Accidentally Imitating Tracy Morgan at BYU, Universal Retro Future Day & Hiding My Pranks Under a Bushel

I took a trip back to BYU with my new friend Tracy Morgan, yeah the funny black dude from 30 rock and SNL. We had taco salads in the cafeteria and I noticed that I was adopting his hyper negro speech patterns. I really don't like it when white people talk like black people but you try hanging out with him. Anyway, I told him I was sorry and that I couldn't help it. He blew it off like he didn't care but just to make sure I started talking like a fag instead. He cared about that. He didn't like it. He thought I was making fun of him. I wasn't.

Blacks are scared of gays. Like I needed to tell you.

Anyway, at BYU we saw the famous father son team of bearded Mormon professors who drank coffee and other caffeinated drinks but insisted that they were good Mormons. Such rebels. It made me sad. Gay.

When we left the cafeteria we realized it was universal retro future day, which of course is the day that the whole universe is made over to look like the retro version of the future. It was pretty cool, although one of the cars I noticed was the Datsun 200sx my mom had as a kid. I suppose it fit the theme ok. I drove that car to my first boob touching experience which was also at BYU, but that's another story.

We ended the day making prank phone calls to radio stations with my friend who owns my favorite art gallery. Actually he did all the pranking. Tracy Morgan was still pissed at me acting Homo even though I only did it for like 30 minutes. I didn't have the heart to break in with some of my own pranks because it comes so naturally to me it would be unfair. I'm really THAT good. I'm not kidding.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught taking a vacation when your whole life is basically a vacation.
Your Favorite Fake Santa Claus You Wish Would Come To The House,
Chris Farley

My Mother's London Based Daniel Boone Wedding Reception Center, The Burglar Who Looked Sharp In My Stolen Suit & Pilots are Stuck UP

My mom is now running a wedding reception center in London. It's the same place where a big rockstar friend got married and I had to spend her whole wedding day in her bridal chambers documenting it all.

Too much estrogen. My balls shrank to microsopic levels.

My mom didn't own it then, nor did she own it when I got married there way back when. She has become quite an avid art collector, having commissioned a whole room of paintings that looked like old Daniel Boone postcards. In each painting there were at least three bearded men, one of which was an obvious likeness of me. At first glance you'd think I'd be flattered, but that's just because you don't know my mom. Those painting are her way of trying to explain to the world that there are famous men with beards, it's the only way she can deal with her shame, you know, by trying to validate my existence though the accomplishments of beard-os past.

Ew, marriage. Why do the gays want it so much? It's as if they are demanding entrance to a leper colony, you know, just cuz it's exclusive.

Equality does require equal stupidity I suppose.

Speaking of gays, I don't know why I always feel so compelled to drag some gays out of the closet. I get really annoyed with closet gays. They aren't helping anything. I called out half my Mormon mom's staff.

And then we got robbed. One of the robbers was wearing one of my favorite suits. Guess he stole it. I would have been pissed but I have to admit he did look sharp.

Anyway, I snuck out of the robbery and made my way to the old wedding breakfast nook where I snacked on fish, hot dogs, trail mix and donuts.

At the airport coming home I ran into one of my best friends from high school. Apparently I did something to make him think I'm an asshole because he had no interest in talking to me and was obviously pissed. Or maybe that's just they way pilots act.

Nevertheless my feelings were hurt.

Glad to be back from London.

Point is:
You gotta fight 4 your right 2 B RETAAAARRRDED!

That's all for now,
Don't get caught doing a Naked Lady Sale on Vetrans Day.
Your Assistant Manager In Charge of So Much Important Stuff You Can't Even Believe It,
Your Name Here

Wanna Hear Me Do Woody Allen? No? Extreme Garage Door Makeover: Jet Engine TV Edition & The Creepy Sleepwalker Chick

Found out that falling asleep during a Woody Allen movie results in the ability to do a perfect impression. Too bad the only person entertained by a perfect Woody Allen impression is an old roommate who I hope I never see again.

I was trying to sleep but I could hear the sound of a TV coming from below my bed. Nobody lives below my bed, that's where the garage is. When I went to investigate, I discovered that someone had installed an entertainment center into my garage door. Must have been one of those garage door makeover shows because they actually did a pretty good job, the final result looked a bit like a jet engine covered in old bakelite wall receptacles.

They also installed a very powerful fan. Not necessary.

While I was down there I noticed that I have terrible noise leakage, if you were to stand below my window you would probably be able to hear me farting in my sleep, and I'm NOT a loud sleep farter.

Time to break out the can of expanding foam.

BTW how cool is that shit?, Also, why not just combine it with aerosol cheese?

Hello instant massive cheese puffs.

Hello a billion dollars.

Later on when I was trying to sleep, a really creepy girl wandered in to my room totally sleep walking. She was a complete stranger and other than totally giving me the standard sleep walker willies, she didn't seem to mean any harm so I didn't try to wake her up. I gently guided her to the front door and sent her on her sleepwalky way.

This whole city is basically sleepwalking anyway.

Don't judge.

Point is:
I'm the Potential Willi Wonka of SAVORY Snacks

That's all for now.
Don't get caught constantly reminding the old roommates that THEY MOVED OUT AND CAN'T KEEP STAYING HERE.
Your Favorite Memory From This Blog Post,
Expanding Cheese Foam In a Can

Indian Giving is Totally Racist, My Brothers Multi-Level Back Yard Fish Ballet Facilities & The Fatty What Tried to Gank My Sweater

I was getting rid of a bunch of old printed material containing my art, CD booklets, posters, flyers etc.. I distributed it evenly amongst the interested parties, but half way through I realized that much of the items were actually original drawings and paintings so I scrambled to get them back.

As if I'd miss them, they have been locked away for decades.

I sold my brother my house in SLC over 10 years ago, I only just barely went back to visit. He totally remodeled it, wasn't even recognizeable, probably 5 times the square footage as before.

The main attraction was the multi level pool in the back yard. What a thing of beauty, I have never seen anything like it. The water was super warm, it looked like a man made architectural version of those emerald colored paint pot hot springs in yellowstone that they say are five billion degrees.

The pools were stocked with a huge variety of exotic fish which he trained to do all sorts of tricks and choreography. I had no idea fresh water fish could be so colorful let alone trained to do loopdeloops and fish ballet etc.. Some of them could even spell things and make funny shapes with their bubble streams, kinda like how planes do it with colored smoke at air shows. How he doesn't have a show on the Back Yard Remodeling Channel is beyond me. Top level shit.

His old lady roommates LOVE him.

When I woke up this morning there was a huge ass spider web above the other side of the bed with a huge fucking spider smack dab in the middle. It could have eaten my dogs. I'm glad the girl didn't stay over last night.

Last item: Yesterday a big huge fat girl had my favorite sweater claiming she "found it downtown". A) it's vintage from the forties B) it's one of a kind hand made, C) I have pictures of me wearing it.

Nice try fatty.

Point is:
Animals take note:
We Don't Eat Animals Who Do Tricks.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught making the goldfish roll over.
Your Oldest Roommate,
A Jar of Hellman's Mayo Crica 1987

The Steve Perry Awards with My Blind Date Sheryl Crow, Pubescent Boy Boobs For Funny Coke Dealers & Stay OUT of My Endo

I attended The First Annual Steve Perry Awards Show last night. Sheryl Crow was my blind date, neither of us were too thrilled. We did our best to pretend to be having fun because that's all she really wants to do.

But we weren't having fun at all.

Luckily my little gay coke dealer comedian friend was there to at least make things funny. And funny things were until he took off his shirt and revealed his boobs which looked like the little cone shaped boobs little fat boys get round bout puberty time. My best friend from when I was 12 had those, big nipples and all. I felt sorry for him and tried not to look.

Oh yeah he also wore the exact same thing as me supposedly to indict me as his boyfriend, as if I'd be embarrassed by that sort of thing.

Nice try.

Later on my mom and some of my friends tried to have a private dinner party upstairs, of course I invited myself along even though there weren't enough chairs or seats at the table.

I hate them.

During the dinner one of the gays was accused of not being gay enough and I said:

"Well he is OBVIOUSLY gay from the waist down".

Of course everyone assumed I was talking about the behavior of his wiener as if I had personal experience when really I was talking about his pink highwater pants with sparkled shoes. No matter what you say regarding the gays, ultimately it will serve as some sort of homo innuendo.

STAY AWAY FROM MY ENDO!

See?

Oh yeah, my sister locked my dog in her closet during the dinner. I found him on my quest for a chair. He looked like he had been in there for 50 years. 10 times as runty as usual.

As someone once sang:
Jesus Has No Teeth in The Land of The Toothless

That's all for now.
Don't get caught quoting Brazilian new wave bands.
Your Favorite Religion For People Who Don't Give a Fuck About Whether or Not There is a God,
Apatheism

Driving The Bouncy Tow Truck Down The Hall, Doin Donuts in The Exploding Guts Float & The Star Spangled Emergency Heckler

I did three things I always wanted to do yesterday.

1) Drove a tow truck
2) Drove down a narrow hallway
3) Drove on to a weigh station with bouncy lowrider hydraulics.

It would have been really fun and momentous and stuff except my passenger was a crying old man trying to read a book to the baby he was holding. What a wuss. I mean Wusses.

Oh yeah I also 4) drove on an ice rink because the Circus on Ice was in town and of course they invited me to be in it.

I was driving the Exploding Guts Float.

Just as fun as Gallagher only with guts and on Ice.

Gallagher is a genius you know.

I stopped by my dad's house because he was wanted me to take a look at his bathroom. It seems he installed wall fountains on every wall, or at least thats how he explained it, the truth is he was just making the best out of an extremely leaky situation. I have to admit, it did look pretty cool in a cavey mossy kinda way.

He also painted all the wood floors. I didn't have the energy to get upset about it.

Later at the bar, my old drummer was doing a benefit for some emergency fund. He was wearing a rather patriotic outfit so I threw a bunch of stars and stripes at him as hard as I could. It didn't hurt him thought, largely because they were Imaginary due to the fact that I was either really tired or drunk, likely a combination of the two.

I might have even dreamt it.

Doesn't matter.

Point is:
Ice Makes Bad Entertainment Slippery


That's all for now.
Don't get caught doin ice donuts in the Exploding Guts Float to lull the baby and grampa to sleep.
Your Favorite New Drink,
Chocolate Milk & Vodka

Gilligan's Crappy Green Roller Coaster, Tortillas Holes are Main Ingredient in Aluminum & Flying Bikes for The Blind

The Green movement is pretty cool and all, but does everything have to be so Gilligan's Islandy? Bamboo and coconuts just aren't good building materials for something such as a roller coaster. Especially if the passengers are someone like me and my best friend from growing up who now weighs one billion pounds. There was absolutely no non-Flinstones way to slow it down, bamboo shards flying everywhere, and the car/sled wouldn't stay on the tracks. I am lucky I'm not dead.

We are ALL lucky I'm not dead.

Am i right, am I right? huh? huh? Ok then.

Anyway after that, to rehearse for halloween, we all got in full drag and went to the movies. I didn't shave or change my personality but for some reason I was bing treated like a lady anyway.

It ain't all that great.

At the snack bar the only attendant was cleaning out the tortilla machine. He was making tortilla donuts which are nothing more than tortillas with a hole punched through the middle. He was putting the hole punches into a big container that looked destined for the trash.

"Dude, don't throw those away, I can make some awesome tortilla soup out of those tortilla holes." I said.

"Oh I'm not throwing them out, I'm gonna send them to the plant and have them turned into aluminum."

"Oh OK."

Stupid me, I didn't even know tortilla holes were one of the main ingredients in aluminum.

Google it.

Here's the link lazy ass: Tortilla Holes Main Ingredient in Aluminum

Recycling man, it's effin complex.

Oh yeah, I also had to borrow money from one of the other fake drag queens because I only brought 25 bucks. Important info for yalls.

Anyway, the biggest news is that San Francisco has finally agreed to put my Flying Bikes for the Blind into limited usage across the city. They really don't fly, they are sorta just like upside down bikes that roll along suspended from the electric bus cables. They look like they are flying, that is of course if ski lift carriages look like they are flying. Try to remember the guy who rode the bike on the tight rope in the circus, it's kinda like that.

If you're in SF you'll see them soon enough.

I hope no blindies are killed. I don't wanna get sued.

Point is:
Blind people don't know how dumb they look.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught intentionally crashing your bamboo sled into a hippy to make it stop.
Your Most Iffy Green Invention of The Week,
Solar Panel Bald Caps

The Secret Service Can't Even Find My Shoes, No Way Was The Cat Dude Really Half Cat & My DJ Debacle at The Quickie Mart

My step dad works a desk job for the Mormon church. He also works for the President of The United States.

Anyway, I think he is a great dude nonetheless. I'm not sure if I am divulging any national secrets here but they (The government in conjunction with the Mormons) contracted with me to do some entertainment for some interested parties which shall remain top secret. I sent out my boxes of stuff but when I arrived they couldn't find my shoes. They tried to pass of some silver shoes as mine but I think I would notice if I owned silver shoes.

Nice try Secret Service.

One of the other people contracted was a famous "cat dude", half man half cat, or so they want us to think, he is really just some crazy dude who acts like a cat purring and pawing, acting skitish and licking his balls. Not entertaining in the slightest. I had to sit next to him during some down time, time was going by really slowly so I non-stop interviewed him about cat culture. He was def on the spot. A real cat would have bailed under so much scrutiny. Busted.

While I was gone my brother tried to steal all my remote controls, like 20 of them. I don't know why it's not like they would work on his shit. I found them and stole them back. I didn't even confront him.

I fill in DJed a party for my little swiss friend at a gas station last night. For some reason they had like 50 CD players running simultaneously with only one 10 channel mixer and I was supposed to figure it all out on my own. That's the last time I pretend to know what I'm doing. Also the A key on their laptop didn't work so I couldn't type in the password to access the lyrics.

Singing along became a problem.

It wasn't all for naught, I traded photo services for gas station deli fried chicken with the dude who owned the place.

He is a DJ too.

Who isn't.

Anyway, he seemed really ashamed about the quality of the chicken. He was right, it was bad. He probably wont even come collecting on the photo portion. Good thing too. He was extremely boring looking and didn't seem to be the type that would be easily coaxed into his underpants.

BTW, half the reason I get people nearly naked is because I am picky about fashion, most of it sucks, nudity never goes out of style.

Point is:
I'l be the judge of who is smartest.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught National Security Alerting the entire MALL,
Your Vice Preciousident,
The Cat Dude

Never Ending Wheelies on The Hippy Bike, The Not So Great San Francisco Tornado & My Three-Way With a Schizophrenic

I was gonna start this story by telling you how I was never really that great at sports and bike riding and what not but why cloud up the joint with all the negativity when I could just as easily tell you how awesome I was at riding a wheelie.

Yeah, I could ride a wheelie for blocks. Weird that I never got the hang of the unicycle. My clown inclinations only go so far.

Anyway, a bunch of burning man hippies were all showing off their tall weird bikes down the street. I tried to scoot by unnoticed but one of the hippies asked me if I wanted to ride his bike. This was a good chance to see if I still had major wheelie skills.

I did.

I rode wheelies all over the place, and this particular hippy bike had some seriously fast gears so I was like Lighting McWheeliepants all over SF.

BTW I apologize for my laziness, Blank McBlankypants is like totally Tired McTiredpants. Sorry McSorrypants.

So the wheelie ride was fun, but not as fun as watching the tornado circling around SF just licking the shores throwing a few tourists into the air like the gays they are.

Did you see the tornado?

Later on I had a three way with two ex girlfriends and the newer one. Well, it was kind of a three-way, it was really just the newer one but she did dead on impersonations of the others. Is it weird to have enjoyed it? Oh yeah, this all went down in public at Disneyland.

Btw if you haven't flown down the new Disney wind tunnel ride you should.

Point is:
Your Crazy Bike! I Mean WOW, You. Are. In. Ter. Es. Ting.

Now Cherrie:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught denying the existence of the clown gene.
Your Favorite Place in Which to Kick a Hippy,
The Hacky Sack

My Secret Stash of Dirty Mattresses, Kids Waxing Nostalgic About Powdered Bottoms & David Bowie is Way Way Older Than Me

I made a whole secret collection of hi-res large format life size photographs of dirty mattresses. You have to come over to see them though because being that the prints are all actual size, showing any low res versions would not do them justice and would defeat the point. The stack is about a foot and a half thick with nearly a thousand prints, that's roughly the thickness of one regular dirty mattress.

Maybe one day you'll see the whole stack at a museum.

I was recently at a party with a bunch of early twenties youngsters (what else is new) and these youngsters were already waxing nostalgic about days gone by, reminiscing about high school and wearing diapers etc.. I normally hang out with youngsters because they generally live in the present and look the future so this was a bummer.

Anyway, somewhat ironically, at the party I caught my reflection in a mirror and I was my dad, I didn't just look like him, I WAS him, gray hair, 72 year old face, everything, only bearded.

But only for a second, musta been a hallucination.

Booze dude.

But I wasn't the oldest one at the party, not even close, another youngster hanger outer wither, David Bowie, was there too. We were having a decent conversation about art, fashion and music and the very subject about which I write here, you know, looking to the future, new ideas etc... I musta been really drunk because I actually proposed that we ditch the party and go to the music room and write some songs.

He was very gracious in his avoidance of the issue.

Who would expect anything less.

He would have enjoyed it though.

He is starting to show his age, in a completely awesome way of course.

Point is:
Reliving the past is like eating the same steak twice... if you catch my drift.

Now Cherrie:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught lecturing David Bowie about the future of the music biz.
Your Favorite Saturday Morning Cartoon That Doesn't Exist,
Something With Cute Maggots Eating Adorable Carcasses

Jesus Would Totally Make Out With Madonna in Provo, Dolly Parton All Fat and Mom-Like in The Gulch & Frat Dudes Are Gay

So something else I didn't tell you about Provo is that's where I was at the ultimate height of my savior complex, so I guess it's no surprise that when I go back there it kinda returns. Case in point, last time I was there I made out with Madonna.

I fucking HATE madonna.

But see that's what savior complex does, it makes you treat people which you'd normally pee on, extree special like, you know because it's a sin to hate. I got in a LOT of trouble because of fucking savior complex. It's really lame dude.

Anyway, Madonna came and visited me in my old apartment (which is now across the street from a HUGE new gas station) I was extree nice to her because I felt guilty for all the mean things I said about her over the years. I tried to compliment her by telling her her stomach was really flat, but in actuality her whole pelvis/stomach area was shaped like a bowl -- sharp and not good for porning. She was so light that she couldn't even smash me which is like one of the best parts of making out.

Madona ain't good at the make out.

Sorry Madonna fans.

Later Dolly Parton did a show out in the gigantic gulch in the back yard. The crowd were mostly lesbians. She came up to give me a hug. She finally looks her age, she has gained probably 60 pounds that they photoshop off her press material. She looked like my mom kinda. Nice lady. I wouldda rather made out with her, too bad I like her.

There were some way frat dudes there gawking at the lesbians all disrespecty so I went over and fake flirted with them to make them nervous so they'd leave, unfortunately they thought I was hilarious and they all wanted to be my friend which was totally the opposite reaction I was wanting.

So I acted like I got a text and had to bail, as if I'm a surgeon or some shit.

I was having hat issues the whole day. I put on a black hat and looked like Slash, then I put on my white cowboy hat but it was dirty and the threads were all fraying like some lame burning man hat so I ended up hatless. Dang it.

Later the girl I have been dating for about a year showed up with Madonna's cell phone charger. Turns out she is Madonna's new stylist.

Awkward guilt time.

Oh yeah, after Dolly's show, the gulch filled up with slimey green water, I went back there to walk around in it and had a very hard time getting out because it was really slippery and I was wearing some brand new shoes I would normally never wear.

Point is:
Provo is for IDIOTS.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught making out with hookers just because that's what Jesus would do. AND DID Probably.
Your Favorite Sunday School Teacher That Ended Up So Not Your Favorite and in Fact Bummed You The Fuck Out,
Prince

Photo Shoot w/ The Mayor of Uglytown Ukraine, Beating Up Dirty Clowns on a Plane With Willie Nelson & Baking Jew Peas

I photographed the Mayor of Uglytown. It's in the Ukraine. The flight was long and uneventful save that I was seated next to Willie Nelson and we got in a fight with a very dirty clown. Willie and I talked about atheism and twitter. Apparently his twitter persona is lesbian. I could see that.

The clown we beat up returned from the restroom no longer dirty and with a full new make-up job.

"You clean up well." I said.

Then Willie Nelson laughed way way too hard for a joke that really wasn't even a joke. Of course he IS Willie Nelson... not hard to guess why he thought it was sooooo funny.

The photo shoot of the Mayor of Uglytown was in a HUGE arena and he stole a car right in front of everyone. I don't know if it was because he was a Russian gangster or the mayor, either way it wasn't a surprise.

Our interpreter kept wanting to talk about Penn Gillette and all the money he must spend on strippers bein that he lives and works in Vegas. It was a VERY boring one sided conversation.

"Listen, I don't know anything about Penn Gillete other than I get his tweets and they are about his mp3 collection and very boring so I'm not talking about it any more."

"I'm baking jew peas." said the mayor.

"What?"

"I'm baking jew peas!"

"What are Jew peas and why are you baking them?"

"Baking like dog bake, jew like jew..." he said while pointing at me. "Peas like pretty peas and tank jew betty mooch. Tail a butt Penny Gelata."

First, don't bake dogs. Second I'm not Jewish. Third, peas are more cute than pretty, I don't know any fat jewish cling-ons named Betty and I'm not tailing a butt Penny Gelata no mother ho mooch jew bake me peas"

Point is:
Jews are Gentiles to Mormons.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to write an Abbott and Costello routine because I'm pretty sure they are dead.
Your Top Two Favorite Satellite Dishes,
Barack Obama's Ears

My Hundredteenth Return to Lame Provo, Ghosty DJ Conan Ass Dials My Brain & Barefootedly Booing John "Flakey" McCain

Took a trip back to Provo Utah where I spent my college age years. That's right college AGE years. I didn't go to college.

Because I was already smart.

Anyway, I was driving down 13th E. with The Worlds Largest Midget, aka my old friend Kevin, and we passed an old dance club and lo and behold, look who was standing outside loading in speakers.

It was Conan O'Brien.

"Hey CONAN!!" I yelled out the window.

"Hey MERKLEY!!!" He yelled back.

I was kinda surprised that he knew my name but not nearly as surprised as I was when he continued talking to me even though we were still cruising at 30mph down the street and I could hear him as if he was standing right next to us.

"Yeah I'm just here doin my regular DJ gig at The Star Palace, you guys should come, I'll put you on the guest list."

By now he was blocks away in my rear view mirror and it sounded like he was talking right in my ear. I wondered how much longer would I be able to hear him speaking to me, .

"Kevin, can you still hear Conan talking?"

"Nope, he's like a mile back, how could I hear him?"

"Dude, I think Conan is pulling some serious ghosty type bullshit. Turn around, lets follow him, this is EL AME."

He turned around the car and we chased around looking for him but we couldn't find him. I could still hear hiim talking although was apparently no longer talking to me, I think he was just mumbling to himself. . It was like an ass dial only totally stuck in my brain.

About ten minutes later I couldn't hear him anymore, thank goodness. I was worried I'd have to hear him grunting in the bathroom.

I don't know how he did it. Weird shit.

In other pasty people news, Last night I was walking down Castro and John McCain's Limo picked me up. His wife told me they were taking me to his fundraiser in the Castro. I didn't really wanna go because A) I'm not a big fan and B) I wasn't wearing any shoes. Too bad fuckin McCain loaned me his.

Anyway they ended up dropping me off at the rear entrance saying they would come in later through the front. They never even came through. We all had to sit through this long ass infomercial type campaign propaganda. I was the first person to boo when it was over.

Point Being:
Ghosts are IDIOTS.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught making fun of white people.
Your Favorite Plastic Cancer Scab Licking Limo Wart Money Bag Hag Who You Can Just Tell Really Is A Cunt Like Her husband Says,
Mrs. McCain

More Blow Jobs at Church, Wedged in a Cab Smashed in a Truck & Hiding From My Sister in a Box in The Basement

I have been going back to church lately, not because I'm religious or anything, I just like doing porny type stuff at church. Before you go calling it a fetish I should tell you that it's more about disrespecting religious institutions than it is about having a better boner. All in all the boners are no different.

Still fetish free.

Don't be bummed.

On the way home my cab was being too ambitious and got wedged between two other cars. I ended up lifting it out all by myself. The push-ups have apparently been doing some good.

Perhaps not completely coincidentally, later in the evening I wedged myself between two mattresses on a flat bed truck and took myself a nice little nap all smashed style.

That's not a fetish is it? Being smashed? I didn't have a boner.

When I woke up we were rolling down a snowy junk strewn median where I discovered an awesome mexican restaurant.

Then I took my sister to all the local pizza joints that carry my secret blog book I never told you about.

Eventually I got sick of my sister, bless her heart, so I went down in the basement and hid in a box filled with all my old clothes from high school. I found a really old lame baseball shirt in the box that I swear wasn't mine but if it was I have blocked it out.

For good reason.

Point is:
Church is LAME.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught using bible pages as tissues, not because it's sacrilegious, but because they are scratchy and not super absorbent.
Your One and Only Spell Check Word That Still Doesn't Look Right,
Sacrilegious

Quick DECOrating Tip For 1930's Blacks, My Keynote Sermon at Utah Hippie-Camp '08 & Major Major Head Hippie Ear-Flicking

I'm not a huge fan of art deco glass work, nor am I a big fan of dark african bent woods, but when you put the two together... well hey hey hey.

Go decorate you homos.

Anyway, I laid down an Awesermone™ (awesome sermon) about earholes, buttholes and blowholes after some douchehole got all bent at me for jabbing at a Utah based hippie camp.

I'm from SF yo, I'm an authority on hippies.

Five hundred lbs. of DUH please.

Btw I pronounce "lbs" when I read it. You probably do too. Kinda sounds like getting hacked with a machete.

Speaking of which, back to the hippie camp. The reason why I was jabbing it was because for some major lapse in judgment I agreed when they asked me to be the keynote speaker at the camp.

They promised good pay and accommodations.

To hippies that means sleeping on a floor with one singular old bath towel for a blanket. They woke me up for a 6am hippie exercise drill wherein many nigerian money scams were laid out on the table as means to make a living.

Oh how I wanted so badly to punch the head hippie in his hippie head. Instead I just flicked him in the ear really really hard.

A small chunk of ear florped across the room and bounced a curvy series of mini bounces along the floor exactly like you'd think an ear chunk would bounce.

Anyway, the crowd was divided, for some reason, despite my aversion to them, many hippies seem compelled to see me as a guru.

Probs the beard.

Five hundred more lbs. of DUH please....to go.

Did you pronounce lbs this time? Good.

What I mean to say is:
I wish hippies would actually act more Nigeriany and genocide each other with machetes.


That's all for now,
Don't get caught lumping in Nigerians with those joiks from Congo and Darfur because you are too lazy to google to make sure they chop the crap out each other too.
Your Mostly Ineffective Weapon of Choice for Choppy Genocide,
Electric Can Opener

The Universal Serial [sic] Bus, Burning It Black With Bats n'Coons at The Strip Mall House & Mating With Natives in The Fine Print

The answer to the mass transit slash automobile slash energy sitch is OBVIOUSLY roadside USB charging stations. But while I'm totally for eating breakfast on the bus, I'm not so sure it needs to be "universal". The only way they are gonna get this plan off the ground is if they soften up the language. It should be IBC (International Breakfast Cruise) instead of USB (Universal Serial Bus).

I had a room in my house that was super long and skinny with a bunch of doors leading off of it into other rooms. It was pretty useless because it didn't really accommodate furniture well. Stupid idea for a room, I have seen them in other houses as well.

SPEAKING of which, my sister somehow convinced me that I needed to buy a new house in her neighborhood. I figured that because it was formerly an ugly strip mall, it would be cheap and I could just buy it with the proceeds of the sale of my own house. So I sold my house only to find that the new place was 2.5 million and I only sold my place for just over half of that.

NOW I'M MOVING INTO A STRIP MALL.

Not only that but the second they found out that I was the new owner, a bunch of animals tried to move in. Huge bats and raccoons mostly. At least they are night time animals, we'll at least be able to hang out.

I deliberately set parts of the house on fire to obtain a smoky flavor. Plus it's way more economical than black paint.

Oh yeah, at the escrow signing, for once, I actually decided to READ through all the documents. Turns out that in signing, I was also agreeing to "mate with many native women". I thought it sounded kinda racist and sexist which is sorta cool I suppose.

One last thing, be careful what you wish for, my new strip mall house doesn't have one of those long skinny rooms connecting the other rooms, now I have to go outside to go into the next room.

Point is:
You can't take off your pants in a strip mall.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught organizing a "Pee Though The Donut Contest" fundraiser in the former donut shop to raise money to make it the new bathroom.
Your Grandmother's Private Business,
John McCain's Neck

Fresh Catch Sneakers Straight From The Stream, Teaching The Grand Kids To Swear & Take Pity on The Holy For The Fuck They Know Not

I finally took a trip to visit the place from where my white velco shoes spawn. The stream that produces them flows into a very beautiful pool with a nice little beach where old leathery fishermen cast their nets to retrieve them. They release the flipping fish because it's just the white shoes they are after.

I'm totally into sustainable living.

I went down to my garage and someone elses in-laws were down there nosing around my Cadillac getting their old gummy fingers all over it. Not wanting any interaction with them I retaliated by teaching their grand kids, who were having a meeting in the back yard, to yell "fuck" a lot.

Pick your battles yo.

My old roommate showed up to start trouble but I nipped it in the bud. I cleaned up my act and paid all my outstanding tickets and totally came clean with everything.

She was bummed that she didn't get to yell.

But that's because she doesn't know that yelling without swearing is counter productive. I tried to tell her that yelling "fuck" a lot would make her feel better. Too bad she's a Mormon.

Poor Mormons don't get to swear.

I'm a humanitarium.

Point is:
Fuck.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught thinking *flipping* was a wuss fucking substitution for *fucking* when the fucking fish were fucking literally fucking flipping.
Your Favorite Trouble Mustache That Requires Daily Removal,
Madonna's Hot Dog Scrubber

Secret Balloon Animals at The Australian Plumbers Convention, Scheisty Tom Cruise Effs Up The Hot Dog Talks & A Little Too Much Stay Loose For Dad

Since I haven't had a job since 1991 you might say that I am a bit out of touch with "office culture".

I just did air quotes.

But of course you'd be WRONG because you don't know that I regularly go on company outings. I find out about them by eavesdropping.

Anyway, I just got back from a company outing in Australia. Plumbers they were. They made all sorts of secret balloon creatures, it was very culty, sorta moose lodgey and perhaps a bit free masonry.

"Free masonry!? Sign me up, I need a new chimney and I'm BROKE!"

See how I tied in the first reference to "office culture" with a joke that sounds like it might come from whatshisname boss dude from "The Office"?

I do that sometimes.

As I was saying, I ate their only cookie.

If you didn't know how to make a bunch of Australian plumbers sad, you do now.

Oh yeah, the girl that was hosting the convention thingy was naked.

Also, Tom Cruise was negotiating my hot dog contract with the Bush People and was totally pulling the old "But Will Mexicans Work Here?" trick.

But I was on to him.

Gee that sounded gay. Gee. I mean GEE. I mean AY, I mean WHY!!??

What does a gay horse eat?

HAAY!

Later on I discovered my dad, also in Australia, living in complete squalor. When dad goes on vacation, he vacates EVERYTHING TIMES TWO.

NICE TURD ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR DAD --- WEEEEEEEEE!!

Point is:
Australians LOVE Men at Work.

Sorry for yelling.

That's all for now.
Don't et caught repeating GEE three times when WHIZZ wouldda been better even with the whole gay tie in.
Your Least Favorite Snack Slash Ejaculate Combo Slash Underground Circuit Party Name,
Cheese Jizz

Freckled Midget Basement Dwelling Super Models, Cop Dyke Grammz Probs Ain't Endangered Speciesed Like U Wish & My Sister Sings My Secret Song

Went back and visited my Dad's old house. It has a basement built for midgets or other basement dwelling type animals. I couldn't even stand up in there as a kid. Good for naps though. Or growing mildew.

Yum.

I ran into a super freckled girl who knew me from my modeling days. Yeah, I used to be a model, well according to her anyway, I wasn't about to argue with a freckled girl, she has it hard enough already. Besides, I COULD have been a model, -- you know, had I been smarter.

Speaking of which, there aren't a lot of grandmothers with Down's Syndrome.

Don't go planning any big events that require more than say ONE Down's Syndrome Granny. Even if you do a count down they won't show up.

They are THAT rare.

I figured out how to take a nap on my motorcycle while driving. Now everyone wants me to teach them. Even Madonna was acting all ass kissy. What do I mean EVEN? She is such an idiot. Poser cling-on copycat.

My sister and I discovered a weird little talent we share in common. She can sing songs with lyrics right out of my head. It has to be lyrics made up on the spot and she has to sing them out loud and at full volume or it won't work. Makes it kind of a hard special power to use for evil, I mean besides just the basic bothering of people which at that point would be just an extension of my usual super power. Try it with your little sister and tell me if it works. Thanks.

Back to the naps on motorcycles. A big cop dyke was fiddling with my motorcycle like it had a vagina, I was a girl and she was some gross mustache dude who thought it would turn me on.

She probably just needs friends.

Point is:
Models are Smart.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught thinking about cop dyke genitalia.
Your Reigning Miss Cop Dyke 2003,
Bruce Jenner

I Don't Drink In Your Butthole So Please Don't Crap In My Glass, Diversionary Portugués Hot Dogology & Til Death Do Us SPAZZ

I got the dirtiest glass on earth at the restaurant last night. I think a hobo goldfish lived in it for one thousand years.

Dirty glasses are a delicacy in some counties you know.

Yes I said COUNTIES.

I looked at a friends photography portfolio and tried to stay positive but it was really really hard. Especially because deep down inside, behind this egotistical facade, I'm actually a total dick.

My step dad, one of his pals and I, are building quonset huts and redesigning some of the playgrounds on Mormon temple grounds from hither to thither. The security guards give us shit because we don't have clearance to even be on the temple grounds let alone to be building crappy Hawaiian ghetto playgrounds out of overgrown tin cans on the sacred grass.

Luckily the guards are Brazilian so I trick them by speaking portuguese and feeding them hot dogs.

ALERT!

ALL BIOLOGICALLY BASED SECURITY METHODS ARE EASILY DEFEATED BY HOT DOG!

Speaking of which, I went to Alaska to scout film locations, you know, Ice Road Trucker style, gotta stay current. I'll probably make a film about ice road truckers since really that's all TV stations broadcast now.

I'm talking about HD cable. DUH.

Oh yeah, I panicked the fuck out all day yesterday because I thought I accidentally drunkenly asked this girl I've been following around to marry me. Luckily it was just a dream, including the panicking part. There were minor residual awake panic aftershocks for 57 minutes but they were pretty mild because I knew I hadn't been to Jamaica recently.

Point is:
Marriage is for fags.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught crapping out your half digested tongue when friends ask you to rate their shit.
Your Giganticest Douche Ever,
Matthew McConaughey

Sporty Silverspoonery on the Golf Course, Arty Silverspoonery in The Ghetto & E True Hollywood Silverspoonery on Melrose

I tagged along with a friend of mine on a golf outing. I don't like golfing. Too many silverspooners engaging in too much silverspoonery plorping out entire salad bars of silverspoonerisms with every jaw clop.

So yeah, I didn't have fun until I crashed his old Buick through his neighbors front door.

Incidentally, jackassery is a close relative and often a direct result of mega-silverspoonery.

Myself, well I'm a woodenspooner, as in born with a wooden spoon on my ass.

Speaking of child abuse, we went to a ghetto art gallery where everything was made out of stolen spray paint by knapsacky white skateboarder kids.

MORE SILVERSPOONERY!

Anyway, after that we drove down Melrose and I spotted Brad and Angelina shopping for new kids to match their new sofa. Luckily, in Hollywood, they now sell third world kids right there on Melrose.

Point being:
Adoption is The New Anitquing.
The Third World is The New Thrift Store.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught opting for woodenspooner over plasticspooner because plasticspooner would be what a silverspooner would say.
Your Top Resenter of Unwarranted and Ignernt Insinuations,
Howard Juno

Prince Gettin All Alex Hailey N'Shit, The Endzone Hijinx Total Fuck Up Embarrassment & Crowd Please on My Nuttsack Niggaz!

Prince had a surprise show at a local high school yesterday. The biggest surprise was that hardly anybody showed up, and those that did, didn't even realize it was Prince. He had corn rows and was about three shades darker than normal. It would have been easy to mistake him for Coolio if you weren't a super fan like me.

Anyway, he seemed all too happy to serenade me at the edge of the stage because I was the only one who seemed to give a shit.

It was pretty gay.

Later on I was playing football with a bunch of strangers. I made a touchdown and failed miserably at a celebratory
back flip.

It was pretty gay.

Way earlier, before my date with Prince, I stepped in as the lead singer for a really famous band who happen to be good friends of mine. As usual I failed to prepare, thinking my genius was such that I could just wing it and get standing ovations from here to Idaho.

But I really really sucked --

LIKE SUH-HUH-HUCKEDUH.

The crowd hated me, the band hated me, the security guards hated me, the air hated me, my hair hated me, a pear hated me, a bear hated me, cher hated me, Nelson Mandela hated me.

So I said a bunch of racist shit and left.

It was pretty cool.

I ended up at an all keyboard jam session in the basement of my friend's high end design store.

It was SUPER gay.

Point being:
Prince seems like a bottom.

That's all for now,
Don't get caught failing to be funny imitating Phish with a Casio pocket keyboard.
Your Tri-State Backwards Somersault Queen First Runner Up
Princess Scabby Scalp McGee (& the Revolution)

How To Get The Family Dog To Like YOU Best, Charmin's Nub Flapping Play by Play & The Grip Buttery Slaughter of Blob Zombie

I have a step brother who used to jack off Junior, the family dog. I have written about him before, we all wondered why he was Junior's favorite when nobody else really liked him. He did it by regularly giving Junior hand jobs, yeah, he masturbated the dog.

Lucky dog.

My mom apparently caught him.

Lucky her.

I have no idea why she felt like she had to tell me. TMI.

Anyway, here's the story, that very same step brother was born with wing type wiggly appendages growing out of his back but, thinking they were useless and umbelically lookin, the doctors clipped them off when he was a baby.

He tells everyone he meets about his wingy DNA and often demonstrates his nub flapping capabilities.

Yesterday I caught him mid demo so I joined in as his play by play announcer.

I filled my mouth with toilet paper as to sound extra toilet papery.

Ok.

So:

The main thing I hate about this new resurgence in "zombie culture" is that it really shows a tremendous lack of sensitivity to those of us who have to deal with ACTUAL zombies, not to mention, ultimately, the zombies themselves. If you think it's hard to blow off an undead's head with a shot gun, try doing it when the zombie has a look of hope in his eyes for the first time ever, like you're approaching him for an autograph or something.

Don't exploit zombosity.

It's mean to both the zombies AND those who have to re-dead them.

Anyway, that wasn't what I wanted to tell you, what I wanted to say was that I re-murdered the holy heck out of a really really fat zombie last night.

There aren't a lot of really fat zombies. FACT.

Also, dead fat is basically butter mixed with mayo, super duper splattery and messy, slippery yet also strangely grippy, like gummi worms or that sticky goo they sell to hang posters.

So yeah, Blob Zombie totally had that look of hope in his eyes. Not an easy re-kill for sure.

Point is:
There is no such thing as a useless appendage.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught dog whispering all breathy and steamy like.
Your Favorite Kernels of Corn,
John McCain's Teeth

Peeping Will Ferrell Sniffs The Christmas Tree, The Pastrami Pants Kid & The Backwards Dental Piano™

Went to New York for a minute. An old girlfriend works at SNL so we did pornish type things on the set when nobody was around. I think Will Ferrell might have seen us but he pretended like he didn't.

He pretended he was smelling the Christmas tree.

When I went shopping a little later someone let all the kangaroos loose which of course woke up all the napping children. Kangaroos are just giant rats you know. Same with some kids. I don't think malls should be keeping so many caged kangaroos anyway cuz this sort of think is bound to happen. Kangaroos gotta bounce man.

Fuckin Australians.

Speaking of napping & kids, my friend blatantly lied about a dead dog to his kid, telling him that the dog wasn't dead when it clearly wasn't "just napping".

Hi guts all over the place.

A little later I found out my friend had also been lying to the whole world about his kid being a boy when, as I accidentally and quite unfortunately found out at the swimming pool, he is clearly a girl. Ok not CLEARLY, but a very bad mannered little hermie nonetheless. I'll spare yalls deets but my brain is scarred with the images of whatever weird genitalia that kid had fluttering out of his/her swimming trunks.

Anyway, no more pastrami for me thanks.

On the other side of the pool kids were swimmoshing to Green Day and the Teletubbies who have apparently made an album together and are now on tour. I have to admit, as much as I don't like Green Day, the Teletubbies added a much needed twist to their schtick.

Nearly tolerable -- NEARLY.

Of course as soon as they spotted me they forced me to join them as a guest keyboardist on stage for a song or two. Somehow they managed to have my Backwards Dental Piano™ flown in just for the show.

The Backwards Dental Piano™ btw, is exactly what you might imagine, unless of course you aren't imagining loose wiggly bloody backwards teeth instead of keys.

What the fuck were you imagining anyway?

Point is: ultimately I had a cranberry jelly and mustard sandwich for dinner because Thanksgiving is right around the corner and I like mustard.

Summary:
Kids are perverts.

That's all for now,
Don't get caught pigeonholing every elf in sight.
Your Legumlican National Convention Key Note Speaker,
Hominy The Nominee

Price Tags For Sale, My Spaghetti Eating Former Roommate Zombie Kayaker & The Matinee Where Happy Clowns Get Sad

I took a trip to Big Ham City. I t wasn't fun, don't look it up and don't go there. It's just a bunch of bad actors acting badly.

Stupid fucking name for a city too.
------------------
I watched an Office Depot employee put a price tag on a price tag.
------------------
I visited an old roommate of mine who is married to the biggest blogger in the universe. I slept on the couch and he sacred the fuck out of me when his sleeping disorder kicked in and caused him to mime a bunch of stuff up on the coffee table.

From what I could tell, I think he was dream eating spaghetti and maybe kayaking.

Sleepwalkers are basically zombies.

His wife, while sometimes tolerable on her blog, (if you like excuses/jokes about depression and the exploitation of offspring and pets (which of course I sometimes do)) wasn't so charming in true life. She couldda been the mayor of the aforementioned avoid worthy pork centric city.
------------------
I went to an early matinee.

Nobody told me that's when the folk singing clowns go see movies.

Actual real clowns with floppy shoes and honking stuff.

They nearly wrecked the movie till I gave them the what for.

I yelled really loudly for a really long time at those clowns.

A lot of rage I didn't even know I had came flooding out.

It felt good.

Summary:
Clown Abuse = Honky Catharsis

That's all for now.
Don't get caught getting all mixed up in clown pity.
Your Number One Most Popular Alternative Vietnamese Clown Nose Placement Location,
Your Dong Tip Duh

Guess Who's Coming For Dinner, Obama's Amputated ARMy & Water Droplet Tech is Mostly Boob Driven

I got married to one of the girls in my book. Don't worry though ladies and gays, it was a sham marriage purely designed to anger her parents.

I'm not insane.

I was busted eavesdropping on a conversation Obama was having with one of his associates by a rolling pin bearing homeless woman amputee who came scooting along on her little homeless amputee slab. at first I felt that hand in a candy jar feeling but then I thought:

"She can only use one hand for scooting, how fast can she be."

I threatened her.

Anyway, apparently one armed scootering is the same as being in a boat with only one oar, as long as one switches sides every couple of paddles...

Point is, Obama's supporters are handiCAPABLE for sure.

Speaking of Obama supporters, a white guilt rockstar friend of mine just spent a billion dollars building a new mansion.

He showed me around.

"Dude, why are all the stairways slanted hard to the left? Seems really dangerous, especially with no handrails."

"Well, the more dangerous the task, the more care is taken."

"Are you saying people are less likely to fall down the stairs if they are forced to pay attention?"

"Basically yeah, also people can't sue you if your house is obviously a FUN house. Injuries are a big part of the FUN."

"And you are voting for Obama?"

"Yeah."

Sometimes people don't even realize they have turned into a republican.

So sad.

Not sad that they have turned republican, sad that they don't know it.

ALSO, years ago I invented a shower head that disperses timed droplets in such a fashion that with a little strobing of the lights, a three dimensional image, made entirely of droplets, appears in the shower with full movement and everything, just like a hologram or a water droplet puppet. Well, my friend had one made and installed. His chosen moving 3D water droplet image was a girl playing with her boobs.

Big surprise there.

Summary:
Marriage is Best Used for Spite.
White Guilt is The Reddest of Herrings

That's all for now.
Don't get caught mythbusting your balls,
Your 5th and 28th favorite fucked up stiff appendages,
John McCain's Arms

If Nobody Buys My Soul I'm Throwing It Out, Lounge and Grow Rich & Goths Do Laundry Too

I'm not so sure where one goes to sell one's soul, but even if I did, I'm really probably too lazy to make the trip.

Plus, it would probably require some negotiation and a meeting or two and Santa knows how much I hate meetings and sales pitches.

I don't even know how to get my soul out to part ways in the first place.

I tried to breathe it out but I don't think it worked.

Souls are dumb.

I needed some change to do the laundry so I went digging through the cushions but all I found were dollar bills.

LOTS of dollar bills.

Since when do cushions suck out dollar bills?

Anyway, I'm looking into it. Don't be surprised if you see me at the cushion patent office once I get some answers.

Also, I got swindled into playing keyboards for Trent Reznor's new band. He is tan and muscular now.

HOLY SHIT I HATE TRENT REZNOR.

I am cursed with a sense of hospitality and accommodation.

I made the best of it, I climbed up on his big tower in the middle of the stage and did laundry as I threw a goth rock tantrum tipping over boxes of detergent and piles of folded clothing.

The rest of the stage was decorated like an upside down theater with a giant bouquet of roses shaped like satan's head.

Oh the rebellion.

Summary:
I'd put my soul out on the curb if I thought someone would take it.
It's not stealing if the thief is a cushion.
Tan + Muscles = NOT GOTH

That's all for now.
Don't get caught slamming the dryer closed for cheap applause.
Your Favorite Shape For a Floral Arrangement,
A Turd

Polished Dolphins Make Lazy Seamen, School is For Dummies & Be Careful What You Horrify For Cuz Your Ball Just Might Be It

Notwithstanding the fact that I'm decidedly land based, I made a big floating contraption out of a super comfortable big white La-Z-Boy recliner and rocked that shit all up and down the coastline.

You might think that merely using my hands to paddle would make for a sludgy float, but that's only because you have never seen my webbed fingers nor have you ever seen me point my feet into the exact same shape as a shiny dolphin.

Anyway, carrying the chair all over town SUCKED, I shouldda included wheels and a flock of poodles to drag me home.

And guess what, I finally dropped out of high school and I'm not gonna go to college either.

I'm 41

Speaking of which, one of the girls from my 111??? book was acting bitchy yesterday. She thinks she is pretty hot shit because she has this huge collection of Charles Shultz crap.

An adult collecting toys is about as cute as a diaper collecting poop.

Later on I noticed that my left ball was nubbing out of my pocket as I told a story about a dude in my neighborhood growing up who's chubbed up ding dong could ALWAYS be seen flopping round through the holes in his corduroys.

Ew.

His name was Mayne Wargetts and as legend has it was known to hump sheep. FOR REALS. I hope he googles himself and finds this.

Don't say I never ironic unwelcome ball sighting anecdoted you.

Summary:
Polished dolphins make lazy seamen.
School is for dummies.
Be careful what you horrify for cuz your ball just might be it.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught swapping the M and the W as to not get Google sued by a gross molestoid.
Your Favorite Conjugation Relating To Internet Lawsuits,
Soogled™

I Call It The Urban WIENERtionary, Bi-Race War 2008 & Donald Trump Beats The Shit Out Of a Bald Guy Post Quake

I met a girl with gray pigment, she seriously looked like she was snipped from a black and white photo completely gray, cold gray even.

She was acting like she was black, waving her finger around, doing that neck thing, talking shit about Obama like she was an insider etc...

I call that "blacting" which I made up but I'll google right now to see how many other people made it up too.

Turns out millions of people made it up before me.

Doesn't mean I'm not original.

Anyway, the girl wasn't even black, she was GRAY.

She shouldda been acting like a vampire or industrial carpet.

I wasn't the only one that was annoyed, there was an albino, who, had she not been albino, would have been black, that was rolling her pink eyes the whole time.

And of course there was a black girl that was annoyed that the albino girl was acting white.

I like to act chinese or mexican when I take my racial vacations, that's why I'm original.

I hate Madonna.

When the earthquake struck I instantly remembered my training and stood next to a big huge pillar while I scoped out a place that would provide me a nice little triangle spot in the event that the building came down. I ended up laying on the floor next to a big log. If you don't know about the triangle method of earthquake sheltering, look it up, most people don't know about it and it's the best way to save your own life.

Minutes later, in all the rubble, I spotted Donald Trump beating the shit out of a little old bald man wearing pink rubber rescue boots.

I didn't stop to investigate.

Summary:
Blacting is so touristy.
A comb-over is the most delicate of all hair triggers.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught hypnotizing the ghetto.
Your Favorite Wig,
Refried Beans

Step Dad Dykes, Cruising The Mall & Revenge Is Flavorless & Boring (Presented By Vegans & The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints :The Mormons

There is a certain type of dyke I call The Step Dad Dyke. The reason is obvious. They are shaped like my step dad, saggy pants, zero ass, beer belly, little chicken legs and pack of hot dogs neck.

You have seen them.

Perhaps one of them married your mom.

Anyway, I saw my step dad yesterday but everything had totally changed. He was lean and slender, not like he just lost a lot of weight from not eating, like he had been working out.

I looked around for a thigh master.

We went to the mall to buy birthday presents for my sister that I haven't seen in almost 15 years and he floated about flirting and charming customers from store to store with all kinds of new game.

Not like a ladies man, like a fag.

What would my mother think?

I stopped him right before he wandered into the ladies rest room. I don't know, maybe he was just not paying attention but I started to wonder if he had some sort of inner queen whispering out directives.

Then I wondered if maybe he was a lesbian, but that didn't make sense because now he looked less Ellen, more Anne Heche.

"Step Dad Fag" doesn't sound right.

Coincidentally, later in the day I came home to find a really fat friend of mine naked in my bed. She too had the step dad body, like a big toad.

She got up to take a pee and I was tempted to make a wart joke but decided to save it for the blog.

Later on in the evening I scheduled a special dinner for a friend that recently pissed me off. I assembled a group of preachy mormons and vegans as dinner guests.

The Mormons were in charge of beverages.

The vegans were in charge of the food.

The dinner was at his house so he couldn't leave.

Ah revenge.

Summary:
Dykes make excellent step dads.
Revenge is best served tepid (with Mormons and vegans)

That's all for now.
Don't get caught confusing step dad dykes with hamburger dykes.
Your Favorite Anti-Hamburger Step Dad Dyke Cologne,
Aqua Vulva

Beloved By Big Bellied Babies, Unfazed By Undead Uncles & Blinded By Beaming Bifocals

I was hanging out with a bunch of fools yesterday and there was a baby in our midst.

The baby liked me best out of everyone.

IN YOUR FACE A-HOLES!

One of the fools was a weird old uncle fella who was sleeping in the closet which you'd think wouldn't make him tough competition really, but, he WAS at ground level and slobbery with a stink in his pants and you know what they say about birds of a feather...

and still the kid chose me.

Meanwhile, the Aunt was wearing really thick glasses that looked like headlights which sounds like just a nifty little way to describe big ugly old lady glasses except these things actually lit up and beamed just like headlights.

Still she couldn't find the light switch.

I couldn't figger out why she needed to.

I wanna get me some of them glasses.

Anyway, I gave the baby ice cream but only AFTER it liked me best.

I could see it gain weight right before my eyes, like filling up one of those pastry nozzle tube dealies with frosting.

I didn't stick around for the "decoration of the cake" if you know what I mean.

Summary:
Babies are peanut butter dispensers.
Old people are stretched out babies.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught metamorphoring into some kind of weird aerosol cheese craving.
Your Ambassador of Good Dill,
The Vlassic Stork

My Visit To The HeadacheLand Artists In Residency Compound, My Hard Hitting SkinHead Exposé & Job Schmob Corn Cob

I visited an old friend of mine last weekend. He is an accomplished illustrator and consequently he has taken up residency at a log cabin ranch way out in the woods. They aren't regular log cabins as the logs are made out of metal and painted to look like wood, like trailers made to look like cabins. I could hardly see the point with so many real logs all over the place.

He was busy painting away, so not to be outdid, I drew a big intricate drawing of a tree with brand new buds forming on the branches all springtimey except the buds were all skinhead's heads.

I associate springtime with Hitler just like all of you guys.

Anyway, the skinheads were all buck toothed and cross eyed, which is totally funny cuz it's unexpected because skinheads are usually handsome geniuses with great vision.

The other residents of the fake cabin complex kept wild animals as pets and behaved in distinctly carnivalishy ways 24/7 which was way too burning man for me.

Hang out too long with artists in residency and you'll end up wearing the jester hat acting whimsical..

WHIMSICAL SUCKS.

ALWAYS.

I did however enjoy the wide smiled monkey dog created in the crossbreeding workshop.

Round about quittin time, the director of the compound put out the word that they were looking to hire more artists and my friend wasted more energy than needed trying to convince me to apply.

I was tempted for minus ten seconds.

Apparently he didn't remember the last time he vouched for me and got me an art job. I spent the most of the workday conducting personal business on the company phone or sleeping under my desk.

True story.

Summary:
Skinheads are like pussy willows minus the willows.
EmploYEe, not ME.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught making conceptual circumcision doodles of skinheads in high pink turtlenecks.
Your Race War Instigation Precinct Captain,
Charlie Brown

Violated By The Church of BBQ Tentants, Billy Ray Looked Better With a Mullet & You'll Find Me in a Tub in Jersey

While I wasn't looking, my tenants started a new church in my back yard. They built a massive stadium style deck to host their church meetings/BBQs. I haven't really looked over the lease for a while but I'm pretty sure they are in violation.

Speaking of violations, pretending to be cool with religion makes me feel like I've been violationed in my pooper.

Nonetheless, I spent a few hours spying on their sermons. I rolled my eyes so much, I barfed up a whole bag of quarters.

On of the attendees, Billy Ray Cyrus, came to me talking about his new idea for an "electric avocado". I got the impression that he went though all my photos and saw all the crap I do with groceries and figured an electric avocado would be the ticket to my friendship.

Anyway, becoming his "best bud" was a big mistake, now I have to help him with his adoption papers. Apparently he has a douchebag son in New Jersey who wants emancipation.

I'm not even a lawyer.

Don't get me started.

I saw one of my best friends from high school. He is so fat now that he requires two movie seats for his giant pooper. Good thing they have those lifty arm rests now, although his crack seems deep enough to accommodate an old school sitch.

That's two times for the word pooper.

I also saw an ex half girlfriend -- she really was trying super hard to play aloof but I out aloofed her times a billion.

I'm aloofer than a dead cat.

Later I found a box with all my clothes from junior high school. Every single item had a Pittsburgh Steelers logo on it. Boy was I ever trying to fit in. Truth is I just really like black and yellow.

Holy bumblefag.

Summary:
Religion is for renters.
I'm aloofer not a fighter.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying pooper just one more time to adhere to a fictitious OCD comedy rule of threes.
Your Favorite Excuse To Stay Depressed,
Mylie

Shin Meat Sandwiches With George Bush, Pillow Talk with The Jerk and Nancy Reagan & Plumbic Enemy #1

Yesterday I ate baloney sandwiches with George Bush and I asked him if he was worried that Jihadists in the middle east were trying to acquire uranium for nuclear weapons.

He said:
"Truss me, ain't nobody gunna "obtain" MY "anium" for no nukular bombs."

Then he cinched up his belt and went on for a half an hour about how NASA was using telescopes to study his butthole.

Later on I interviewed Steve Martin on The Bed Show. If you haven't seen it, it's not that great, the whole set is a giant bed and the guests are all old wrinkled cartoons.

Accordingly, Nancy Reagan was my second guest. She was STILL all yappy about "Just say NO" as if it was a brand new public service announcement we hadn't heard yet -- but I was the host so I put a stop to it.

"Don't be so Bum-outy, Nancy. Don't just say NO, say IF."

"What if someone offers me DRUGS and I don't want to eat them?" She wheezed.

"Then just say "I'll eat drugs IF they are made out of lasers and IF they come shooting out of Vladimr Putin's nipples. Since that's not likely to happen you get the same results without being a little ol' Negative Nancy."

"You don't know Vladimr." She said.

When I got home after the hosting gig I discovered that everything in my garage had been stolen because I left the effing door open. The weird part is that whoever jacked all my stuff installed about ten super skinny shower stalls before they left. They were too skinny for me and I'm not even 400lbs anymore.

Be on the look out for a half guilt ridden plumber.

Summary:
My "anium" is apparently radioactive.
Nancy Reagan Self-Rufies.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught staining your six pack just because the president thinks pre-karate sex is un-American.
Your Secretary of Defense,
Link Cheney

Soggy Snoring Sleeping Bag Sopranos, The Inside Out Pants Trick & Yelling While Sprinting Full Speed Through The Park

My friend who owns the art gallery where I did my 111 book show had a sleep over at his house which also happens to be one of SF's premiere opera houses. He doesn't really have it set up like a normal house with bedrooms and the likes so we all just slept in the lobby which is where he usually sleeps anyway.

Some of the opera stars slept over too.

The roof was really leaky so it was chinese water torture time up the wazoo all night long and forever and ever until I ran yelling into the park. Not screaming, yelling. It's different.

The line for the bathroom was extremely long and crowded so in order to divert attention away from my cutting in line I took off my pants and turned them inside out. It totally worked, you should try it, of course if you're like me you'll want to match so you'll have to turn your jacket inside out and if you left your jacket back at the opera house as I did, you'll have to sprint back at full speed to get it before some fat ass opera singer tries it on and stretches it all to hell.

Feel free to yell your head off as you are sprinting.

It's ok to copy me. I'm totally used to it by now.

Anyway, in other news...

Nobody reminds me of my dad more than George Carlin.

It's always sad when a funny person dies.

Summary:
Tenors snore loudly and with vibrato.
Screaming is gay, yelling isn't.


That's all for now.
Don't get caught saying it's ok to copy and then silently resenting those who do all passive aggressive steeze for the next five decades.
Your Silent Resentful Copycat,
Flavor Flav

Blogtrotting To Up My Geek Cred , Complaints Look Funny With Your Junk Flopped Out & Carol Channing Lays Some Cable

In an attempt to raise my level on the geek pole I took a trip up north to hang out with an internet friend I had never met in true life. She likes to go on and on about her blog fame and what not which is why I assumed she was like way up there on the geek pole.

But apparently she ain't.

Everywhere we went I got spotted and she didn't.

She was pissed.

It was Naked Night at the Hotel bar where she always hangs out with her friends. I normally don't like Naked Night anywhere but her friends were so complainy about everything that had they not been naked it would have sucked like ten times as much.

Complaints look funny on naked people.

My shoes got really dirty.

There were animals in the street.

One of the worst things about hanging out with a group of someone else's friends is the crapping situation. I had to take a giant crap but didn't know how to go about accomplishing it. To make things worse, she had a friend who had a pink poodle that had to poop every ten steps.

The fancier your haircut, the dumber you look taking a crap.

I just held it.

Felt like I had a bowling ball in my anus.

Still I was happy to be spotted more than her in her own home town.

So if you were one of the people who said hi to me, now you know why I had gruntface.

Summary:
Internet friends should stay there.
Strange groups inhibit easy dumps.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught waiting till the last second to tell everyone it's your birthday.
Your Favorite Kind of Birthday Cake,
Willard Scott

A Salute To Minimalism, The Fastest Acting Class & Convertible Stunt Drooling With Strokey at Spring Break 2008

A good friend announced to me the other day that he was "becoming" a Minimalist.

I raised my arm showing him the back of my hand, fingers extended and said:

"Well then let me just get rid of some of this clutter."

I curled back three unnecessary fingers and a useless thumb;

"To minimalism!"

Then I released a long silent fart, not as further salute to minimalism, but because our friend was conducting business on the phone. I'm not RUDE.

At the park I met a douchehag woman who was prattling on and on about her "actor skills".

"Gimme any emotion and I will act it." She squinted.

So I elbowed her really hard in the boob.

"Act like that doesn't hurt."

Later The World's Biggest Midget friend of mine who had a massive stroke asked in a mumbled slur if I wanted to drive with him to spring break and even though his arms and giant head flop around somewhat uncontrollably due to the stroke I said sure why not. We jumped in his convertible VW Cabriolet and he looked no different than the other drunken spring breakers swerving hither and yon, showing their boobs and acting all MTV.

He's an excellent drooler!

Minimalism is for quitters.
Safety is for pussies.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught quoting yourself as if nobody heard you the first ten thousand times.
Your Favorite Broke Ass Cripple Who Cain't Neven 'Ford The House Payment,
Ed McMahon

Sleeping Underwater With Electric Farts, Potty Training Using The Peed On Refried Beans Method & The Trailer Park What Is My Heart

I have learned how to sleep underwater. The secret is that you have to plug yourself in to a wall socket so that your farts light automatically. It takes a minute to get used to the constant buzzing sound of the electricity but once you do it's really soothing and adds to the feeling of inhaling water.

Bet you didn't even know a fart could light on fire underwater.

Take a science class. Sheesh.

My brother stayed over in the guest room and he got so drunk he peed the bed. To teach him a lesson I peed in some refried beans.

I always think it's best to lead by example.

Some religious asshole was blabbing on about how Jesus lives in his heart and I said:

"Yeah well Jesus lives in my heart too but he has cancer and it doesn't look so good."

Then I went on and on about how Kurt Cobain and a bunch of other dead dudes also live in my heart and they party constantly doing all kinds of drugs, they never take out the trash or mow the lawn and I'd really like to evict them but I can't because I'm not about to serve an eviction notice as I'm not in the mood to have a fucking thumbtack stabbing into any of my various ventricles or aortas etc.. I'll leave the heart attacks to Grampa thanks.

Then I thought about Jesus lighting his farts on fire at a party in my left atrium with Kurt Cobain and how Kurt Cobain would get all pissed at Jesus for playing with fire in the atrium cuz that's where Kurt grows pot.

I often take jokes ten miles past the last exit.

There is a great rest area out there.

You know about rest area bathrooms right?

Google.

Anyway, I also sat up on the roof and threw hot dogs at passers by. Fun times.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught singing "Champagne Super Vena Cava In The Skyeee" To flunkee Brit-o-phile heart surgeons.
Your Most Recently Available Leather For Purse Making,
Yves Saint Laurent

London's Reddish Blimp Filled Night Sky, Park Bench Nappytime Bike Thief City & Something Fancy For Your Finger

My favorite part about visiting London are the reddish blimp filled night skies. While the rest of the world moved on to aircraft that are actually speedy, the UK stuck with giant lumbering wartime balloons and parachutes. But what choice did they really have? Regular airplanes don't match a curly mustache and monocle which everyone knows is the national uniform.

Anyway I was so busy blimp gazing on my bench hang out spot at the park that I ended up in Nap City which, when visited via park bench is AKA Stolen Bike City so when I woke up --- aw -- poor me, no more bike.

I got up and looked for it but that only resulted in a quick trip to Lose Your Park Benchville. Luckily, upon my return, the new inhabitant of my bench was having craft day so we sat around and made jewelry using the lost wax casting method. His equipment was exactly the same as the stuff I keep in my kitchen pantry at the house so I totally looked like a pro.

I made a ring that looked like a tiny old vagina, you know for laughs.

The only people laughing were creeps.

Can't win'em all.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught going for the more identifiable vagina ring even though a wormy butthole ring is way more universally relatable on account of 100% of living creatures having one.
Your Other Most Popular Finger Adornment,
A Common Nostril

100 Wrong Rung Doorbells, My Italian Neighbor's Stinky Second Bases & Sulking To End Global Warming

There was a big house party at my house last night. All my friends showed up and rang the doorbells.

Yes that's plural.

I had a separate doorbell installed for each of my 100 top friends, they each have a distinctive ring so I know who is at the door, except

A) Nobody ever rings their own bell and

B) How the fuck am I supposed to memorize 100 different rings?

Stupid cell phones gave me the idea.

But yeah, I wasn't invited so I just stayed in my room watching all my friends having a great time in my house without me. I had a knot in my throat like I wanted to cry exactly like when I left my lunch money home in middle school and I thought I looked so stupid just sitting in the lunch room not eating while everyone else gorged themselves on Jello and sloppy joes.

My friend who had a massive stroke a few years ago was there dancing faggily as if nothing ever happened. He still looks like the worlds largest midget. I tried to be happy for him but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself and choking back tears. Holy gay.

An italian neighbor woman fell asleep in my bed.

She stunk.

Since most of my friends are famous folks like Tom Brokaw, paparazzi were trying to take pictures through my windows but I could hear them through the walls so I had a grand old time startling them and making them pee.

I was still sad though so don't go getting all overly happy for my one sliver of joy in a woodshed of dread.

Also there was a dog shaped like a fish and a peacock that looked like Ed Begley Jr. at the party.

I should have kicked them all out of my house but of course I was hoping they'd come find me sulking in my room and I could guilt them all into a deep dark freezing cold depression.

FREEZE!

RAH!

ahhhhh........aaaaaahhhhh aaaaaaaahhhhh.... AHHHHH

FREE BASE.

Speaking of ice and free and bases, I wanted to rub the neighbor woman's naked second bases but she really did stink,

Like goat cheese.

AKA vomit.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught second basing the lunch ladies.
Your Cutest Sounding Disease,
Rabies

The Saddest Boobs On Earth, The Cheech and Chong Treatment of AC/DC and Maury Povich & You Hate This Story Because You Don't "Get It"

I met a woman who lactates out of her tear ducts. I wanted to ask her if she had to be sad for her kid to get any lunch but I didn't want to hurt her feelings because it's not like I was gonna start licking her face if the milk turned on. Her kid wasn't anywhere around.

Anyway she started lactating anyway, maybe she sensed my insensitive puzzlement.

It all reminded me of a poem a hippie might write.

Later on I kept calling the band members of AC/DC Cheech and Chong which prompted an hours worth of them begging me to join their band. Famous rockstars like to be called Cheech and/or Chong.

Later still I met Maury Povich and kept calling him Cheech mainly to see how long it would take before he realized I was referencing his wife. Her name is Connie Chung for all you dipshits who don't keep up with important shit about America's most inspirational broadcasters.

Anyway, he didn't get the joke.

Dipshit.

I presented an award at the local version of the Oscars for San Francisco artists. I kept saying:

"My warehouse is bigger than your hard drive lady."

I said it like 50 times, not in a row though.

They all giggled and nodded pretending to "get it" even though I was saying it to make no sense. Artists all have to pretend to "get" everything because they are always running around accusing people that hate their crappy art of not "getting it".

Try it, it's a great joke to play on artists.

Any gibberish will do. The worse they are as artists, the more they will nod with glee and fake understanding.

Dipshits.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught calling your mom a dipshit because you're hungry.
Your Second Favorite Dipshit,
Harvey "Cheech" Korman

I Lost My Shoes AGAIN, I Got Arrested AGAIN & I Killed a Cop AGAIN

It all started when I lost my shoes AGAIN. This time it was at the park in this little town up north. There was a lost and found through which I rummaged looking for them but they weren't anywhere to be found so instead I just decided to adopt some of the orphaned bastard shoes that some other drunk lost. Nobody was ever gonna claim them. They were ugly and gay.

Anyway, I got caught, and get this, they called the cops.

The cop was an evil little weight lifting bastard, the more I was nice and reasonable the more he saw it as an opportunity to fuck with me and be violent. He handcuffed me and put me in the back of his car which didn't even seem like an official police vehicle. I was like a mid eighties Cadillac with fast food garbage all over in the ripped up back seat. When I asked him about it he pistol whipped me and kicked me in the gut like 20 times. Yeah, unreasonable.

I coughed up gallons of goopy blood.

He was an AWFUL driver, we side swiped at least ten cars on the way to jail.

It didn't take me long to determine that he probably wasn't even a real cop and by the time I was standing before the fake judge I could see that I was right. Fake you ask? What judges do you know that hold court by candle light? Exactly. I was obviously doomed if I didn't do something to save myself.

Long, totally awesome story with lots of great details and plot twists short, I got loose from my handcuffs and killed the cop in the hallway. As he was laying there dying, gurgling blood still acting like an asshole, I maneuvered my butthole within an inch of his nose and farted. He deserved to die with a fart in his nose and so he did.

That's gonna be my move in the movie about my bad assery.

I doubt anyone will miss him, as I walked out of town everyone was trying to bloody high five me.

That wasn't me trying to sound british, my hands were actually bloody. DUH.

Anyway, small towns are nerdy.

Now Dominique:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught bragging about killing cops on the blog.
Your Anti-Hero,
Death Farter

Mr. Furley Was REALLY On Top of His Game, My Invisible Motorhome & The UnWangable Window Fog

I got really excited because I thought the people in the third basement moved out but it turns out they just sneak moved in to the penthouse. I really need to pay more attention to what my tenants are doing. Mr. Furley I ain't.

I bought a smallish Toyota motorhome and no sooner did I cram it with sleeping bags than somebody stole it. Everyone had an opinion about where it might have gone, as if it WENT somewhere, half of the people thought I just forgot where I parked it, the other half thought I might have sold it and forgot about it, and the other half thought I was just imagining that I bought it in the first place. All I wanted to do was take it to the beach so I could sit inside of it and still be inside but closer to the beach than normal. I like INSIDE.

Anyway, driving the other car home the windows got super foggy, couldn't see a damn thing. I kept wiping the windows but it would just fog right back up. They fogged up so fast that I couldn't even draw a window fog wang, by the time I would draw the second ball, the shaft was all fogged over. Record breaking window fog man, can't even draw a weenie.

I made sure I took off my shirt before going in the house to meet my new roommates. I figure if they meet me shirtless they won't be surprised when they find out I don't wear pants around the house.

Now Ally:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught drawing fog wangs on your grandma's medicine cabinet.
Your Resident DJ,
DJ Fog Wang Poo

That's It I'm Becoming a Stunt Dude, Everything's Funny Til Dad Breaks His Leg & Awkward Charity Boners 2008

I jumped out of a moving cab yesterday. It was doing 30 mph or so. I stumbled, tumbled and rolled a bit but didn't break any bones or bleed or anything gay like that. I definitely have stuntman potential.

Strangely, later on, my dad and I were joking about not having our cell phones with us for whatever reason, I mean talk about a humorous topic CELL PHONES? Get. Out. Anyway it was all fine and good until my dad climbed up the jungle gym to pretend that he was a cell phone tower. He lost his footing and came crashing down breaking his 70 year old leg all over the universe. He tried to keep the jokes going and good for him for that but shit, his leg was fucked.

In the waiting room at the hospital I accidentally took some dude's seat, when he returned from the bathroom all teary eyed he insisted that I keep the seat. But there was a catch, he got to use my lap as a pillow which wasn't awkward AT ALL. I fake nurtured him by stroking his hair because he was all crying and sad and I was trying to be understanding as if I'm actually a good person but really I kept thinking, I hope this isn't some creep who fakes sadness in hospital waiting rooms so he can get his face next to straight beardy wang. Then I checked to see if he had a boner because that would be the answer to that question and then I worried about how ironic it would be if I got a random completely unrelated boner and how then if he was legit and actually sad it would seem like it was ME who was the hospital room lap bandit.

Being charitable and kind is complicated when you factor in random boners.

Oh yeah, the waiting room was FILLED with cases and cases of booze and I helped myself. THANKS SICK PEOPLE :)

That's all for now.
Don't get caught thinking about awkward boner scenarios when dear old dad's leg is busted to shit.
Your Biggest Piece of Crap Waiting Room Magazine,
Better Homes & Gardens

Negroes Side With Me in Race Wars, Why You Never See Me & A Garbage Bag Full of Peanut Butter's Like a Constant Blow

As you know, cab drivers are either my best friend (95% of them) or my worst enemy (the other 5%). Last night I got a 5%er. I called him short and stinky and made fun of his race and shirt and my big giant black friend backed me up. It's good to have a huge neeg on hand when making racial trouble with the cabbies. Anyway, he was a wuss, best thing he came up with was threatening to drive us off a bridge. Course he didn't. LAME.

I saw an old friend on the street, he moved away years ago and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Anyway, I saw him first so he didn't see me AT ALL. I do that to most of you guys too so don't get all acting like I don't. Felt good though, always does. Yay.

I looked all over the place for peanut butter in 5 gallon drums but it isn't as easy to find as you might think, especially if you care about what kind of container it is in, a big garbage bag of peanut butter is too hard to manage and seems too much like poo. I guess it always seems a little pooish but when it guacs against your leg as you carry it, the point is glued home.

Also I found a hair dryer that I couldn't turn off even though it was unplugged and didn't have any batteries. Haunted hair dryer probably.

HAPPY VICTORIA DAY CANADA!

That's all for now.
Don't get caught acting all Canadian just because you ARE Canadian even though you bailed that parking lot at 19 days old.
Your Queen,
The Queen What Lives in England

Turds On The Dance Floor, Flinstoning The Barney Out of My Moped & Just How Much This Here Tongan Loves Utah

I went dancing last night. There were turds on the dance floor. Bummer.

On my way home my moped wouldn't go fast enough no matter how hard I flinstoned so I contemplated buying a big fat motorcycle until I realized that it would match my open hoodie with no shirt look I have been rocking ever since I got my six pack.

Speaking of my six pack, it looks really cool with the new scar of the Utah State Capitol I had scarified into my abdomen. Tattoos are for fags, scarification is all Tongan bro, step off and lob me a cooked pig neegs.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught comparing the danceable shoe slippiness of turds to traditional saw dust.
Your Eyeroll Inducing Pile of Snore,
Chris Tucker

Two Chords is Plenty For Foodfighting Yuppies, Vibing DoucheBags Away From My Passed Out Naked New Wave Lady & The Giant Life Sized Map At Six Flags

I bought a crappy guitar at a crack sale last night and then wandered the streets playing dozens of songs using the exact same two chords for every one. I felt like a mariachi dude cept I didn't have the crazy suit. I was singing at twenty billion decibels and people LIKED IT. I was having fun until I arrived at a yuppy party which of course was NUF which is FUN spelled backwards. Their food fights are even lame, I mean how the fuck can you screw up a food fight? I'll tell you how: SUSHI and BROWN RICE.

Back in the back room I found my little blonde new waver friend passed out naked in an ice cold barfy tub. She needs to reign it in a gallop or two if you ask me. I built a wall out of cardboard boxes to shield her from the googly eyes of the plentiful douchebags on hand, then I projected a vibe that let everyone know that they would be vaporized instantly if they even thought of molesting her. Yeah I'm a total super hero.

! went for a drive on "The Giant Life Sized Map" Six flags has been advertising. Of course it's just a road, I mean it's basically just the whole planet, the planet being a life sized globe. You pay 20 bucks and go through an entryway and on the other side is just everything else but now you're thinking LIFE SIZED MAP. Genius marketing. Anyway, I drove past a car full of happy people throwing peanuts. They were having such a blast on The Life sized Map which I found kinda pathetic and sad -- I should probably see a shrink about that.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught offending the locals by singing in mexican.
Your Dad's Fourth Wife
Janet Reno

Adam Sandlers Sermon Was a Pain in My Neck, Milfies Kid Was Biting My Moves & Family Bone Evening

I went to church yesterday and wouldn't you know everyone was all politics this and politics that and I was all

"NO MORE POLITICS. THIS IS CHURCH YOU IDIOTS!"

Of course I knew that church is always about politics but also I was there not to learn about Jesus but instead make jokes and do a little work for good old satan planting those seeds of doubt. I'm a good person, that's why.

Anyway Adam Sandler gave a half decent sermon in a bunch of wacky voices. My neck started hurting from looking to the left so much due to some genius designing the church with sideways rows as if it's a good idea to be facing the other half of the ugly ass church goers sitting on the other side. Leave that type of seating to gymnasiums NumbNuts.

Oh yeah, my old best friend from growin' up had box seats and he was tryin' really hard to be funny but NOPE, not funny.

Later on I was having sex with this MILF from church when I noticed her kid was watching. I tried to turn away and block his view with some magazines but he was intent on watching me bang his mom.

Then he tried to copy my moves. That wasn't gonna fly.

"Oh it's ok" she said, "We have a really open household."

She wasn't lying, the whole front of the house was missing and it wasn't long before the whole neighborhood was watching us do it and all of them were copying my moves too. BE ORIGINAL PEOPLE.

"I'm not into this public sex stuff." I said.

"We'll let's find a new place then."

Then MILFY, her kids and I all went hunting for a good private place to have sex. I mean for me and the MILF to have sex, not the kids, they don't get to have sex, they just watch. Pervy bastards.

I'm not calling her back next time she texts. She was desperate anyway. Bleh.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught changin up your game to fake'em out.
Your Favorite Place To Bone a MILF,
The Garage

The Typewriter Walkman Cubicle Bike, The Grinning Carrot Zipper Crevice & Betting on Jailhouse Shrink-to-Fit

You've all heard me pee on burning man a billion times already so I won't get into a rant here but you know, living in SF, whether you like it or not, you're gonna end up having a friend with a curly mustache and a tall bike and he's gonna have a girlfriend who still thinks tall silver boots and fur pants are AWESOME so what I suggest you do is every once in a while play along and make a musical keyboard out of an old typewriter and a pile of walkmans. Chances are you actually have an ounce of taste and can do it better than anything THEY do. Anyway, that's what I did yesterday. I also made a bike out of an office cubicle ALSO FOR THEM. Bad Burning Man Antic City.

While on my way to my best friend from childhood's house I discovered a ditch filled with sideways carrots, meaning the carrots were sicking out into the ditch like a big long orangetooth smile -- or maybe a zipper. I'm going to patent the carrot zipper so don't go trying to make a billion dollars just yet PAL.

I turned my back guest room into a jail so now all kinds of hoodlums go back there to gamble but it doesn't bother me because I have totally been preoccupied with finding the perfect shrink to fit suit. I just like feeling it shrink, I could probably get the same sensation if I wore pantyhose head to toe. I'm gonna go try that. Just kidding, what do you think I am, YOU? Yeah right, I'd sooner wear pantyhose head to toe.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught wearing pantyhose head to toe.
Your Non-Pantyhose Head To Toe Wearer,
Not That Pink Unicycle Dude