I do? I faked him out, I looked left then went right. He let the axe fly and it went in the wrong direction, hit a wall and did and oh so unfortunate (for him) bounce up onto the roof.
"HA HA "Navajo" (air quotes), more like Nava"NO!" (gigantic air quotes).
Then I sped walked like a fag right on down the road cuz axe or not, Chief Head Like Four Burgers looked like a biter.
! did my best to hail a cab.
Barefoot in a fur trenchcoat ain't the best outfit for cab catchery. I should have listened to the Arrogant Pricks.
Later on I massaged a naked woman's entire body and since I was massaging, all I could think about was how much humans and sausages have in common, Then I realized massage and sausage are basically the same word. Then I invented the technique called Massausage™. Remind me to write that down. HUGE.
Now I'm hungry.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught stereotyping even ONE native american as an incompetent scalper.
Your Really Really Important Business at Hand,
Barry Bonds
All I wanted to do was a little felting. If you don't know what that is, it's where you take a handful of fur and basically rub is all together to make the fibers get all tangled together ultimately creating felt. It ain't easy, I used to felt the hair my dogs and cats shed, it's kinda therapeutic. Well these arrogant pricks from last night wouldn't give up any of the fur scraps, It's not like I was asking for a PELT, I was asking for fucking fur that was useless, HAIR. They were all arrogant pricks. Close up that is.
They sure did have a lot of raccoons. Some were pets, most were piled up dead.
Luckily I had an appointment to introduce a local celebrity in the little town square. Unluckily I couldn't find my shoes or pants. The arrogant pricks all made suggestions about what I should do, pointing out all kinds of lame pants and stupid sport shoes with pumps and zippers all over the fuck and . I wasn't about to get onstage with no fur trader hip hop gear Knowwhudmsayn? Feelmeh?
Yeah, so I skipped out on the intro and didn't leave the fur shack until the town square emptied out. It was almost dark. I grabbed the nearest fur trench coat and stepped out into the dusk. I was dressed one part homeless, one part pimp, one part crazy and four or five parts flasher. Whatever, the dirt streets were empty.
A big station wagon pulled up about 100 feet in front of me and a big tall homeless indian fella with a big scar the size of four half cooked hamburger patties on his face crawled out. He went around to the back and pulled out an old stainless steel sink deal that looked like it came out of a fancy restaurant. He carried it over and just plopped it down in front of the house where all the Arrogant Prick Fur Traders lived. He was trying to get rid of it. I wanted it, but instead of playing cool til he left, something, probably having to do with my outfit, caused me to do exactly the opposite of smart.
"Uh, excuse me, you can't leave that there, the dudes in that house are friends of mine and they hate it when people just dump their shit." I lied, not minding nearly enough of my own business.
The hamburger faced indian turned to me and stared at me for a second like I had just told him his mom looks like Bob Hope.
Then I noticed he was holding an axe.
Not just any axe, the big crazy kind you see warriors in comic books swinging around. Where do gigantic indian people get those axes anyway?
I regretted saying anything.
He began to walk towards me, obviously wanting to chop off a chunk of my head, which is what you KNOW would happen, there is no way he wouldda just made a clean swipe and lopped off my head, of COURSE just a chunk of head would come out first and fall in the dirt and then I'd have to pick it up and rinse the dirt off in the gutter. I hate unskilled hamburger faced murdering indians. I mean COME ON, learn how to use an axe.
Back to the story. So I decided to go down the road for about 2 seconds but then I realized it was a dead end. I was doing my best to keep calm and not acknowledge that he was about to take chunks out of my skull, I even considered playing dead for a second but then I remembered that he was a human being and not a moose.
This is the part where I started regretting not putting on some of the Arrogant Prick Fur Trader's hip hop sneakers.
But even then, I knew that if I ran he would probably run faster and was probably looking forward to the chase. It was obvious by the four hamburger scar that he was not new to axe fights.
So what did I do? I faked him out, I looked left then went right. He let the axe fly and it went in the wrong direction, hit a wall and did and oh so unfortunate (for him) bounce up onto the roof.
"HA HA "Navajo" (air quotes), more like Nava"NO!" (gigantic air quotes).
Then I sped walked like a fag right on down the road cuz axe or not, Chief Head Like Four Burgers looked like a biter.
! did my best to hail a cab.
Barefoot in a fur trenchcoat ain't the best outfit for cab catchery. I should have listened to the Arrogant Pricks.
Later on I massaged a naked woman's entire body and since I was massaging, all I could think about was how much humans and sausages have in common, Then I realized massage and sausage are basically the same word. Then I invented the technique called Massausage™. Remind me to write that down. HUGE.
Now I'm hungry.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught stereotyping even ONE native american as an incompetent scalper.
Your Really Really Important Business at Hand,
Barry Bonds
December 07, 2007
The Full Contact Semi-Aquatic Photo Contest, The Mental Consequences of Contrarian Pottymouthery & ShoreGazing w/ High Power Eyeballs
There was a photo contest down by the loading docks. I generally turn my nose up at such nuttsacky behavior but people were jeering me on to enter. this wasn't any photo contest, this photo contest had actual merit, like as a sport, the idea was that whoever was most entertaining while making a photo would win. Well i needn't tell you that I basically had this one in the bag, I couldda won this thing with both beards tied behind my back.
Anyway, I naturally set up near the aquarium where the giant squid was begging to have his tentacles photographed doing all kinds of horny stuff to the electric eel. trouble was that my flash was reflecting off the glass, plus lots of people started crowding around hoping somebody would take off their clothes. I left my fly unzipped just so they wouldn't be all disappointed.
After a few shots my flash ran out of batteries and some young fella watching said:
"No prob dooood, you got an electric eel right there."
I i got up and walked over to the young man and grabbed him by the face, did some semi-violent squishing, you know, like "ah how cute" but really I was trying to crush his face bones for being loudly not funny. Then I loud whispered in his ear:
"Go get me an ice cream cone or I will kill your whole family.... just kidding, Still, go get me an ice cream."
Then he ran off and brought me back a slurpee which wasn't what I ordered so I gave him the look that only a badger gives to a mouse when the mouse brings back a lime soda instead of badger food. You know the look.
Next the crowd all tried to group pressure me into taking pictures of everyone on a giant sofa. I considered asking everyone to take off their clothes and maybe doing it but then I was over come with a tidal wave of FUCKYOUNESS and said:
Why don't you all instead cram pickles up your rears and I'll call the TV NEWS!!"
BTW I hate it when I accidentally say up your rears because it sounds like I am saying up your EARS because you can't just stop an R dead in it's tracks and then I end up not making any sense at all, that is until I inevitably envision an ear shaped butthole, which leads to the vision of a poop coming out of an ear or someone screaming into a butthole and then I get stuck in HEY, WRONG HOLE!!-VILLE for a half an hour.
Can Punctuation go in the middle of a hyphenated word?
Yes it can.
Anyway, I'm sure by now you have guessed that I bailed on the photo contest and instead went out to the coast and looked at all the skyscrapers poking out over the horizon in all the distant lands across the ocean. I have 20/20 vision you know.
"Huge sofa", I shouldda lit all them dicks on fire.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to give a one handed indian burn to your thing.
Your First REAL Lover That You Actually Loved Back,
Father O'Flannery
Anyway, I naturally set up near the aquarium where the giant squid was begging to have his tentacles photographed doing all kinds of horny stuff to the electric eel. trouble was that my flash was reflecting off the glass, plus lots of people started crowding around hoping somebody would take off their clothes. I left my fly unzipped just so they wouldn't be all disappointed.
After a few shots my flash ran out of batteries and some young fella watching said:
"No prob dooood, you got an electric eel right there."
I i got up and walked over to the young man and grabbed him by the face, did some semi-violent squishing, you know, like "ah how cute" but really I was trying to crush his face bones for being loudly not funny. Then I loud whispered in his ear:
"Go get me an ice cream cone or I will kill your whole family.... just kidding, Still, go get me an ice cream."
Then he ran off and brought me back a slurpee which wasn't what I ordered so I gave him the look that only a badger gives to a mouse when the mouse brings back a lime soda instead of badger food. You know the look.
Next the crowd all tried to group pressure me into taking pictures of everyone on a giant sofa. I considered asking everyone to take off their clothes and maybe doing it but then I was over come with a tidal wave of FUCKYOUNESS and said:
Why don't you all instead cram pickles up your rears and I'll call the TV NEWS!!"
BTW I hate it when I accidentally say up your rears because it sounds like I am saying up your EARS because you can't just stop an R dead in it's tracks and then I end up not making any sense at all, that is until I inevitably envision an ear shaped butthole, which leads to the vision of a poop coming out of an ear or someone screaming into a butthole and then I get stuck in HEY, WRONG HOLE!!-VILLE for a half an hour.
Can Punctuation go in the middle of a hyphenated word?
Yes it can.
Anyway, I'm sure by now you have guessed that I bailed on the photo contest and instead went out to the coast and looked at all the skyscrapers poking out over the horizon in all the distant lands across the ocean. I have 20/20 vision you know.
"Huge sofa", I shouldda lit all them dicks on fire.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to give a one handed indian burn to your thing.
Your First REAL Lover That You Actually Loved Back,
Father O'Flannery
December 04, 2007
The Speedy Crosswalk Othodox Greek Hour, Prince's New Job on Monday Night Football & Merkley???'s Dance Contest Tip # 5,678
I don't like the sun. I already told you this, it mugs me and steals my wallet, kicks me in the balls, pokes out my eyes and gives me indian burns all over my entire body. Squinting, yeah, that's a BLAST.
Anyway I was running around in the sun yesterday doing all kinds of errands. Did I mention that I also hate errands? Well I do, I even hate that word and when people use it I claw their face and with my fingers in their gums and eyelids I tell them to "say it like it is" for once, but then I don't know another a better word to use than errands and I claw my own face all rage style.
So yeah, errands, I was running them, literally, I was running as fast as I could to catch the green at the crosswalk because I also hate standing at an intersection like some vulture shaped old woman waiting for my turn to chicken myself across the road to get to the other side. Point is, I'm like lightning, I run as fast as a car, people look out their windows as they are driving and they point at me because they are impressed with my "faster than a car-ness". We point at fast stuff because we like the breeze our finger makes at it rushes over the horizon. Ok maybe not.
I came across a Greek Orthodox church that was having a festival of sorts, everyone was wearing silly religious scarves and hats as they all celebrated the music and dance that nobody else likes. I grabbed a couple of the miniature leaf flavored ice cream cones,(why does cultural food always taste like a leaf?) listened to one of the Greek speakers telling a bunch of inside jokes that the other Greeks pretended were hilarious but from what I could tell the speaker was a charity case and was probably the nephew of the dude who brought the pile of rotating meat which was why he was cool. I had major gas btw.
Next I searched for a magazine stand because it's fun to see my photos in glossy magazines and even more fun to thumb through at a magazine stand where someone might be thumbing through the same magazine and I can wait for them to gasp upon seeing one of my photos: "My this is a beautiful photograph." they might say if they weren't so selfish and inconsiderate not even noticing me standing there. FUCKERS. Actually, if they noticed me and then said it, that would be even lamer. SUCKUPS.
At the library I almost walked out of a floor to ceiling window that was wide open, at the last moment I noticed I was three stories in the air. Who the fuck builds a floor to ceiling window three stories in the air and leaves it wide open with no railing or nothin? I'll tell you who, people who embrace natural selection, that's who, good for them, I'm glad I passed the test.
Later that night I crashed at a friends place, as usual with my friends, the accommodations were crap, the floor was wet and slimy and the bed was low to the ground. I found a bunch of old bed spreads and began cutting them up and laying them on the cold ground to sop up some of the gunk while I listened to Prince doing Monday Night Football play by play over the intercom. One might think Prince would be a bad choice for sports announcer but thats before you hear him scream "Oooooowwwwuh!" whenever someone does something cool.
Two football references in a row. What do I win?
At the dance contest I tried to find a nice out of the way corner in which to bust my sick moves, out of the way because it's much more impressive when the ladies rush off to the corner to watch you hammer timing the world than being forced to watch the sad sack douchebags trying to crowd in on the spotlight with their wack moves in the middle of the floor. I make them come to me because I am 100 years old and wise as fuck.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught crop dusting somebody else's culture.
Your Corn Field Dance Floor Construction Foreman,
Kevin Costner's Polynesian Friend
Anyway I was running around in the sun yesterday doing all kinds of errands. Did I mention that I also hate errands? Well I do, I even hate that word and when people use it I claw their face and with my fingers in their gums and eyelids I tell them to "say it like it is" for once, but then I don't know another a better word to use than errands and I claw my own face all rage style.
So yeah, errands, I was running them, literally, I was running as fast as I could to catch the green at the crosswalk because I also hate standing at an intersection like some vulture shaped old woman waiting for my turn to chicken myself across the road to get to the other side. Point is, I'm like lightning, I run as fast as a car, people look out their windows as they are driving and they point at me because they are impressed with my "faster than a car-ness". We point at fast stuff because we like the breeze our finger makes at it rushes over the horizon. Ok maybe not.
I came across a Greek Orthodox church that was having a festival of sorts, everyone was wearing silly religious scarves and hats as they all celebrated the music and dance that nobody else likes. I grabbed a couple of the miniature leaf flavored ice cream cones,(why does cultural food always taste like a leaf?) listened to one of the Greek speakers telling a bunch of inside jokes that the other Greeks pretended were hilarious but from what I could tell the speaker was a charity case and was probably the nephew of the dude who brought the pile of rotating meat which was why he was cool. I had major gas btw.
Next I searched for a magazine stand because it's fun to see my photos in glossy magazines and even more fun to thumb through at a magazine stand where someone might be thumbing through the same magazine and I can wait for them to gasp upon seeing one of my photos: "My this is a beautiful photograph." they might say if they weren't so selfish and inconsiderate not even noticing me standing there. FUCKERS. Actually, if they noticed me and then said it, that would be even lamer. SUCKUPS.
At the library I almost walked out of a floor to ceiling window that was wide open, at the last moment I noticed I was three stories in the air. Who the fuck builds a floor to ceiling window three stories in the air and leaves it wide open with no railing or nothin? I'll tell you who, people who embrace natural selection, that's who, good for them, I'm glad I passed the test.
Later that night I crashed at a friends place, as usual with my friends, the accommodations were crap, the floor was wet and slimy and the bed was low to the ground. I found a bunch of old bed spreads and began cutting them up and laying them on the cold ground to sop up some of the gunk while I listened to Prince doing Monday Night Football play by play over the intercom. One might think Prince would be a bad choice for sports announcer but thats before you hear him scream "Oooooowwwwuh!" whenever someone does something cool.
Two football references in a row. What do I win?
At the dance contest I tried to find a nice out of the way corner in which to bust my sick moves, out of the way because it's much more impressive when the ladies rush off to the corner to watch you hammer timing the world than being forced to watch the sad sack douchebags trying to crowd in on the spotlight with their wack moves in the middle of the floor. I make them come to me because I am 100 years old and wise as fuck.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught crop dusting somebody else's culture.
Your Corn Field Dance Floor Construction Foreman,
Kevin Costner's Polynesian Friend
December 02, 2007
Shirtless Avoids The Corporate Slave Ships, "Short and Tan" Ponchito's Obviously Gay Football & The Pork Chop Bone is Mightier Than The Pork Chop Bone
A friend of mine requested my company at her place of business, a totally corporate joint with cubicles and walls covered in that purpleish gray fabric that corporate dullards think makes the environment nice and homey when it really just makes it like a dentists office which is the same as the pits of hell only worse. Even as a visitor to that environment I felt all kinds of anxiety, some of which was worrying that other people would mistake me as an employee and somehow I would get tied and bound with scotch tape, tarred and feathered with glue sticks and post-it notes and finally stapled to an ergonomic chair as some kind of actual corporate slave. That's how it happens right? Anyway, to make it very clear that I wasn't part of the system I decided to go shirtless because extreme times call for extreme measures. Shirtless AIN'T Corporate.
I went to the copy room to, duh, make xerox copies of my balls etc, and through the crack in the door I see this woman with whom I had once had the sex, I made a quick move to hide cuz I didn't want her to see me there, shirtless or not, I just don't want any hot girl ever mistaking me for someone who has a job. That could wreck everything. Well I wasn't fast enough, she spotted me and slithered into the room.
"merkley what are you doing here?"
"Making copies of my balls. What are YOU doing here?"
"I just came in to help my friend Ponchito."
"You mean that Mexican homo in the office behind you?"
"He's not gay, just short, and not Mexican, just tan."
I always do my best to insult the appearance of any man who seems to be movin' in on one of my girls -- you know how it goes. A man must pee on his stuff.
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
"It's casual friday."
"Oh." she said as she removed her own shirt.
Then I played with her boobs for ten minutes.
"Say hi to Ponchito I said as I put on my shirt. Ponchito was standing right there but it's fun to pretend that people are Mexican and can't understand english.
I folded up the copies of my balls and put them in my pocket and went outside. Guess who was out there. Yeah, Ponchito and the girl, They must have run outside to beat me. The girl kept looking at me like either she wasn't finished or she was trying to make me jealous by tossing around a football with Ponchito. Of course she was making me jealous but one can't let on to such things and I really didn't want to toss around the football with them and I sensed that was exactly what was about to be suggested as I was walking just the right speed for Ponchito to pass the ball to me right before I stepped into the end zone. Last thing I wanted was some sort of victory celebration with pee wee Ponchito, but at the same time I was worried that if I didn't keep my eye on him and the ball that maybe he'd throw it anyway and I didn't want to get hit in the back of the head. All that lead up to a self fulfilling prophecy because not a second later:
"Merkley, go long" Ponchito said as he lobbed me a wobbler.
I sped up my pace just a bit and caught the the ball with an apparent complete lack of effort which was a relief cuz how embarrassing would it be to be caught even appearing to give one fuck about sports?
"Why is this ball all long and squishy? Is this some kind of gay football? Why is it sparkley gold?" I yelled as I passed it back.
Ponchito shrugged like he had no clue what I was talking about. I turned to the girl and used my hand to shield the side of my face Ponchito could see and I mouthed out the words: "He's not just "short"." -- Yeah, I did air quotes even.
Later I used a pork chop bone to scratch a mean note into the paint of a car I didn't like. Pork chop bones can also be used for eye gouging FYI.
Thats all for now.
Don't get caught appearing to give even a smidge of one fuck about sports.
Your Important Point Repeater,
Non-Fuck Giverbout Sports
I went to the copy room to, duh, make xerox copies of my balls etc, and through the crack in the door I see this woman with whom I had once had the sex, I made a quick move to hide cuz I didn't want her to see me there, shirtless or not, I just don't want any hot girl ever mistaking me for someone who has a job. That could wreck everything. Well I wasn't fast enough, she spotted me and slithered into the room.
"merkley what are you doing here?"
"Making copies of my balls. What are YOU doing here?"
"I just came in to help my friend Ponchito."
"You mean that Mexican homo in the office behind you?"
"He's not gay, just short, and not Mexican, just tan."
I always do my best to insult the appearance of any man who seems to be movin' in on one of my girls -- you know how it goes. A man must pee on his stuff.
"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?"
"It's casual friday."
"Oh." she said as she removed her own shirt.
Then I played with her boobs for ten minutes.
"Say hi to Ponchito I said as I put on my shirt. Ponchito was standing right there but it's fun to pretend that people are Mexican and can't understand english.
I folded up the copies of my balls and put them in my pocket and went outside. Guess who was out there. Yeah, Ponchito and the girl, They must have run outside to beat me. The girl kept looking at me like either she wasn't finished or she was trying to make me jealous by tossing around a football with Ponchito. Of course she was making me jealous but one can't let on to such things and I really didn't want to toss around the football with them and I sensed that was exactly what was about to be suggested as I was walking just the right speed for Ponchito to pass the ball to me right before I stepped into the end zone. Last thing I wanted was some sort of victory celebration with pee wee Ponchito, but at the same time I was worried that if I didn't keep my eye on him and the ball that maybe he'd throw it anyway and I didn't want to get hit in the back of the head. All that lead up to a self fulfilling prophecy because not a second later:
"Merkley, go long" Ponchito said as he lobbed me a wobbler.
I sped up my pace just a bit and caught the the ball with an apparent complete lack of effort which was a relief cuz how embarrassing would it be to be caught even appearing to give one fuck about sports?
"Why is this ball all long and squishy? Is this some kind of gay football? Why is it sparkley gold?" I yelled as I passed it back.
Ponchito shrugged like he had no clue what I was talking about. I turned to the girl and used my hand to shield the side of my face Ponchito could see and I mouthed out the words: "He's not just "short"." -- Yeah, I did air quotes even.
Later I used a pork chop bone to scratch a mean note into the paint of a car I didn't like. Pork chop bones can also be used for eye gouging FYI.
Thats all for now.
Don't get caught appearing to give even a smidge of one fuck about sports.
Your Important Point Repeater,
Non-Fuck Giverbout Sports
November 30, 2007
Halfasleep Baloneyshoulders, Dangerous Semi-Naked Breaking and Entering Garage Picnics & BBQ the BBC (Big Brown Caddy)
Slept over at an old friends house last night. His couch was crusty as ever with nacho dust and chili stains and a few cat turds. I wandered into the kitchen in the middle of the night and ate a pile of meat ten inches high. I put some of the sliced ham on my shoulders because it felt cool and would look really great if my friend were to wander into the kitchen. Always fuck with the half asleep. I'm such a good person I plan out surprises even if they never happen. Ham shoulders.
Speaking of half asleep. The best nickname I ever gave anyone was to this kid in high school whose eyes were always puffy. I called him Halfasleep Ashby. It's not that it's that funny or anything, its more that the word Halfasleep is really pleasant to say. It's soothing. Say it over and over. Name your kid Halfasleep. No charge.
Back to my day, later, some rockstar friends of mine invited me to an awards show. I was thinking it would be some big deal like the Grammys or something but instead it was the neighborhood music awards. They have been out of the limelight for a little while but this shit was super low budget, like in a school cafeteria, even the local bands didn't show up so when my famous friends showed up everyone began whispering as if it was sad that they showed up. It was pretty awkward. Of course I told a bunch of jokes to make light of the situation. What? Merkley??? saves the day AGAIN? Ya don't say.
After my stellar performance at the awards show I walked around the neighborhood with five or six cute girls and we all dared each other to walk into random homes and backyards and just set up camp all picnic style -- the girls were of course in various states of undress because you know, breaking and entering is always forgiven if you're a hot naked woman. That was the whole point. However I will warn you, if you are having a breaking and entering picnic in someone's garage with 5 or 6 naked girls, still stay alert because a garage is still a garage and if you are getting a hand job underneath the automatic garage door and some girl accidentally presses the remote door dealie with her boob you still stand an outside chance of accidental decapitation. STAY ALERT PEOPLE! YOU CAN'T SUE IF YOU'RE DEAD AND PANTSLESS.
Speaking of back yard barbeques, that evening I heroed out the situation yet again by bringing yet another huge pile of meat along with a billion bags of picnic supplies and I was able to get it all out of the big brown Cadillac with only two hands. Too bad I parked the caddy too close to the BBQ and it caught fire. Well not really too bad, everyone enjoyed watching it explode. Explosions are crowd pleasers for sure. Plus the heat is good for meat cookery.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to pull off ham shoulders with baloney even though Baloneyshoulders sounds almost as pretty as Halfasleep.
Your First String Grill Master,
Fat Black Guy With Apron & Tongs
Speaking of half asleep. The best nickname I ever gave anyone was to this kid in high school whose eyes were always puffy. I called him Halfasleep Ashby. It's not that it's that funny or anything, its more that the word Halfasleep is really pleasant to say. It's soothing. Say it over and over. Name your kid Halfasleep. No charge.
Back to my day, later, some rockstar friends of mine invited me to an awards show. I was thinking it would be some big deal like the Grammys or something but instead it was the neighborhood music awards. They have been out of the limelight for a little while but this shit was super low budget, like in a school cafeteria, even the local bands didn't show up so when my famous friends showed up everyone began whispering as if it was sad that they showed up. It was pretty awkward. Of course I told a bunch of jokes to make light of the situation. What? Merkley??? saves the day AGAIN? Ya don't say.
After my stellar performance at the awards show I walked around the neighborhood with five or six cute girls and we all dared each other to walk into random homes and backyards and just set up camp all picnic style -- the girls were of course in various states of undress because you know, breaking and entering is always forgiven if you're a hot naked woman. That was the whole point. However I will warn you, if you are having a breaking and entering picnic in someone's garage with 5 or 6 naked girls, still stay alert because a garage is still a garage and if you are getting a hand job underneath the automatic garage door and some girl accidentally presses the remote door dealie with her boob you still stand an outside chance of accidental decapitation. STAY ALERT PEOPLE! YOU CAN'T SUE IF YOU'RE DEAD AND PANTSLESS.
Speaking of back yard barbeques, that evening I heroed out the situation yet again by bringing yet another huge pile of meat along with a billion bags of picnic supplies and I was able to get it all out of the big brown Cadillac with only two hands. Too bad I parked the caddy too close to the BBQ and it caught fire. Well not really too bad, everyone enjoyed watching it explode. Explosions are crowd pleasers for sure. Plus the heat is good for meat cookery.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to pull off ham shoulders with baloney even though Baloneyshoulders sounds almost as pretty as Halfasleep.
Your First String Grill Master,
Fat Black Guy With Apron & Tongs
November 29, 2007
Willi Wanka Helicopter Garbage Toss, Welcome to Labia Land & My Fat Mormon Pervert Lawyer Ex-Pal Solidifies His Ex Status
I took a long helicopter ride yesterday to see all the oddities up near Provo Canyon. Below all the people on the beach were waving at me and throwing things at the helicopter. I reached out and caught some of the garbage they were throwing. I caught a toaster, a shoe and a bowl made out of candy. I couldn't tell if people were happy or angry. People have very strong feelings about people in helicopters. My favorite part of the ride was the close up view of the mountain side -- turns out the entire mountain is made out of shoes. Willi Wonka certainly had a hand in all that business. Why else would the whole world be so billowey and tent like? Kinda hippie if you ask me.
Later on I was telling a really huge boobed/assed pretty girl I know that she had an absolutely beautiful face which she took to mean that I was calling her fat so she decided to punish me by taking off all of her clothes and smothering me with her puffy vagina and gigantic boobs. I pretended to be annoyed but she smelled really good and who really hates slippery jiggly things? I mean as long as you don't have to walk on it, right? Although walking on a big sheet of labia skin might be kinda fun -- I'd probably want to run and slide on it like one of those yellow plastic water slide deals. If I ran the world, sidewalks would be made out of labia skin and everyone would walk to work. See? I just saved the world AGAIN.
Later on at the awards banquet, my best friend from high school who is now super fat, super mormon and super litigious got kicked out for slapping the asses of the waitresses. I'm telling you, Mormons are fuckin pervs man.
I got my hair permed all afro style because I am a clown.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught robbing the black man of his soul and putting it on your head as a joke.
Your Most Recent Excuse To Kill Your Kids,
Post Party Depression
Later on I was telling a really huge boobed/assed pretty girl I know that she had an absolutely beautiful face which she took to mean that I was calling her fat so she decided to punish me by taking off all of her clothes and smothering me with her puffy vagina and gigantic boobs. I pretended to be annoyed but she smelled really good and who really hates slippery jiggly things? I mean as long as you don't have to walk on it, right? Although walking on a big sheet of labia skin might be kinda fun -- I'd probably want to run and slide on it like one of those yellow plastic water slide deals. If I ran the world, sidewalks would be made out of labia skin and everyone would walk to work. See? I just saved the world AGAIN.
Later on at the awards banquet, my best friend from high school who is now super fat, super mormon and super litigious got kicked out for slapping the asses of the waitresses. I'm telling you, Mormons are fuckin pervs man.
I got my hair permed all afro style because I am a clown.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught robbing the black man of his soul and putting it on your head as a joke.
Your Most Recent Excuse To Kill Your Kids,
Post Party Depression
November 28, 2007
Showin Off My Moped Skills To The Ladies, Dr. Merkley??? Gives Angelo His Shots By The Hipster Cookie Shop & A Special News Report From The Ghetto
I took the old moped out for a long ride up and over the summit of Pot Hole Mountain and boy were the pot holes ever HUGE, bigger than my moped even. People were trying to run me off the road as usual, because I was on a moped and all... totally acceptable. I pulled over to the side of the road to show a cute girl how easy my moped was to kick start. I'm really good at impressing the ladies.
When I got to Utah I quickly reported to the band house to give Angelo Moore his shots. He had the whole needle kit with him with all of his various medicines and antidotes. He was nervous about getting the shots and I was nervous to give them to him because needles freak me out, but I pretended to be in complete control and totally confident because thats what we doctors do in the face of catastrophic shot givery.
My dad's neighborhood has definitely become the hip spot to live in Utah, I totally predicted that shit when I bought him his house there. I went to the local cookie shop on the corner (cookies are HUGE in Utah) and saw every Utah hipster I ever knew including my main competitor when I was in the concert biz. He looked as shady as ever hovering over his chocolate chip cookie like everyone was trying to steal it. What a douche.
I let some sexy lady girl take my moped for a ride and she drove it in and out of shops and everyone was mad at me because I'm the one who let her ride it. Mostly they were mad because a sexy lady girl was paying attention to me instead of them. Plus I was funny and they were uptight.
Since she was having so much fun on my moped I took a cab back to SF and asked the dude to drop me off at my favorite taqueria, I had only been gone for like less than a day but I didn't recognize the neighborhood at all. Talk about sketchy, I got out of the cab and he made me hand him the money like we were doing a drug deal. i pretty sure he ripped me off five bucks. I walked around acting all confident like I was on crack and had a gun in my pocket, you know, to blend in -- but holy fuck, Crimesville USA, I just wanted to get the fuck out of that shithole so I got on the electric bus and drove through the black people mall. Yeah, I said BLACK PEOPLE and yes the neighborhood was SHIT --- NEWSFLASH - BLACK PEOPLE LIVE IN SHITTY NEIGHBORHOODS! OMG!! CUTTING EDGE REPORTING HERE.
Also, girls are crappy at riding motorcycles.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught Injecting Skankers with Skank Juice,
Your Least of Your Worries,
Britney Spears' Brand New Fetus
When I got to Utah I quickly reported to the band house to give Angelo Moore his shots. He had the whole needle kit with him with all of his various medicines and antidotes. He was nervous about getting the shots and I was nervous to give them to him because needles freak me out, but I pretended to be in complete control and totally confident because thats what we doctors do in the face of catastrophic shot givery.
My dad's neighborhood has definitely become the hip spot to live in Utah, I totally predicted that shit when I bought him his house there. I went to the local cookie shop on the corner (cookies are HUGE in Utah) and saw every Utah hipster I ever knew including my main competitor when I was in the concert biz. He looked as shady as ever hovering over his chocolate chip cookie like everyone was trying to steal it. What a douche.
I let some sexy lady girl take my moped for a ride and she drove it in and out of shops and everyone was mad at me because I'm the one who let her ride it. Mostly they were mad because a sexy lady girl was paying attention to me instead of them. Plus I was funny and they were uptight.
Since she was having so much fun on my moped I took a cab back to SF and asked the dude to drop me off at my favorite taqueria, I had only been gone for like less than a day but I didn't recognize the neighborhood at all. Talk about sketchy, I got out of the cab and he made me hand him the money like we were doing a drug deal. i pretty sure he ripped me off five bucks. I walked around acting all confident like I was on crack and had a gun in my pocket, you know, to blend in -- but holy fuck, Crimesville USA, I just wanted to get the fuck out of that shithole so I got on the electric bus and drove through the black people mall. Yeah, I said BLACK PEOPLE and yes the neighborhood was SHIT --- NEWSFLASH - BLACK PEOPLE LIVE IN SHITTY NEIGHBORHOODS! OMG!! CUTTING EDGE REPORTING HERE.
Also, girls are crappy at riding motorcycles.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught Injecting Skankers with Skank Juice,
Your Least of Your Worries,
Britney Spears' Brand New Fetus
November 27, 2007
30 Years of Missing Gay Packed Into One Evening in Vegas, Fruit Striped Sinking Zambonis & The Reign of Fake Rolex Beard
I went to Las Vegas to visit a an old friend of mine who came out of the closet when he was 30. I suppose staying in the closet so long is why he never learned how to be a fashion homo. He was dressed as a raver circa 1995 which would be cool if he was intentionally going for that look but I think he was just doing his best to look gay and current, gay he looked, current he did not. He had big baggy rave pants and curly pink hair. I think I may have even spotted a glow stick in his pocket -- and that's a rave joke, not a homo joke. More in the overcorrection due to lost time department, he has amassed quite a gigantic shoe collection all properly displayed in tiny square box shelves in many rooms -- thousands of pairs of shoes and I could hardly find a pair I would rock.
There were some pointy denim cowboy boots I had my eye on. Yeah, gay.
Also he took forever getting ready, he tried on at least 50 outfits. I mean come on, that's TOO gay.
In the basement he had a big fire pit with a foot operated bellow system to really get the flames going -- foot operated probably to show off his shoes, bellow because something about flamer this or flamer that -- you make the joke.
When we went to the ice rink (super size the gay please), I had fun watching the Zambonis sink into the ice. they didn't have their shit together. i went out on the ice to get in the way and I pulled up huge sheets of ice to see what the trouble was -- I spotted the trouble immediately, it seems they were making the ice out of layers of super clear kool-aid -- the whole rink was a giant popsicle swimming pool. Maybe that was all part of the show, I don't know, I didn't read the program.
My beard was super huge yesterday -- like way curly like a pirates beard -- thicker than normal, curly nearly to the point of seeming dreadlocky - I put a bunch of my fake rolexes in my beard to take advantage of it's new super grippyness -- who else rocks a beard full of fake rolexes? Answer, nobody -- I am super original, which is why the girls and gays love the fuck out of me and don't you forget it young lady.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught licking the delicious fruit stripey flavored ice rink.
Your Favorite Dude Who Sounds Like a Frozen Treat and Has a Job To Match,
Frank J. Zamboni
There were some pointy denim cowboy boots I had my eye on. Yeah, gay.
Also he took forever getting ready, he tried on at least 50 outfits. I mean come on, that's TOO gay.
In the basement he had a big fire pit with a foot operated bellow system to really get the flames going -- foot operated probably to show off his shoes, bellow because something about flamer this or flamer that -- you make the joke.
When we went to the ice rink (super size the gay please), I had fun watching the Zambonis sink into the ice. they didn't have their shit together. i went out on the ice to get in the way and I pulled up huge sheets of ice to see what the trouble was -- I spotted the trouble immediately, it seems they were making the ice out of layers of super clear kool-aid -- the whole rink was a giant popsicle swimming pool. Maybe that was all part of the show, I don't know, I didn't read the program.
My beard was super huge yesterday -- like way curly like a pirates beard -- thicker than normal, curly nearly to the point of seeming dreadlocky - I put a bunch of my fake rolexes in my beard to take advantage of it's new super grippyness -- who else rocks a beard full of fake rolexes? Answer, nobody -- I am super original, which is why the girls and gays love the fuck out of me and don't you forget it young lady.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught licking the delicious fruit stripey flavored ice rink.
Your Favorite Dude Who Sounds Like a Frozen Treat and Has a Job To Match,
Frank J. Zamboni
November 26, 2007
House Hunting In The City of The River Peru, Rummaging Through The Wreckage of My Childhood Toilet & Non-Stop Eye Rolling The Vacuum Dude
I went to Peru to check out the famous City of The River. If you have never heard of it, it's exactly as it suggests, an entire city built on a river, or IN a river I guess would be more correct. It's quite a hassle getting there with no roads etc. You literally have to wade upstream, waist deep, against the current to get there which is why half the city is totally abandoned. The houses are big palacial houses with garages built into the natural little wading pools. I checked out as many as I could and finally found one I think I want to buy. It was deigned with all sorts of twisty turny rooms and hallways, making the whole thing quite maze like and you all know how much fun I think it is to not be able to find the bathroom when you need to pee. I tried to get information about the owners in order to make an offer on the place but all the maids inside only spoke spanish, which really wouldn't be a problem cuz I understand enough spanish, but they were all pretty shy about saying ANYTHING. Anyway, the place was a castle with the north side being surrounded by lush greenery high up on a hill with a big arching patio from which one could view the falling smoke clouds as they puffed down onto the beautiful beach below and to the west. Up on the cliffs to the east one could see The Cliff Ship People scabbing their ships onto the side of the cliffs.
Back in my old room at my moms house the entire staircase was suffering from some major structural damage, the wood had warped into driftwood looking knots and curls. Great to look at, not so great for egress in an emergency. I installed a new window in my own room complete with a paper towel dispenser. I didn't do a good job installing, I know this because at one point I used gum to hold something in place. Not sure that would be up to code.
The old man that now lives in my old room did a pretty good job cataloging all my old shit. He puled out my old TV style sunglasses and they worked as good as they did back when I was a kid. I snooped around trying to find all the other old treasures I socked away as a kid. The safe was still there but someone filled it up with ammo, no guns, just ammo, kinda pointless if you ask me.
When I went to pee my old toilet was still there and it still didn't have a hole for flushablilty. What a great joke, a toilet with no hole.
The vacuum salesman tried desperately to sell me a new vacuum even though I already have at least ten perfectly good vacuums. My mom was falling for his pitch so I rolled my eyes one billion times so far back into my head that I could see the people in my brain. They were waving.
Back in my old room at my moms house the entire staircase was suffering from some major structural damage, the wood had warped into driftwood looking knots and curls. Great to look at, not so great for egress in an emergency. I installed a new window in my own room complete with a paper towel dispenser. I didn't do a good job installing, I know this because at one point I used gum to hold something in place. Not sure that would be up to code.
The old man that now lives in my old room did a pretty good job cataloging all my old shit. He puled out my old TV style sunglasses and they worked as good as they did back when I was a kid. I snooped around trying to find all the other old treasures I socked away as a kid. The safe was still there but someone filled it up with ammo, no guns, just ammo, kinda pointless if you ask me.
When I went to pee my old toilet was still there and it still didn't have a hole for flushablilty. What a great joke, a toilet with no hole.
The vacuum salesman tried desperately to sell me a new vacuum even though I already have at least ten perfectly good vacuums. My mom was falling for his pitch so I rolled my eyes one billion times so far back into my head that I could see the people in my brain. They were waving.
November 24, 2007
Legs Caught Up In A Wiggly Building, A PEOPLE Company & The Parable of The Black Foot Indian
I was climbing out of the window of an old building last night trying to make a fast getaway from a bunch of douchebags getting all up in my mug about non-sense. When I got halfway out my legs got stuck behind the radiator leaving me hanging there like a jerk. I tried as hard as I could to pull free, I clutched the curb with my fingers trying to get a grip to create a little leverage but it didn't work because the problem was that the building wasn't anchored to the ground making it so that every time I tugged on my legs the building would move. Made it kinda like trying to take a sock off your foot without touching it. No amount of flailing would work cuz of the stupid wobbly building. Finally an old mexican woman with three cats on a leashes came by and I asked her to hold the building still. She did, and I was on my way to my new company.
What company you might ask. Well it's my new fantastic company that is all about people, you know PEOPLE, it's a people company, lots of people everywhere doin things for all the other people everywhere else, just people doing peopley things which is really the perfect type of company for a guy like me to have because I'm such a people person. I was telling stories about people and demonstrating my over all peopleness and basically being of, by, and for the people. I really feel good about this new company. So good in fact that I gave every single person in the company a glass cube with an exact 1/5th scale likeness of their own head floating inside. The eyes blinked and everything. I love people because I FIT IN.
Later at the company play there was much confusion over the three FEET costumes we ordered. One of the feet was obviously black and nobody remembered ordering a negro foot because we don't even have any black people in the company, not that we purposely didn't hire any black people, I just don't think any black people applied for a job. Anyway, everyone was worried that if they wore the black Foot costume that A) black people would get all pissed and B) Native Americans from the Blackfoot tribe would get their loin cloths in a bunch about it. Naturally I took charge and wore the costume myself only I added a 7-11 name tag just so if anyone asked I could say I'm a Black Foot Indian so that C) Regular indians could get all shrieky about it too.
Anyway, nobody was offended by the costume. People are tougher than you fuckers give them credit for.
BTW I ended that sentence with a preposition because that's the very type of arcane grammar rule up with which I can not put.
What company you might ask. Well it's my new fantastic company that is all about people, you know PEOPLE, it's a people company, lots of people everywhere doin things for all the other people everywhere else, just people doing peopley things which is really the perfect type of company for a guy like me to have because I'm such a people person. I was telling stories about people and demonstrating my over all peopleness and basically being of, by, and for the people. I really feel good about this new company. So good in fact that I gave every single person in the company a glass cube with an exact 1/5th scale likeness of their own head floating inside. The eyes blinked and everything. I love people because I FIT IN.
Later at the company play there was much confusion over the three FEET costumes we ordered. One of the feet was obviously black and nobody remembered ordering a negro foot because we don't even have any black people in the company, not that we purposely didn't hire any black people, I just don't think any black people applied for a job. Anyway, everyone was worried that if they wore the black Foot costume that A) black people would get all pissed and B) Native Americans from the Blackfoot tribe would get their loin cloths in a bunch about it. Naturally I took charge and wore the costume myself only I added a 7-11 name tag just so if anyone asked I could say I'm a Black Foot Indian so that C) Regular indians could get all shrieky about it too.
Anyway, nobody was offended by the costume. People are tougher than you fuckers give them credit for.
BTW I ended that sentence with a preposition because that's the very type of arcane grammar rule up with which I can not put.
November 23, 2007
My Bullhorned Felt Recording of Endless Love, Ladder Trouble Down at The Military Art Complex & Cliff Diving With Balloon Like Brazilian Vaginas
A friend came over and I showed him how to make records out of an old wind up plastic Fisher Price record player and scraps of felt taped together. The key is having a bullhorn loud enough to impermeate the felt with your song, that way you can make a jacket out of your favorite tune. I yellsang the song "Endless Love" to demonstrate the process. Everyone except for me was amazed that I could not only do Lionel's part but that I also ruled Diana Ross like she was my bitch. Take THAT Michael J. I also threw an 8-track tape player so high into the air that it came back covered in cloud goop.
A friend took me down to a big artist collective warehouse made from an old military complex rife with indoor helicopters and bombing lookout towers with 7 inch thick green glass windows . I generally hate that kind of place because most art and artists suck and it's no fun biting ones tongue 24/7. Luckily this place was a little different, there were less people "expressing" themselves and more people just plain inventing shit. All the people there actually had a skill to contribute ie, one was a mechanic, one a welder, machinists etc... the point was to actually do good work and make things that actually function. It wasn't so burning man as I thought it would be, thank goodness. Still, what gives with arty people and their stupid dreadlocks? Fuck your stupid dreads. You look idiotic, not to mention stinky.
I wandered up to the roof and started monkeying around with the old fire truck ladders. I raised on ladder hundreds of feet into the air then lowered it onlt the freeway where a truck smashed into it vaulting it into the air CHiPs style. I turned the other way and pretended nothing happened, I don't think anyone died or anything so whatever right? Besides, if the truck hadn't had so much duct tape hanging off the side it probably would have never gotten tangled up with my ladder/slide deal anyway.
Later on I took a walk along the rocky shore all the way out to the ancient bridge built to access hunters point. Man, they certainly did give the negroes a crappy rock to live on, and the constant beating of the waves along with all the hurricanes make it almost laughably insulting. There were a hand full og black dudes trying to keep the old stone bridge together using a mixture of potting soil and grease clay.
"Um, it'd probably be better if you used some cement or plaster or anything else that would actually HARDEN" I mentioned to one of the dumbfucks hard at work.
"This is the way we have always repaired the bridge" He muttered back.
"And how effective has it been?"
"We be fixin this shit non-stop."
"Ahhh tradition. You go ladies!"
Later I went cliff diving with a bunch of Brazillians who had vaginas that fluttered in the wind. I liked the gentle fluttery sound they made as they jumped, a little like big balloon with all the air coming out of one end. Then I thought about the air coming out and it wasn't as cool.
A friend took me down to a big artist collective warehouse made from an old military complex rife with indoor helicopters and bombing lookout towers with 7 inch thick green glass windows . I generally hate that kind of place because most art and artists suck and it's no fun biting ones tongue 24/7. Luckily this place was a little different, there were less people "expressing" themselves and more people just plain inventing shit. All the people there actually had a skill to contribute ie, one was a mechanic, one a welder, machinists etc... the point was to actually do good work and make things that actually function. It wasn't so burning man as I thought it would be, thank goodness. Still, what gives with arty people and their stupid dreadlocks? Fuck your stupid dreads. You look idiotic, not to mention stinky.
I wandered up to the roof and started monkeying around with the old fire truck ladders. I raised on ladder hundreds of feet into the air then lowered it onlt the freeway where a truck smashed into it vaulting it into the air CHiPs style. I turned the other way and pretended nothing happened, I don't think anyone died or anything so whatever right? Besides, if the truck hadn't had so much duct tape hanging off the side it probably would have never gotten tangled up with my ladder/slide deal anyway.
Later on I took a walk along the rocky shore all the way out to the ancient bridge built to access hunters point. Man, they certainly did give the negroes a crappy rock to live on, and the constant beating of the waves along with all the hurricanes make it almost laughably insulting. There were a hand full og black dudes trying to keep the old stone bridge together using a mixture of potting soil and grease clay.
"Um, it'd probably be better if you used some cement or plaster or anything else that would actually HARDEN" I mentioned to one of the dumbfucks hard at work.
"This is the way we have always repaired the bridge" He muttered back.
"And how effective has it been?"
"We be fixin this shit non-stop."
"Ahhh tradition. You go ladies!"
Later I went cliff diving with a bunch of Brazillians who had vaginas that fluttered in the wind. I liked the gentle fluttery sound they made as they jumped, a little like big balloon with all the air coming out of one end. Then I thought about the air coming out and it wasn't as cool.
November 22, 2007
Pansy Ass Eyelids in The Taxi Hearse, REALLY LONG Basement Furniture & Punching Like Stephen Hawking in a Giant Bag of Snot
I pulled over my yellow Taxi Hearse because I was feeling really sleepy and thought that if I gave it a buff and a shine I might wake up a little. I went back to the back and slid out the coffin, opened it up and began dusting off all my old photo equipment inside but I was just too tired, no matter what I did my eyes were just too heavy, completely impossible to keep open. It felt as if there were cartoon fingers and glue forcing my eyes shut, I mean it's not as if eyelid muscles are anything I have ever been conscious of ever before but at that moment I was really regretting my laziness having never even attempted to work them out even once. I don't know about you but I'm gonna join the eyelid gym and get big muscley eyelids so that next time this sort of thing happens I don't fee like such a pussy.
Once I lost the eyelid battle I could feel the suction of the rushing traffic pulling my body into the street. Not wanting to become a smudge of grease on the freeway, I had the brilliant Idea to wedge my leg into the tailgate. I cut the fuck out of my leg but at least I wasn't smashed by a truck.
I got a funny hair up my bum to move down into the basement to maybe inspire me to fix it up so it's not just a dusty dungeon. To get some tips on how to go about the construction I decided to mosey through the tunnels that connect my basement with the neighbors basements. That was a mistake because all the neighbors basements were so nice it made it perfectly clear just how much work I had in front of me. The neighbor three doors down was having a sale of super super long furniture. There was a particular 30 foot long sofa that I really wanted but there wasn't really anyway to move it out of there without sawing it into pieces. They really weren't demonstrating much forethought when they built those things without anyway to get them out. Guess that's why the prices were so low. Basically all the other basements were filled with super valuable collectibles. My basement was filled with dirt and bugs. Whatever, I'll move back upstairs.
Later on the street some dumb bitch came up to me an purposely ripped off all my pockets. At first I thought she was gonna laugh or something and reveal some bigger point. Like was this some kind of joke? Some big metaphor or something? I waited but soon realized she was just being a pocket ripping cunt and it infuriated me so I punched the crap out of her, or at least I TRIED, bitch had some sort of special power force field around her that slowed my punches to about one second per minute. I may as well have been Stephen Hawking submerged in a giant bag of cold honey for how slow and weak I was punching.
She was a perfectly good example of someone using their powers for evil instead of good. Who goes around ripping off pockets? She looked like a homeless Oprah only prettier. Her boobs were sticky like snot.
Once I lost the eyelid battle I could feel the suction of the rushing traffic pulling my body into the street. Not wanting to become a smudge of grease on the freeway, I had the brilliant Idea to wedge my leg into the tailgate. I cut the fuck out of my leg but at least I wasn't smashed by a truck.
I got a funny hair up my bum to move down into the basement to maybe inspire me to fix it up so it's not just a dusty dungeon. To get some tips on how to go about the construction I decided to mosey through the tunnels that connect my basement with the neighbors basements. That was a mistake because all the neighbors basements were so nice it made it perfectly clear just how much work I had in front of me. The neighbor three doors down was having a sale of super super long furniture. There was a particular 30 foot long sofa that I really wanted but there wasn't really anyway to move it out of there without sawing it into pieces. They really weren't demonstrating much forethought when they built those things without anyway to get them out. Guess that's why the prices were so low. Basically all the other basements were filled with super valuable collectibles. My basement was filled with dirt and bugs. Whatever, I'll move back upstairs.
Later on the street some dumb bitch came up to me an purposely ripped off all my pockets. At first I thought she was gonna laugh or something and reveal some bigger point. Like was this some kind of joke? Some big metaphor or something? I waited but soon realized she was just being a pocket ripping cunt and it infuriated me so I punched the crap out of her, or at least I TRIED, bitch had some sort of special power force field around her that slowed my punches to about one second per minute. I may as well have been Stephen Hawking submerged in a giant bag of cold honey for how slow and weak I was punching.
She was a perfectly good example of someone using their powers for evil instead of good. Who goes around ripping off pockets? She looked like a homeless Oprah only prettier. Her boobs were sticky like snot.
November 20, 2007
The Clapping Vagina Booth, Dad Shows His Six Pack in a Soaked Suit & Short Girl With Spina Bifida Kicking Out Some Mad Moves Running Man Steeze
I went to the nerd convention down at the Crane & Swinging Cable Stadium. As usual, the dorks were in full force selling their gadgets and games in a post apocalyptic nerd circus. Apple had a pretty unorthodox set up involving some bare assed strippers clapping their vaginas in the faces of potential customers. I don't care what anybody says, vagina clapping is interesting and cool. Black ladies invented it you know, or maybe it was Snoop Dogg, anyway, point is, black people have some cool ideas when they apply themselves.
Earlier in the evening they were showing clips from some crappy old Mike Douglas movie that was never finished due to the race riots, anyway the nerds thought it would be a great idea to write the ending to the movie and complete the thing theater style on stage in the stadium while selling hard drives or some shit. It was boring as hell.
My dad showed up in a sopping wet semi transparent light blue suit and he was chuckling under his breath about how much better he'd have been in the role of the judge.
"Just go up there dad, half them nerds are improving anyway, they'd be grateful for the save."
"Psssssht, can you imagine? Gah!" my dad guffawed.
I noticed he must have been working out because he had a total six pack.
Why the fuck does my dad have a six pack?
"Dad, why do you have a six pack?"
"I don't have a six pack, why, are you thirsty?"
How does this reflect on me? Should I be concerned?
Anyway the whole nerd world tried to ssshhhh me and my dad but ssshhhhhable merkleys are NOT.
Eventually I left my dad arguing with an old woman about a vending machine and I made my way outside to snack on the crispy, peppery watercress growing in the pond by the freeway as I dodged all the falling cranes and swinging cables that gave the stadium it's name. So crunchy, so peppery, too bad I didn't have any Ranch.
Later on I hung out with a short girl with spina bifida who was really pretty good at doing the running man, I took her picture and immediately decided it was the best picture I had ever taken. It also had the best title of all time: Short Girl With Spina Bifida Kicking Out Some Mad Moves Running Man Steeze". But I guess you already read that now didn't you?
I'd show you the photo but it's too good to be shown on the internet. You'll hafta come over.
Bye.
Earlier in the evening they were showing clips from some crappy old Mike Douglas movie that was never finished due to the race riots, anyway the nerds thought it would be a great idea to write the ending to the movie and complete the thing theater style on stage in the stadium while selling hard drives or some shit. It was boring as hell.
My dad showed up in a sopping wet semi transparent light blue suit and he was chuckling under his breath about how much better he'd have been in the role of the judge.
"Just go up there dad, half them nerds are improving anyway, they'd be grateful for the save."
"Psssssht, can you imagine? Gah!" my dad guffawed.
I noticed he must have been working out because he had a total six pack.
Why the fuck does my dad have a six pack?
"Dad, why do you have a six pack?"
"I don't have a six pack, why, are you thirsty?"
How does this reflect on me? Should I be concerned?
Anyway the whole nerd world tried to ssshhhh me and my dad but ssshhhhhable merkleys are NOT.
Eventually I left my dad arguing with an old woman about a vending machine and I made my way outside to snack on the crispy, peppery watercress growing in the pond by the freeway as I dodged all the falling cranes and swinging cables that gave the stadium it's name. So crunchy, so peppery, too bad I didn't have any Ranch.
Later on I hung out with a short girl with spina bifida who was really pretty good at doing the running man, I took her picture and immediately decided it was the best picture I had ever taken. It also had the best title of all time: Short Girl With Spina Bifida Kicking Out Some Mad Moves Running Man Steeze". But I guess you already read that now didn't you?
I'd show you the photo but it's too good to be shown on the internet. You'll hafta come over.
Bye.
Drunk Sleep Driving, The BART Station Call For My Mayoral Candidacy & An Afternoon With My Best Friend Ellen DeGeneres
I woke up drunk out of my brain behind the wheel of what must have been a stolen station wagon, I don't remember even getting into it, but anyway, that's what happens I guess. I was barreling towards the Bay bridge just trying to keep my eyes open, luckily, every time I'd scrape into the guard rail or hit a construction worker the noise would wake me up, lucky me for them or I would have been SCREWED.
Instead of trying to pass through the toll booth I decided it would be best to convince the toll booth operator that even though she had not been informed, her toll booth was now a parking space and she needed to keep an eye on my car while I ran a few errands. Wasted as I was, parking that huge boat was a BITCH. I punctuated my show with a long pee in the cash register. The toll booth operator smiled then called the cops but when they got there I told a bunch of jokes and did a few robot moves and they high fived my for my radness.
"Merkley, you one funny muthafucka" the white cop said trying to sound like the black cop."
"Ok" I said, talking to the black cop while pointing at the white cop, "Now you do him!"
Now you see why they let me go. I'm hilarious. Who could hate me.
Anyway, pardon the pun but, I'm not the type that usually "blacks" out when I drink so it became my mission to remember what had transpired earlier in the evening. I remembered making some drinks out of wood shavings and sugar, I had developed a super fast fermentation technique that I wish I could remember. You haven't lived till you have tasted cedar and honey. Two of my former band mates were there basically annoying the shit out of me, that's probably why I drank so much. Hopefully the station wagon belonged to one of them. Holy shit they were boring. I think.
Oh yeah, earlier in the day I went through the turnstile at a BART station way out in the middle of nowhere, but for some reason every single person who ever thought I was awesome was there calling my name and giving me props.
"I should fucking run for Mayor" I said to one fan.
"NO FUCKING KIDDING" He said. "MERKLEY IS RUNNING FOR MAYOR EVERYBODY!!!"
The whole BART station erupted in applause and I saw Gavin Newsom lower his head and scoot out through a side door. Awe, poor fella.
After I sobered up a bit I cruised over to my friend Ellen DeGeneres' house in the East Bay, she films her show there you know. She was in a big fight with her roommate who is a nice gay man. I don't know what they were fighting about but I told a bunch of jokes and did my best to get them to make up. I was laying there on the floor and Ellen, who had just dyed her hair black, was running her fingers through my hair saying all kinds of funny shit and basically being the best friend a person could ever have. She asked me to return the favor and run my fingers through her hair but her gay roommate was getting really territorial over both of us. He's the one causing the troubles.
Ellen's mom came in the room and removed all her skin. She is very beautiful under all that wrinkled sagginess.
"Why do you even wear all that old skin?" I asked her.
"You can't walk around as an 80 year old woman and expect to be taken seriously without serious sags."
I have to admit she made complete sense. But fuck, she was HAWT. ha ha -- I just said "butt fuck".
After that Ellen showed me one of her many talents by texting me a perfectly written message without even looking at her phone.
"Yeah, I learned how to do this so that when I'm in a boring conversation I can have a completely different conversation in my pocket." she said.
"That's absolute genius" I said. "But how do you understand what people text back?"
"My phone vibrates out the messages in morse code."
"You know morse code?"
"I was in the Navy"
"Oh yeah."
Not only that but Ellen, being funny till the very end, has a funny phone -- HUGE and plasticy, like it was made for a clown. Damn I'm glad she is my best friend.
But yeah, you should go to her house one day and catch the filming of her show. She always has an afternoon afterparty and every one in the audience is invited. You won't regret it.
Instead of trying to pass through the toll booth I decided it would be best to convince the toll booth operator that even though she had not been informed, her toll booth was now a parking space and she needed to keep an eye on my car while I ran a few errands. Wasted as I was, parking that huge boat was a BITCH. I punctuated my show with a long pee in the cash register. The toll booth operator smiled then called the cops but when they got there I told a bunch of jokes and did a few robot moves and they high fived my for my radness.
"Merkley, you one funny muthafucka" the white cop said trying to sound like the black cop."
"Ok" I said, talking to the black cop while pointing at the white cop, "Now you do him!"
Now you see why they let me go. I'm hilarious. Who could hate me.
Anyway, pardon the pun but, I'm not the type that usually "blacks" out when I drink so it became my mission to remember what had transpired earlier in the evening. I remembered making some drinks out of wood shavings and sugar, I had developed a super fast fermentation technique that I wish I could remember. You haven't lived till you have tasted cedar and honey. Two of my former band mates were there basically annoying the shit out of me, that's probably why I drank so much. Hopefully the station wagon belonged to one of them. Holy shit they were boring. I think.
Oh yeah, earlier in the day I went through the turnstile at a BART station way out in the middle of nowhere, but for some reason every single person who ever thought I was awesome was there calling my name and giving me props.
"I should fucking run for Mayor" I said to one fan.
"NO FUCKING KIDDING" He said. "MERKLEY IS RUNNING FOR MAYOR EVERYBODY!!!"
The whole BART station erupted in applause and I saw Gavin Newsom lower his head and scoot out through a side door. Awe, poor fella.
After I sobered up a bit I cruised over to my friend Ellen DeGeneres' house in the East Bay, she films her show there you know. She was in a big fight with her roommate who is a nice gay man. I don't know what they were fighting about but I told a bunch of jokes and did my best to get them to make up. I was laying there on the floor and Ellen, who had just dyed her hair black, was running her fingers through my hair saying all kinds of funny shit and basically being the best friend a person could ever have. She asked me to return the favor and run my fingers through her hair but her gay roommate was getting really territorial over both of us. He's the one causing the troubles.
Ellen's mom came in the room and removed all her skin. She is very beautiful under all that wrinkled sagginess.
"Why do you even wear all that old skin?" I asked her.
"You can't walk around as an 80 year old woman and expect to be taken seriously without serious sags."
I have to admit she made complete sense. But fuck, she was HAWT. ha ha -- I just said "butt fuck".
After that Ellen showed me one of her many talents by texting me a perfectly written message without even looking at her phone.
"Yeah, I learned how to do this so that when I'm in a boring conversation I can have a completely different conversation in my pocket." she said.
"That's absolute genius" I said. "But how do you understand what people text back?"
"My phone vibrates out the messages in morse code."
"You know morse code?"
"I was in the Navy"
"Oh yeah."
Not only that but Ellen, being funny till the very end, has a funny phone -- HUGE and plasticy, like it was made for a clown. Damn I'm glad she is my best friend.
But yeah, you should go to her house one day and catch the filming of her show. She always has an afternoon afterparty and every one in the audience is invited. You won't regret it.
November 19, 2007
Letterman & Regis Deal With The Writers Strike, Boner Feet & Spooging Penis Cartoons on The Tabernacle Ceiling
Took a quick trip to New York cuz all my writer friends are on strike. As much as I like them all and understand their cause and think they should get paid more than the actors etc, you know on account of actors being mostly douchebags, I still wanted to take the opportunity to meet a couple of their bosses cuz I knew they wouldn't have much goin on and I wanted to see how the monkeys managed without with the trainers who were out picketing on broadway.
Letterman's studio was completely empty, they even removed the set and TV show equipment. Save Letterman himself, one fat guy I assume was his best friend and a woman who appeared to be an anchorwoman from a small middle of fuck town It was nothin more than big black empty box. Lacking any kind of script, the camera man was taking liberties to do the art film he never wanted to do in college. There was a blue filter on the lens and he was getting really close up on Letterman's quivering facial features doing quick angular pans between the two as they talked about nothing. Letterman was not on his game, he needs them writers apparently -- otherwise it's straight to workin the merch table for The Blue Man group.
Regis on the other hand was killin it, better than ever, he had the whole crowd eating out of his underpants, like it was the best thing that ever happened to him being cut from loose them shackles cue cards. He punched Kelly Ripa in the balls. Just kidding, But it wouldda been cool. The audience wanted it. Nothin against Kelly Ripa of course.
Outside on the street all the writers were having a garage sale to raise money on account of not working. I bought a pair of socks from a super famous dude whose name I can't remember.
Then I bought another race car and entered in the mountain race. I really know how to drive in the mountains, there ain't a cliff on earth I won't mock with my awesome skills bro. I'm not sure what the whole point of purposely ripping big holes in the pavement is, but it was fucking up my shocks and bruising my brain. Good thing I had a Flinstones hole in the floor and could put my feet down to lift the car over the really bullshit holes.
BTW I can make my feet grow, just like how a wiener turns into a boner, but feet.
Wouldn't it be cool if you could do that with any body part?
I bet the person who wrote Pinocchio was a child molester.
I mean think of Pinocchio giving an upside down blowjob, where would his nose be?
Exactly.
Total homo puppet molester shit.
I drew some really really good cartoons of my brother -- I'd show them to you but they seem to have disappeared. Art thieves probs.
I developed a system to fold any given gigantic piece of paper into a manageable sized book type deal, It's kinda hard to explain the process and also a bit boring but the end result allowed me to fold the entire ceiling of the Mormon Tabernacle into a book about ten times the size of an average dictionary. Of course I flipped through it and vandalized all the paintings by drawing classic spooging penises on everything. People try too hard when it comes to vandalism, the squirting dick is a classic, why fix what ain't broke? Anyway, when I unfolded the ceiling back into place people were pissed. Mormons ain't got no humor bro.
The only person that wasn't totally pissed at me was a big huge fat dude that had apple skin for skin. Like literally his skin wasn't human, it was apple skin, apparently he's the only one, some kind of mutant. It was part red, part green with little white speckles, mostly green, like a green apple with a sunburn. It was very very cool. I wanted to bite him to see if he was crunchy because although he was shaped like a blubbery fat guy, he seemed solid and crisp like an apple. Anyway, I didn't bite him because of something called ummm -- courtesy? DUH!
Thinking of apples makes me thirsty.
Letterman's studio was completely empty, they even removed the set and TV show equipment. Save Letterman himself, one fat guy I assume was his best friend and a woman who appeared to be an anchorwoman from a small middle of fuck town It was nothin more than big black empty box. Lacking any kind of script, the camera man was taking liberties to do the art film he never wanted to do in college. There was a blue filter on the lens and he was getting really close up on Letterman's quivering facial features doing quick angular pans between the two as they talked about nothing. Letterman was not on his game, he needs them writers apparently -- otherwise it's straight to workin the merch table for The Blue Man group.
Regis on the other hand was killin it, better than ever, he had the whole crowd eating out of his underpants, like it was the best thing that ever happened to him being cut from loose them shackles cue cards. He punched Kelly Ripa in the balls. Just kidding, But it wouldda been cool. The audience wanted it. Nothin against Kelly Ripa of course.
Outside on the street all the writers were having a garage sale to raise money on account of not working. I bought a pair of socks from a super famous dude whose name I can't remember.
Then I bought another race car and entered in the mountain race. I really know how to drive in the mountains, there ain't a cliff on earth I won't mock with my awesome skills bro. I'm not sure what the whole point of purposely ripping big holes in the pavement is, but it was fucking up my shocks and bruising my brain. Good thing I had a Flinstones hole in the floor and could put my feet down to lift the car over the really bullshit holes.
BTW I can make my feet grow, just like how a wiener turns into a boner, but feet.
Wouldn't it be cool if you could do that with any body part?
I bet the person who wrote Pinocchio was a child molester.
I mean think of Pinocchio giving an upside down blowjob, where would his nose be?
Exactly.
Total homo puppet molester shit.
I drew some really really good cartoons of my brother -- I'd show them to you but they seem to have disappeared. Art thieves probs.
I developed a system to fold any given gigantic piece of paper into a manageable sized book type deal, It's kinda hard to explain the process and also a bit boring but the end result allowed me to fold the entire ceiling of the Mormon Tabernacle into a book about ten times the size of an average dictionary. Of course I flipped through it and vandalized all the paintings by drawing classic spooging penises on everything. People try too hard when it comes to vandalism, the squirting dick is a classic, why fix what ain't broke? Anyway, when I unfolded the ceiling back into place people were pissed. Mormons ain't got no humor bro.
The only person that wasn't totally pissed at me was a big huge fat dude that had apple skin for skin. Like literally his skin wasn't human, it was apple skin, apparently he's the only one, some kind of mutant. It was part red, part green with little white speckles, mostly green, like a green apple with a sunburn. It was very very cool. I wanted to bite him to see if he was crunchy because although he was shaped like a blubbery fat guy, he seemed solid and crisp like an apple. Anyway, I didn't bite him because of something called ummm -- courtesy? DUH!
Thinking of apples makes me thirsty.
November 17, 2007
Boner Etiquette at The Nudist Colony, Something I Call Presentment & A Handy Bag of Moldy Donuts
I visited a nudist colony yesterday, not on purpose, I was with someone else who knew one of the top nakeds. Like most nudist colonies, most of the patrons were not exactly eye candy, more like eye jerky or eye sack of wet toilet paper, anyway, everyone was awfully friendly. I hung out in the kitchen and remained fully dressed despite all the gentle nudging to get me out of my suit.
Standing by the sink was a kid, well, maybe not a kid, he was short anyway, I think he had that disease that kids get that makes them look old, I seem to run into a lot of those, anyway, he had bright orange hair, was slightly balding and he was oogling a naked 13 year old girl in the other room wondering how he could get her attention.
"Hey, you think I should show that girl my boner?" he asked.
"Uh, maybe not, I don't think girls are really interested in boners unless they are attached to someone they already like, even then, I'm not sure they like being surprised." I said.
"Yeah but this is a nudist colony." he said.
"Hmmmm, why did I always think that boners were kinda bad game at the nude camp?"
"I'm gonna show her my boner." He said as he scooted up against the wall so that only his boner was poked out beyond the edge. He climbed up on a chair which made the floating boner appear to be attached to a 7 foot tall man. "Is she looking? Is she looking?"
"Uh yeah, and she just rolled her eyes dude, I told you it wouldn't work."
My friend completed whatever business he had so we decided to leave. When we went outside I realized I had left my bag with all my expensive photo and video gear just sitting on the curb. I was mortified that it could have been stolen. I had the urge to blame my friend but he had nothing to do with it so I just quietly resented him to make myself feel better. I threw my bag on top of the van and ran back into the house to make sure I didn't leave anything else behind. When I returned my friend was talking to a naked old woman who was pointing her long boney finger into his chest.
"Where did you park the van?" I asked.
"Oh shit, it was right there a second ago."
"You left the keys in it?"
"Crap."
My resentment found it's worthy target, I musta been pre-resenting or presenting or presentmenting fine, you make up the word.
We took off running down the street, every time I'd reach an intersection I'd see the van turning the next corner. I'm a fast runner. WAY FAST.
But not fast enough, I didn't find my stuff.
But I did have sex with a russian girl. So there's that. I think she knew the dude who stole the van.
Russians.
Her vagina was scratchy.
Later on I found a bag of moldy donuts and I threw them at people riding weird bikes.
Standing by the sink was a kid, well, maybe not a kid, he was short anyway, I think he had that disease that kids get that makes them look old, I seem to run into a lot of those, anyway, he had bright orange hair, was slightly balding and he was oogling a naked 13 year old girl in the other room wondering how he could get her attention.
"Hey, you think I should show that girl my boner?" he asked.
"Uh, maybe not, I don't think girls are really interested in boners unless they are attached to someone they already like, even then, I'm not sure they like being surprised." I said.
"Yeah but this is a nudist colony." he said.
"Hmmmm, why did I always think that boners were kinda bad game at the nude camp?"
"I'm gonna show her my boner." He said as he scooted up against the wall so that only his boner was poked out beyond the edge. He climbed up on a chair which made the floating boner appear to be attached to a 7 foot tall man. "Is she looking? Is she looking?"
"Uh yeah, and she just rolled her eyes dude, I told you it wouldn't work."
My friend completed whatever business he had so we decided to leave. When we went outside I realized I had left my bag with all my expensive photo and video gear just sitting on the curb. I was mortified that it could have been stolen. I had the urge to blame my friend but he had nothing to do with it so I just quietly resented him to make myself feel better. I threw my bag on top of the van and ran back into the house to make sure I didn't leave anything else behind. When I returned my friend was talking to a naked old woman who was pointing her long boney finger into his chest.
"Where did you park the van?" I asked.
"Oh shit, it was right there a second ago."
"You left the keys in it?"
"Crap."
My resentment found it's worthy target, I musta been pre-resenting or presenting or presentmenting fine, you make up the word.
We took off running down the street, every time I'd reach an intersection I'd see the van turning the next corner. I'm a fast runner. WAY FAST.
But not fast enough, I didn't find my stuff.
But I did have sex with a russian girl. So there's that. I think she knew the dude who stole the van.
Russians.
Her vagina was scratchy.
Later on I found a bag of moldy donuts and I threw them at people riding weird bikes.
November 04, 2007
The Unwelcome Roommate, Bad Biking With Butterface & The Cab Ride Confrontation
An old roommate moved back in. I wasn't thrilled. He just showed up and started moving all his shit in. He was crying about some junk so I didn't make a fuss but I was definitely wanting to throw his ass out on the street. I don't need no steenking crybaby roommates.
Anyway, I got rid of him.
I don't need no steenking crybaby roommates.
I went to a party. There was a man there with a gigantic ass and very small pants.
I tattooed a drawing of a mouth on the palm of my hand with a word bubble that says --- yup "talk to the hand". Oh the lengths I go to keep the public happy. You're welcome. Please, sit down.
I took Butterface for a ride on my tricked out Schwinn chopper bicycle. We rode all the way down to Lakeshore Blvd in Lakewood which is close to Long Beach. I was trying to pay very close attention to Butterface because she was just sitting in my lap which isn't very safe and somehow I got distracted and I looked down and she wasn't there which of course sent me into a huge freaked out panic. I turned around my bike and went racing back hoping to find her on the side of the road wagging her tail and waiting for me but much to my horror I spotted her lifeless looking body in the median. Of course I was completely grief stricken and began bawling my eyes out as I picked her up. Luckily she was still breathing. I checked her for broken bones or any noticeable injuries but I couldn't find any. I massaged her and stroked her hair and whispered in her ear that she was gonna be OK and she did her best to lick my hand and give me reassuring nibbles and such. She gradually came to while I cradled her on the long drive home. I think she just konked her head really hard.
She is fine now, not even retarded or anything. No more bike rides for her.
A cab driver passed me up for someone else but I ran and climbed into his cab anyway before the other dude could. He freaked out and tried to get me out of the cab and I told him that if he so much as touched me I would kick the livin shit out of him. He of course refused to drive me home as I yelled at him about how he was just wasting valuable time when he could be making money driving me home. He stopped at the gas station where I got out of his cab and kept challenging him to a fight.
"I want to kick your ass." I said to him with my face three inches from his. "How would you like me to kick your ass? Would you like that you little fucking asshole?"
"I don't want any trouble, just leave me alone."
"You're lucky I'm not kicking your ass right now. You do realize you're lucky right?"
Anyway, I took ten steps to the corner and flagged down a town car. On the way he picked up a crying girl so I got out early and walked the rest of the way home as I drunk dialed the universe.
Anyway, I got rid of him.
I don't need no steenking crybaby roommates.
I went to a party. There was a man there with a gigantic ass and very small pants.
I tattooed a drawing of a mouth on the palm of my hand with a word bubble that says --- yup "talk to the hand". Oh the lengths I go to keep the public happy. You're welcome. Please, sit down.
I took Butterface for a ride on my tricked out Schwinn chopper bicycle. We rode all the way down to Lakeshore Blvd in Lakewood which is close to Long Beach. I was trying to pay very close attention to Butterface because she was just sitting in my lap which isn't very safe and somehow I got distracted and I looked down and she wasn't there which of course sent me into a huge freaked out panic. I turned around my bike and went racing back hoping to find her on the side of the road wagging her tail and waiting for me but much to my horror I spotted her lifeless looking body in the median. Of course I was completely grief stricken and began bawling my eyes out as I picked her up. Luckily she was still breathing. I checked her for broken bones or any noticeable injuries but I couldn't find any. I massaged her and stroked her hair and whispered in her ear that she was gonna be OK and she did her best to lick my hand and give me reassuring nibbles and such. She gradually came to while I cradled her on the long drive home. I think she just konked her head really hard.
She is fine now, not even retarded or anything. No more bike rides for her.
A cab driver passed me up for someone else but I ran and climbed into his cab anyway before the other dude could. He freaked out and tried to get me out of the cab and I told him that if he so much as touched me I would kick the livin shit out of him. He of course refused to drive me home as I yelled at him about how he was just wasting valuable time when he could be making money driving me home. He stopped at the gas station where I got out of his cab and kept challenging him to a fight.
"I want to kick your ass." I said to him with my face three inches from his. "How would you like me to kick your ass? Would you like that you little fucking asshole?"
"I don't want any trouble, just leave me alone."
"You're lucky I'm not kicking your ass right now. You do realize you're lucky right?"
Anyway, I took ten steps to the corner and flagged down a town car. On the way he picked up a crying girl so I got out early and walked the rest of the way home as I drunk dialed the universe.
October 25, 2007
Property Hunting Down By The Tracks, Auction Robot Porn Hosted By The Patrick Swayze Bull Dyke Twins & The Crucifixion of a Donald Trump Wannabe
I went property shopping down by the railroad tracks. It's a shitty neighborhood but there are some really cool old houses with 18 foot ceilings and the new moving sidewalks the city just put in spruce up the place rather nicely. Anyway, I was only down there because of the auction.
Yeah the auction. Also a dating service. You show up and they do this snowball activity where all the dudes are on one side and all the ladies are on the other then the women all pick the man they want. Cool right? No, not right. The "lady" that picked me was a toothless cracked out black lady that must've been homeless, (part of the trouble with doing couples skating down by the railroad tracks). Anyway, the suggested end result of this little "date" was being demonstrated up in the auction block where an unfortunately homely looking couple was getting it on.
I didn't want to have sex in front of a bunch of uglies with a homeless woman, but I played nice and just kept the conversation about kitchen appliances and paper products even though she kept trying to get her boney ten foot long fingers on my balls. At least I wasn't stuck in conversation with the two muscular Patrick Swayze looking bull dykes who were hosting the auction running around declaring their independence from men in their fuzzy togas. Why do so many dykes look like Patrick Swayze? Anyway, the only message the fuzzy togas were sending was loud and clear: TRY TO IGNORE US.
Back to the ugly couple having sex on the auction block, the woman had a blue green tone, skinny but squishy and lots of moles, I think she was a hooker, deep set hooker eye holes. When I walked past her I glanced down to her crotch area to see what was going on and hey ho, big surprise, there wasn't anything, no point of entry, all sealed up. Lady was a robot. Personally if I was making a sex robot, it'd have more tightly stretched skin with an actual vagina type deal. Nice touch with the moles though.
Oh yeah, Above the auction pulpit thingy there was a flashy business man in a nice blue suit nailed to a cross made out of brief cases. ART man, ART!
Yeah the auction. Also a dating service. You show up and they do this snowball activity where all the dudes are on one side and all the ladies are on the other then the women all pick the man they want. Cool right? No, not right. The "lady" that picked me was a toothless cracked out black lady that must've been homeless, (part of the trouble with doing couples skating down by the railroad tracks). Anyway, the suggested end result of this little "date" was being demonstrated up in the auction block where an unfortunately homely looking couple was getting it on.
I didn't want to have sex in front of a bunch of uglies with a homeless woman, but I played nice and just kept the conversation about kitchen appliances and paper products even though she kept trying to get her boney ten foot long fingers on my balls. At least I wasn't stuck in conversation with the two muscular Patrick Swayze looking bull dykes who were hosting the auction running around declaring their independence from men in their fuzzy togas. Why do so many dykes look like Patrick Swayze? Anyway, the only message the fuzzy togas were sending was loud and clear: TRY TO IGNORE US.
Back to the ugly couple having sex on the auction block, the woman had a blue green tone, skinny but squishy and lots of moles, I think she was a hooker, deep set hooker eye holes. When I walked past her I glanced down to her crotch area to see what was going on and hey ho, big surprise, there wasn't anything, no point of entry, all sealed up. Lady was a robot. Personally if I was making a sex robot, it'd have more tightly stretched skin with an actual vagina type deal. Nice touch with the moles though.
Oh yeah, Above the auction pulpit thingy there was a flashy business man in a nice blue suit nailed to a cross made out of brief cases. ART man, ART!
October 23, 2007
The Old Road To High School, The Surprising Evolution of Darwin & The Miserable Former Manager/Promoter in The Clowny Dress
I have been going back to the old neighborhood of my childhood a lot lately. I don't know why, I just get a terrible knot in my stomach every time and I count the seconds until I leave.
Yesterday I was walking the same route I walked to high school when I was late for school or missed the bus. I was kinda surprised to see a few of my fellow students, now all grown up, still walking the same path. I bumped into a guy that was my friend in middle school but by the time high school rolled around he was recruited by the Future Farmers of America douchebags and was not allowed to be friendly with a new wave break dancer preppy motherfucker such as myself. But much to my surprise, as an adult he was dressed rather bohemian and he told me how he was now a defense attorney. I always hoped he'd come to his senses, apparently he did. He evolved. Funny, his name is Darwin.
As for why he was walking the old path to school, I didn't ask, neither did he.
Still, seeing him left me depressed.
Everything about Utah leaves me depressed.
Later I joined the members of my old band for some kind of ill planned reunion of sorts. I don't what the fuck I was thinking when I agreed to be part of it. The rest of the band bypassed my managerial and promotional skills in favor of some overweight stinky fella who was apparently relying on the power of prayer to fill the venue. I watched as he kneeled and recited his prayers, arms outstretched to the heavens imploring God's great goodness to keep us all from complete embarrassment when nobody showed up.
"Uh yeah dude, that's not how to promote a show."
"How do you know?" He said.
"Well I promoted shows successfully for ten years, you need posters, radio ads and flyers mixed with good word of mouth, the only thing were gonna have at this show with your method is one douchebag promoter with bruised knees. Do you know how to dance?"
"Well if you're such a great promoter why didn't you help out?" he asked.
"A) Nobody asked and B) I was kinda hoping for a complete disaster such as this." I said.
And it WAS a disaster. Nobody showed up. I thought I'd enjoy the misery, but frankly I was just plain miserable. Oh and did I mention that I thought it would be cool to dress up in a yellow and red dress? Yeah, thought it would be "f.u.n.n.y." -- nothing more pathetic than a miserable man in a Ronald McDonald Tranny joke dress.
I'll try to avoid the past from now on. Fuck the past.
Yesterday I was walking the same route I walked to high school when I was late for school or missed the bus. I was kinda surprised to see a few of my fellow students, now all grown up, still walking the same path. I bumped into a guy that was my friend in middle school but by the time high school rolled around he was recruited by the Future Farmers of America douchebags and was not allowed to be friendly with a new wave break dancer preppy motherfucker such as myself. But much to my surprise, as an adult he was dressed rather bohemian and he told me how he was now a defense attorney. I always hoped he'd come to his senses, apparently he did. He evolved. Funny, his name is Darwin.
As for why he was walking the old path to school, I didn't ask, neither did he.
Still, seeing him left me depressed.
Everything about Utah leaves me depressed.
Later I joined the members of my old band for some kind of ill planned reunion of sorts. I don't what the fuck I was thinking when I agreed to be part of it. The rest of the band bypassed my managerial and promotional skills in favor of some overweight stinky fella who was apparently relying on the power of prayer to fill the venue. I watched as he kneeled and recited his prayers, arms outstretched to the heavens imploring God's great goodness to keep us all from complete embarrassment when nobody showed up.
"Uh yeah dude, that's not how to promote a show."
"How do you know?" He said.
"Well I promoted shows successfully for ten years, you need posters, radio ads and flyers mixed with good word of mouth, the only thing were gonna have at this show with your method is one douchebag promoter with bruised knees. Do you know how to dance?"
"Well if you're such a great promoter why didn't you help out?" he asked.
"A) Nobody asked and B) I was kinda hoping for a complete disaster such as this." I said.
And it WAS a disaster. Nobody showed up. I thought I'd enjoy the misery, but frankly I was just plain miserable. Oh and did I mention that I thought it would be cool to dress up in a yellow and red dress? Yeah, thought it would be "f.u.n.n.y." -- nothing more pathetic than a miserable man in a Ronald McDonald Tranny joke dress.
I'll try to avoid the past from now on. Fuck the past.
Mile High Clubbing with Francis McDormand, Stow Away Tips From Santa Claus & A REALLY Long Lunch with Ralph Macchio
On the plane home from LA the other day I sat next to Francis McDormand, you know, the pregnant cop from Fargo, I had just seen the movie for the third time the night before so it was a nice surprise cuz I really like that movie. I annoyed myself for the first half an hour of the flight because I pretended I didn't know who she was which is totally gay city, especially because I had to sit next to her for a billion miles. I noticed that she was edging her arm onto the arm rest and for a quick second I considered making room but then I remembered that holding my ground on armrest space is probably one of my best talents, why make an exception just cuz it's Francis McD? Right?
I held my ground. I didn't budge.
She persisted, eventually sliding her arm on top of mine.
and leaving it there,
for like a long time,
long enough to make us both horny.
Minutes later we were giving each other blow jobs in front of everyone on the plane.
They all pretended not to not notice.
Francis McDormand never stops smiling during sex. Cool.
When we finished up we sat there, still not talking and then I annoyed myself by playing aloof instead of just asking for her number. But then again, I didn't really need to, from where I was sitting I could see her cellphone in her purse and the number was written in white ink all across the front of it. All I needed to do was memorize it. Interestingly, her mother, who I hadn't noticed earlier sitting in the seat beside her, was eyeballing the cellphone trying to memorize the number too. They must not be very close. So sad.
When I got off the plane Santa Claus tried to make small talk with me, explaining the ins and out of being a stow away, apparently that's how he gets around, not reindeer. The coolest thing he showed me was that, even though you can't see them, each individual row of seats has it's own door on both sides, just like a four door car has a door for the back seat, planes all have doors on every row, you just have to feel for the handle. Seriously, check it out next time you fly. He invited me to go with him but his next stop was Idaho so I obviously declined. Plus he smelled musty.
Later in the airport cafeteria I sat next to this Ralph Macchio looking douchebag who kept claiming he was Brazilian, i went along with it, asking him to say certain phrases in portuguese, he just mumbled out gibberish. I never told him that I'm fluent in portuguese. I think it might have actually BEEN Ralph Macchio. He looks weird old, like those tiny kindergarten kids with that weird disease that makes them look like a geezer.
Yeah, it was totally Ralph Macchio, half the stuff he was claiming was portuguese sounded like Mr. Miyagi.
I think I'm gonna call Francis.
I held my ground. I didn't budge.
She persisted, eventually sliding her arm on top of mine.
and leaving it there,
for like a long time,
long enough to make us both horny.
Minutes later we were giving each other blow jobs in front of everyone on the plane.
They all pretended not to not notice.
Francis McDormand never stops smiling during sex. Cool.
When we finished up we sat there, still not talking and then I annoyed myself by playing aloof instead of just asking for her number. But then again, I didn't really need to, from where I was sitting I could see her cellphone in her purse and the number was written in white ink all across the front of it. All I needed to do was memorize it. Interestingly, her mother, who I hadn't noticed earlier sitting in the seat beside her, was eyeballing the cellphone trying to memorize the number too. They must not be very close. So sad.
When I got off the plane Santa Claus tried to make small talk with me, explaining the ins and out of being a stow away, apparently that's how he gets around, not reindeer. The coolest thing he showed me was that, even though you can't see them, each individual row of seats has it's own door on both sides, just like a four door car has a door for the back seat, planes all have doors on every row, you just have to feel for the handle. Seriously, check it out next time you fly. He invited me to go with him but his next stop was Idaho so I obviously declined. Plus he smelled musty.
Later in the airport cafeteria I sat next to this Ralph Macchio looking douchebag who kept claiming he was Brazilian, i went along with it, asking him to say certain phrases in portuguese, he just mumbled out gibberish. I never told him that I'm fluent in portuguese. I think it might have actually BEEN Ralph Macchio. He looks weird old, like those tiny kindergarten kids with that weird disease that makes them look like a geezer.
Yeah, it was totally Ralph Macchio, half the stuff he was claiming was portuguese sounded like Mr. Miyagi.
I think I'm gonna call Francis.
October 22, 2007
Lance Bass Gets The Hots For Beardo, Removeable Chocolate Nipple Lids & The Fragile Wax Bleep Bloop
I get a little miffed when the gays just dismiss me out of hand as a straight and they don't even try to hit on me. True, I'm not gay, but do you have to treat me like that? Throw a guy a bone every once in a while. That's a good joke cuz of the word BONE.
Anyway at least Lance Bass, one of the famousest gays, has manners, he tried to grab my wiener a dozen times last night. What a gentleman. Every homo in the room was tryin' to get a piece of him but he was all about the dude with the beard, and of course I liked the attention because DUH, I like attention even if it is from a pudgy fifth wheel boy band homo. Of course I'm no prude so I was nice and flattered when he tried to back me into a corner. But honestly, even if I was gay, Lance Bass most certainly wouldn't be my type, he has way bad style and his freshly bleached hair is so 1997 and not in a good way and bottom line he just isn't femmy enough. If I was gonna fag out it'd be a hot femme gay or post op tranny, you know, cuz I ain't gay and they are almost women or something. The math almost works.
"Lance, if I was gay you'd be the first man I'd fuck." I said, because I'm polite enough to lie (Prince would be first).
"Well if you were gay, I wouldn't want to fuck you." he said as he took off his shirt. "I only go with straight men."
"Whoa dude, what is going on with that third nipple in the middle of your chest? Is that real?"
"Yeah you like it?"
"Ummm uhh, why is it so big? It looks like a negro's nipple, are you sure that's not chocolate?"
"Check this out." He slowly peeled up the big nipple revealing a strange belly button type hole.
"What the fuck is going on there? You have a fleshy hole in your chest."
"Stick your dick in there."
"No way, that's not a vagina." I said, making perfect sense.
"Yeah but it's not a butthole either."
"What is it? Is that your belly button?"
"Do belly buttons go all the way through?" He asked as he turned around revealing the exit end of his weird nipple covered chest hole thing."
"What do you call that thing?"
"It's my Lance Basshole, stick your dick in there, it's soft and you totally won't even be gay because it's not a butthole, hand or mouth."
"Well thanks for the offer, but as tempting as it might be just for purely the I Fucked The Third Nipple Covered Hole in Lance Bass' Chest factor, I think I'm gonna have to politely decline because, well, it doesn't gimme a boner so that creates an obvious problem."
"You don't need a boner with this, just put it in there and it will turn into a boner, I guarantee it."
"Maybe so but I don't want you to give me a boner, and more than that I just don't want to stick my wong in your .... umm .. "basshole", but seriously, no offense, I'm sure I'll probably regret not doing it when I'm an old man with a dead dick."
"Well gimme your number." he said "The offer will stand, whenever you want, I'll call you and check up every once in a while."
I gave him the wrong number. I don't need that kind of pressure from a famous homo.
Later I went back to my childhood bedroom in Utah and had a little bit of sex with a famous Vargas girl but when I went to doodle her business a piece of labia broke off in my fingers. Guess I shouldda known Vargas girls were made out of wax. She actually DID have chocolate nipples, I ate one of them. Is that rude?
Oh yeah, when the transparent wax labia fragment broke off she told me to eat that too but I passed.
Nobody told me it was weird removable/edible nipple/genital day.
I suppose I miss out on a lot not being weird.
Anyway at least Lance Bass, one of the famousest gays, has manners, he tried to grab my wiener a dozen times last night. What a gentleman. Every homo in the room was tryin' to get a piece of him but he was all about the dude with the beard, and of course I liked the attention because DUH, I like attention even if it is from a pudgy fifth wheel boy band homo. Of course I'm no prude so I was nice and flattered when he tried to back me into a corner. But honestly, even if I was gay, Lance Bass most certainly wouldn't be my type, he has way bad style and his freshly bleached hair is so 1997 and not in a good way and bottom line he just isn't femmy enough. If I was gonna fag out it'd be a hot femme gay or post op tranny, you know, cuz I ain't gay and they are almost women or something. The math almost works.
"Lance, if I was gay you'd be the first man I'd fuck." I said, because I'm polite enough to lie (Prince would be first).
"Well if you were gay, I wouldn't want to fuck you." he said as he took off his shirt. "I only go with straight men."
"Whoa dude, what is going on with that third nipple in the middle of your chest? Is that real?"
"Yeah you like it?"
"Ummm uhh, why is it so big? It looks like a negro's nipple, are you sure that's not chocolate?"
"Check this out." He slowly peeled up the big nipple revealing a strange belly button type hole.
"What the fuck is going on there? You have a fleshy hole in your chest."
"Stick your dick in there."
"No way, that's not a vagina." I said, making perfect sense.
"Yeah but it's not a butthole either."
"What is it? Is that your belly button?"
"Do belly buttons go all the way through?" He asked as he turned around revealing the exit end of his weird nipple covered chest hole thing."
"What do you call that thing?"
"It's my Lance Basshole, stick your dick in there, it's soft and you totally won't even be gay because it's not a butthole, hand or mouth."
"Well thanks for the offer, but as tempting as it might be just for purely the I Fucked The Third Nipple Covered Hole in Lance Bass' Chest factor, I think I'm gonna have to politely decline because, well, it doesn't gimme a boner so that creates an obvious problem."
"You don't need a boner with this, just put it in there and it will turn into a boner, I guarantee it."
"Maybe so but I don't want you to give me a boner, and more than that I just don't want to stick my wong in your .... umm .. "basshole", but seriously, no offense, I'm sure I'll probably regret not doing it when I'm an old man with a dead dick."
"Well gimme your number." he said "The offer will stand, whenever you want, I'll call you and check up every once in a while."
I gave him the wrong number. I don't need that kind of pressure from a famous homo.
Later I went back to my childhood bedroom in Utah and had a little bit of sex with a famous Vargas girl but when I went to doodle her business a piece of labia broke off in my fingers. Guess I shouldda known Vargas girls were made out of wax. She actually DID have chocolate nipples, I ate one of them. Is that rude?
Oh yeah, when the transparent wax labia fragment broke off she told me to eat that too but I passed.
Nobody told me it was weird removable/edible nipple/genital day.
I suppose I miss out on a lot not being weird.
October 17, 2007
Thee Dolly Lame-O, The Big Blobby Photo Shoot With Unnamed Dancers & Superman's Bionic Art Jaw
I sat next to the Dali Lama at the big commie military wankfest in the field behind the White-house. George Bush refused to be seen or photographed with "THEE Dolly LAME-O", as he put it, so he and all his buddies hung out over by the garage pointing and laughing at all the other countries military get ups. The Dali Lama was dressed in an all red number looking like a mix between a Canadian Royal Mountie mixed with a Christmas Tree with loads of medals and tassels which wasn't too surprising to me because I always thought the orange diaper vibe was just pandering to the movie star hippie set. I guess the plain crappy folding chair went along with that whole deal. Way to go Mr. Humility, I'm totally buying it now.
George Bush kept doing devil horns rock and roll hand whenever the marching troops did some choreography. No surprise there.
I went scouting for a location that would look like my living room only as big as a warehouse to do a photo shoot. I wore my naked rubber Three Question Marks costume with a working television on my head as a mask because I'm an entertaining driver. I also mimed all the crazy keyboard solos from the Moog cookbook compilation on the ipod. I was a big hit as usual.
Along the way we all stopped off at a few thrift stores. I bought a huge bronze wall sculpture of James Earl Jones as Louis Armstrong posing with Elvis. I can't remember what movie it's from but I'll need a crane to get it into my house. I also nearly chopped of my finger on a makeshift fan someone had fashioned out of an old boat propeller attached to a motor with nothing more than a few oversized paper clamps. Whatever numbdick set that whole thing up was def not thinking safety first.
When we finally found a place that could pass as a gigantic version of my living room we brought in a dozen VW bugs and parked them amongst the furniture because, duh, it looked cool.
Once all the dancers arrived they distracted me by asking me to think of a name for their all female dance review. Usually I'm pretty good at this type of thing but I admit I was a little stumped because I was convinced that it should just be a man's name, you know like Albert or Henry or Doug but then when I'd visualize them being announced on TV, "Ladies and gentlemen please welcome DOUG!", it left me feeling too hipstery so instead I played with the melted candle wax, puffing it up, rolling it out, making it into all kinds of big huge blobby pornographic shapes.
"You should name your group an indescribable blobby shape with a few sharp corners instead of a word, you know, like how Prince changed his name to a symbol, this way a person would have to own the sharpish blobby thing and hold it up in the air if they wanted to talk about you. You'd sell a million blobby sharp deals."
Later on Christopher Reeves came by the set, he showed me his mechanical jaw. Each tooth was individually sculpted and on it's own lever like a metal piano or typewriter. He opened the drawer in his wheelchair and showed me all the custom souvenir teeth sculpted from ivory he'd been given as gifts from stars such as Larry King and Bernadette Peters. My Favorite tooth was probably the one sculpted in the exact miniature likeness of Tweety Bird. I'm sold on the idea that false teeth should be little sculptures and not just teeth. Way to go Superman.
George Bush kept doing devil horns rock and roll hand whenever the marching troops did some choreography. No surprise there.
I went scouting for a location that would look like my living room only as big as a warehouse to do a photo shoot. I wore my naked rubber Three Question Marks costume with a working television on my head as a mask because I'm an entertaining driver. I also mimed all the crazy keyboard solos from the Moog cookbook compilation on the ipod. I was a big hit as usual.
Along the way we all stopped off at a few thrift stores. I bought a huge bronze wall sculpture of James Earl Jones as Louis Armstrong posing with Elvis. I can't remember what movie it's from but I'll need a crane to get it into my house. I also nearly chopped of my finger on a makeshift fan someone had fashioned out of an old boat propeller attached to a motor with nothing more than a few oversized paper clamps. Whatever numbdick set that whole thing up was def not thinking safety first.
When we finally found a place that could pass as a gigantic version of my living room we brought in a dozen VW bugs and parked them amongst the furniture because, duh, it looked cool.
Once all the dancers arrived they distracted me by asking me to think of a name for their all female dance review. Usually I'm pretty good at this type of thing but I admit I was a little stumped because I was convinced that it should just be a man's name, you know like Albert or Henry or Doug but then when I'd visualize them being announced on TV, "Ladies and gentlemen please welcome DOUG!", it left me feeling too hipstery so instead I played with the melted candle wax, puffing it up, rolling it out, making it into all kinds of big huge blobby pornographic shapes.
"You should name your group an indescribable blobby shape with a few sharp corners instead of a word, you know, like how Prince changed his name to a symbol, this way a person would have to own the sharpish blobby thing and hold it up in the air if they wanted to talk about you. You'd sell a million blobby sharp deals."
Later on Christopher Reeves came by the set, he showed me his mechanical jaw. Each tooth was individually sculpted and on it's own lever like a metal piano or typewriter. He opened the drawer in his wheelchair and showed me all the custom souvenir teeth sculpted from ivory he'd been given as gifts from stars such as Larry King and Bernadette Peters. My Favorite tooth was probably the one sculpted in the exact miniature likeness of Tweety Bird. I'm sold on the idea that false teeth should be little sculptures and not just teeth. Way to go Superman.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)