So yeah, Utah just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I used to dread going back but its becoming such a freak show it's almost fun. Plus, since I'm one of the only people from Utah that doesn't hate black people, I get invited to the presidential BBQ when he rolls through town. (Utahs, don't really hate blacks, I just say that because it makes them so MAD).
Anyway, I was throwing so many one liners at the BBQ I totally upstaged the President. I thought he was about ready to get pissed off but instead he just adopted me as his best buddy for the evening so if you need any presidential pardons in the near future, tweet me.
The big public park that was a few blocks from my house has turned in to a Sea World type theme park with the only difference being no SEA stuff, just fish from the local rivers and lakes. A lesbian girl from the BBQ took me on a tour because she knows some of the trainers. First place we went was to the pool where they keep all the trained fish and do the shows.
"Hey, my friend merkley wants to meet the dog fish, can you call one of them out here?"
"Call him yourself" the trainer said.
No sooner did he say that than out came swimming a fish that looked exactly like a dog. It even acted like a dog, waggin it's tail, making direct eye contact, coming up to get it's head scratched. It was pretty amazing. vegetarians are going to go straight vegan when they find out about this. The dog fish joined a big fresh water sail fish in a 20 minute choreographed routine which was absolutely amazing.
At the end, as we left, the trainer pulled me aside to sign some papers. They were custody release papers for the dog fish.
"Why am I releasing custody of the dog fish? I don't even own it."
"Well actually you do, it's a clone/hybrid of your old dog Chico and that piranha fish you left here so legally we have to get you to release it or we can't do our show that's why we invited you.
I was tempted for a second to be a dick and say no, but how lame would that have been. Plus I don't have a pool. Plus the lesbian chick was giving me a look like she'd beat the crap out of me if I didn't sign. She could've too. I signed them. Biggest gayest signature I ever did. Super loopy.
In the parking lot I caught a homeless dude trying to steal one of my hats out of the back of my Cadillac. Someone had completely smashed the fuck out of the car, ripped the whole roof and trunk open then dumped it in a huge pile of dirty snow. I don't even want to talk about it, way too depressing.
Man, I haven't even told you yet about the really freaky part of Utah yet.
Ok so the new generation of polygamists are now calling it "Polygamism" because they believe in multiple long term relationships but they don't believe in marriage. They are mostly hipster lesbian type girls and it's really just a way for them to have massive dyke orgies while maintaining a very select and exclusive stable of sperm donors so that all of the new generation of dykey hipster kids are all basically related and cool.
For some reason they really don't like gay dudes. I didn't ask.
But, they all know how much I love the gays and how my heritage goes right back to Joseph Smith's inner circle so they were way heavily recruiting me. I have never seen so much ex-Mormon lesbian vagina in my life. They were literally shoving it in my face the whole time. It wasn't as stinky as I would've imagined. I suppose it makes sense that dykes would make an effort to stay fresh considering the lack of options in the interlocking parts department. They dragged me to a hot tub party on the roof of a local dome shaped super market. I knew something was weird about that place. It's called REAM'S, no joke so of course, lots of "reaming" was done.
Yeah I'm gross, I admit it.
I would've been happy to sperm donate on a lot more of them but they really were looking at things long term. I wasn't so into that part.
Anyway, the plane ride home was a the longest plane crash in history, only there was some weird ripple in the universe that made it seem as if the whole entire world was being destroyed by the wake of our plane rather than us being destroyed by the smash of the plane against a mountain. In other words, while we were definitely crashing, it was the rest of the world that was being destroyed, not us. For the first 30 minutes It was really rather frightening watching out the window as thousands of buildings just crumbled to the ground and whole forests were blown away as we made our way past. After a while it was boring so I fell asleep.
Point is:
I need to stop drinking on planes.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught considering leaving in the typo "Moistly hipster lesbian type girls" because it's not THAT rad.
Your Least Favorite Choice for Dog Fish Clone/Hybrid
Chelsea Lately
June 22, 2009
June 17, 2009
I Put Dog Poop on The Steering Wheel, I Didn't Steal Jay Leno's Tap Dance Shoes, & JUDGE JUDY DEF CUPPED MY BALLS!
Last night some friends and I stumbled across a cop car with it's window down and nobody in it. We were completely unable to NOT prank it. We looked around for impromptu pranking materials and spotted some little baggies of dog poop which we gently placed onto the steering wheel.
Some onlookers loved it while others wanted to kill us.
"You are going to JAIL ASSHOLES!" one lady screamed as a rep for one half of the crowd.
Meanwhile, the other half of the crowd played lookout for us.
Soon some flat-topped military types in the crowd could no longer handle the blatant disrespect for the law and began charging at me from across the street.
"Get out of there merkley, they are gonna kill you!" a lady screamed.
Although she was probably right I thought I'd stand my ground. I can really pull off the crazy vibe when I want and I have seen how small dogs scare off big dogs on the reg so I went charging towards them at twice the speed they were charging me. Their dogs were the first to respond, backing up with tails between their legs.
"MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS YOU DICKS, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE ON THE COPS!" I yelled at the men still feeling like they were gonna kick the crap outta me.
"I WILL FUCKING GNAW YOUR DICK OFF WITH MY MOUTH IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP CLOSER."
Of course I wouldn't have, that's just gross, but fat-topped cop types don't like anything that even sounds homo so they slowly backed away.
"NICE JACKET, BY THE WAY, I LOVE THE PATTERN!!!" I yelled to reinforce the threat of gay.
Once we finished dog pooping up the car, we turned on the lights and siren and waited around for the cops to return but after 30 minutes went by we all got bored and decided to bail. Plus the siren was way annoying.
What is this, American Graffiti? LAME.
We ended up at a party in one of Jay Leno's many warehouses. It wasn't a good night for him, someone had broken into his shoe collection and stolen all his faves. He looked really sad. He also looked very suspicious of me. Whatever, I'd probably be suspicious of me too but I had nothing to do with it I swear. I felt bad for him, he really was on the verge of tears and when your head is that bobbleheaded and your body is that puny, welled up tears really get cartoony looking. Cartoony like SAD cartoony. Poor guy.
Judge Judy was there. I get flirty with old ladies because it seems like the right thing to do. This time however it was NOT the right thing to do. She responded by totally grabbing my wang, not in a violent way, like in a way where she was gonna make it do stuff to her kinda way. Like in a cupping my balls kind of way. Yeah, THAT way. She was cupping my balls.
Egads.
I tried to talk myself into a boner because if Judge Judy is tryin to get up on your pole you may as well. RIGHT?
Boner didn't come though, she is just too macho for me. I'll be honest, she scared me a little. Instead I gave her a ton of shit for completely giving the opposite impression of the idea that we are a nation ruled by LAW and NOT ruled by snippity, smart ass, one lining bitches who care more about being obnoxious Lady Elaines than being JUST.
Yeah, I really did give her a civics sermon, I lectured Judge Judy, even called her "JJ" the whole time. I can be pretty cool when I wanna.
You know, I really think she listened too, probably because I didn't get a boner when she was cupping my balls.
JUDGE JUDY WAS CUPPING MY BALLS YALL.
Oh yeah, I also told her the Dog Poop on Cop Steering Wheel story from earlier in the evening. She thought it was pretty funny. Apparently she hates cops. I lectured her about that too. She's fucked up.
There's no reason to HATE cops.
Point is:
Lecturing sounds nasty.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught overusing Lady Elaine to represent red faced dyke types.
Your Favorite Rotating Museum,
JJ's Old School Diaphragm
Some onlookers loved it while others wanted to kill us.
"You are going to JAIL ASSHOLES!" one lady screamed as a rep for one half of the crowd.
Meanwhile, the other half of the crowd played lookout for us.
Soon some flat-topped military types in the crowd could no longer handle the blatant disrespect for the law and began charging at me from across the street.
"Get out of there merkley, they are gonna kill you!" a lady screamed.
Although she was probably right I thought I'd stand my ground. I can really pull off the crazy vibe when I want and I have seen how small dogs scare off big dogs on the reg so I went charging towards them at twice the speed they were charging me. Their dogs were the first to respond, backing up with tails between their legs.
"MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS YOU DICKS, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE ON THE COPS!" I yelled at the men still feeling like they were gonna kick the crap outta me.
"I WILL FUCKING GNAW YOUR DICK OFF WITH MY MOUTH IF YOU TAKE ONE MORE STEP CLOSER."
Of course I wouldn't have, that's just gross, but fat-topped cop types don't like anything that even sounds homo so they slowly backed away.
"NICE JACKET, BY THE WAY, I LOVE THE PATTERN!!!" I yelled to reinforce the threat of gay.
Once we finished dog pooping up the car, we turned on the lights and siren and waited around for the cops to return but after 30 minutes went by we all got bored and decided to bail. Plus the siren was way annoying.
What is this, American Graffiti? LAME.
We ended up at a party in one of Jay Leno's many warehouses. It wasn't a good night for him, someone had broken into his shoe collection and stolen all his faves. He looked really sad. He also looked very suspicious of me. Whatever, I'd probably be suspicious of me too but I had nothing to do with it I swear. I felt bad for him, he really was on the verge of tears and when your head is that bobbleheaded and your body is that puny, welled up tears really get cartoony looking. Cartoony like SAD cartoony. Poor guy.
Judge Judy was there. I get flirty with old ladies because it seems like the right thing to do. This time however it was NOT the right thing to do. She responded by totally grabbing my wang, not in a violent way, like in a way where she was gonna make it do stuff to her kinda way. Like in a cupping my balls kind of way. Yeah, THAT way. She was cupping my balls.
Egads.
I tried to talk myself into a boner because if Judge Judy is tryin to get up on your pole you may as well. RIGHT?
Boner didn't come though, she is just too macho for me. I'll be honest, she scared me a little. Instead I gave her a ton of shit for completely giving the opposite impression of the idea that we are a nation ruled by LAW and NOT ruled by snippity, smart ass, one lining bitches who care more about being obnoxious Lady Elaines than being JUST.
Yeah, I really did give her a civics sermon, I lectured Judge Judy, even called her "JJ" the whole time. I can be pretty cool when I wanna.
You know, I really think she listened too, probably because I didn't get a boner when she was cupping my balls.
JUDGE JUDY WAS CUPPING MY BALLS YALL.
Oh yeah, I also told her the Dog Poop on Cop Steering Wheel story from earlier in the evening. She thought it was pretty funny. Apparently she hates cops. I lectured her about that too. She's fucked up.
There's no reason to HATE cops.
Point is:
Lecturing sounds nasty.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught overusing Lady Elaine to represent red faced dyke types.
Your Favorite Rotating Museum,
JJ's Old School Diaphragm
June 15, 2009
Hehrro to Hahrryrood, My Special Movie Pants, & How to Beat The Fat Black Child
No secret that the movie business is more and more moving to China, but it's not until you go there to work on a movie that you see why.
Whole towns have been constructed purely for movie making with each proprietor trying to outdo the last. The extravagance really knows no limits and with a total lack of building codes, whatever you can imagine can be built in 24 hours.
For example I took a tour through an entire hotel built out of PVC pipe in 16 hours. It still smelled like purple glue! My tour guide was telling me how Martin Scorsesse had the whole thing built for a film that was only released in Sweden. Apparently the Swedes have so much national pride that not a single copy has been leaked abroad. Whatever, I don't even like Scorsesse, over-rated gum-flapping eyebrow generator.
Anyway, I was there making a film with a supposed up and comer film maker whose method doesn't seem like would produce the best possible results.
I asked him for my script.
"No scripts, all improv." He said.
"Ok what is the story." I asked.
"No story just life." He said.
"So is this a documentary? You want me to just be myself?"
"No, I want you to IMPROV."
"You mean you want me to write your movie for you." I didn't really say that - but I should have.
Normally I'd be interested in this sort of thing but the dude really didn't have his shit together. The pay was crap and he had plenty of other "actors" milling about trying to write his movie for him as well so I told him I needed my "special movie pants" that I left back at the hotel. Really I just wanted to explore the crazy movie sets around town.
I got a little lost on the way back to the hotel, made a wrong turn into the underbelly of a replica soccer stadium. There was a big fat black kid walking right next to me. Whenever I increased my pace, he increased his, if I slowed, he slowed too. He was a cute kid about 8 years old or so but it was still annoying. We ended up in a full on sprint down one of the longest hallways I have ever seen. Guess I'm more competitive that I like to admit. Well at least against fat black children anyway. We both pretended we weren't completely winded. His wheezing was slightly louder than mine which means I WON.
It took me hours to finally retrieve my special movie pants. On the way back I stopped to get a hot cookie at the mall. I didn't really need a hot cookie but something about my genetics causes me to sabotage anything that requires me to adhere to a schedule. FUCK YOUR SCHEDULE I WILL GET THERE WHEN I'M READY LIKE AFTER I HAVE A HOT COOKIE!
Oh yeah I got ahead of myself. Back at the hotel I ran into Rufus Wainright who always seemed like a nice enough fella for a whiney gay. We chatted for a minute. Apparently he lives there. I could see in his room that he had a big custom canopy bed made in the style of a frenchy bombay hutch, it was all inlaid veneer with gilding and such, but the weird part were the old style oil paintings in the inset curvy panels which I am told were paintings of his adolescent nephews as cherubs.
That's kinda creepy even for a homo if you ask me. HI MICHAEL JACKSON!
Anyway, when I finally returned to the set hours later nothing had really progressed. The filmmaker was doing an awful job directing anything interesting. I certainly was not in the mood to take initiative to make his film any better. I'll do my own film if I have to put forth that kind effort thanks.
Instead I just took a seat by one of my friends and I let her talk shit about one of my other friends. She was calling her fat and such, she wasn't much skinnier, but whatever, like I'm gonna get in THAT conversation.
Nobody ever said I don't lead a pretty gay lifestyle.
I never got called to be on camera which is exactly what I PRETENDED I wanted.
Point is:
BEG ME A LITTLE FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught forgetting to write the last part of your stupid rigidly formatted sign off on the last blog post.
Your 8th Favorite material for a gay looking 3 piece suit,
Pink Velvet
Whole towns have been constructed purely for movie making with each proprietor trying to outdo the last. The extravagance really knows no limits and with a total lack of building codes, whatever you can imagine can be built in 24 hours.
For example I took a tour through an entire hotel built out of PVC pipe in 16 hours. It still smelled like purple glue! My tour guide was telling me how Martin Scorsesse had the whole thing built for a film that was only released in Sweden. Apparently the Swedes have so much national pride that not a single copy has been leaked abroad. Whatever, I don't even like Scorsesse, over-rated gum-flapping eyebrow generator.
Anyway, I was there making a film with a supposed up and comer film maker whose method doesn't seem like would produce the best possible results.
I asked him for my script.
"No scripts, all improv." He said.
"Ok what is the story." I asked.
"No story just life." He said.
"So is this a documentary? You want me to just be myself?"
"No, I want you to IMPROV."
"You mean you want me to write your movie for you." I didn't really say that - but I should have.
Normally I'd be interested in this sort of thing but the dude really didn't have his shit together. The pay was crap and he had plenty of other "actors" milling about trying to write his movie for him as well so I told him I needed my "special movie pants" that I left back at the hotel. Really I just wanted to explore the crazy movie sets around town.
I got a little lost on the way back to the hotel, made a wrong turn into the underbelly of a replica soccer stadium. There was a big fat black kid walking right next to me. Whenever I increased my pace, he increased his, if I slowed, he slowed too. He was a cute kid about 8 years old or so but it was still annoying. We ended up in a full on sprint down one of the longest hallways I have ever seen. Guess I'm more competitive that I like to admit. Well at least against fat black children anyway. We both pretended we weren't completely winded. His wheezing was slightly louder than mine which means I WON.
It took me hours to finally retrieve my special movie pants. On the way back I stopped to get a hot cookie at the mall. I didn't really need a hot cookie but something about my genetics causes me to sabotage anything that requires me to adhere to a schedule. FUCK YOUR SCHEDULE I WILL GET THERE WHEN I'M READY LIKE AFTER I HAVE A HOT COOKIE!
Oh yeah I got ahead of myself. Back at the hotel I ran into Rufus Wainright who always seemed like a nice enough fella for a whiney gay. We chatted for a minute. Apparently he lives there. I could see in his room that he had a big custom canopy bed made in the style of a frenchy bombay hutch, it was all inlaid veneer with gilding and such, but the weird part were the old style oil paintings in the inset curvy panels which I am told were paintings of his adolescent nephews as cherubs.
That's kinda creepy even for a homo if you ask me. HI MICHAEL JACKSON!
Anyway, when I finally returned to the set hours later nothing had really progressed. The filmmaker was doing an awful job directing anything interesting. I certainly was not in the mood to take initiative to make his film any better. I'll do my own film if I have to put forth that kind effort thanks.
Instead I just took a seat by one of my friends and I let her talk shit about one of my other friends. She was calling her fat and such, she wasn't much skinnier, but whatever, like I'm gonna get in THAT conversation.
Nobody ever said I don't lead a pretty gay lifestyle.
I never got called to be on camera which is exactly what I PRETENDED I wanted.
Point is:
BEG ME A LITTLE FOR FUCK'S SAKE.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught forgetting to write the last part of your stupid rigidly formatted sign off on the last blog post.
Your 8th Favorite material for a gay looking 3 piece suit,
Pink Velvet
June 12, 2009
The Counter Top Diamond Maker, Trya's Long Awkward Hug/Sniff, & The Counter Top Ass Rootering Seminar
So a diamond is just carbon placed under extremely high pressure right? Isn't everything made out of carbon? What about making diamond out of -- oh, say, a dead pet or loved one? Seems like they could make a counter top machine that could make anything into a diamond. You know, like a toaster. I know at least three people who would like a diamond made out of a turd.
Speaking of diamonds and turds, I must go on record as having NOTHING positive to say about Tyra Banks, but certain opinions have risen to neutral in recent days.
Turns out her aunt lives in Springville Utah and is good friends with a friend of mine. Tyra keeps a room and spends a significant portion of the summer there.
Long story shot, I was invited over for for a BBQ, Tyra was there. She gave me a tour of her attic bedroom. The ceilings were so low a person of average height could not even stand upright. Tyra painted the floors all girly, and while I wasn't impressed with the design I was impressed that she did it herself. I mean you gotta give her SOME credit for sleeping in a cramped attic all summer and painting her own room right?
Anyway, as things seem to go in my life, the people I like least, like me most. This licks ass. Why do people gotta rain on my hate parade with their long awkward hugs? Yeah, you heard me right, Tyra gave me a really long, really awkward hug. She even inhaled while putting her face in my neck. YES SHE WANTED TO HAVE SEX WITH ME IN HER TINY ROOM. IMPOSSIBLE TO BELIEVE!
I didn't allow it to happen, I might have, but she had a really cute cousin there and I wanted to keep my options open. I make stupid mistakes like that ten times an hours so big deal.
Tyra also had a fake amputated leg with a seventies suede sneaker on it and she made that herself too. She gets a couple of points there. Right?
Also, did you know she is half Japanese? Well she is. Look at her bellybutton if you don't believe me.
Anyway, The whole time we were upstairs her aunt and some dude that looks like Jesse James were allowing a couple of traveling salesmen to give their pitch. They were saying all kinds of bullshit about hundreds of pounds of impacted fecal matter trying to sell everyone on some expensive counter top enema/rooter equipment. I shouted down some skeptically inspired Google search suggestions to the subjects of the pitch, but they REALLY wanted to believe the salesmen. I mean who DOESN'T want to believe you can lose 40 pounds of turd matter just by putting a hose up your butt?
Oh yeah, Tyra gave me 3 antique watches. Something tells me they are fake.
Point is:
If you're gonna be full of shit, why not sell a machine that deals with exactly THAT?
That's all for now.
Don't get caught name dropping Tyra Banks when it very well couldda been an unrelated half Japanese girl with loose stomach skin, since you really might'a been drunk at the time.
Speaking of diamonds and turds, I must go on record as having NOTHING positive to say about Tyra Banks, but certain opinions have risen to neutral in recent days.
Turns out her aunt lives in Springville Utah and is good friends with a friend of mine. Tyra keeps a room and spends a significant portion of the summer there.
Long story shot, I was invited over for for a BBQ, Tyra was there. She gave me a tour of her attic bedroom. The ceilings were so low a person of average height could not even stand upright. Tyra painted the floors all girly, and while I wasn't impressed with the design I was impressed that she did it herself. I mean you gotta give her SOME credit for sleeping in a cramped attic all summer and painting her own room right?
Anyway, as things seem to go in my life, the people I like least, like me most. This licks ass. Why do people gotta rain on my hate parade with their long awkward hugs? Yeah, you heard me right, Tyra gave me a really long, really awkward hug. She even inhaled while putting her face in my neck. YES SHE WANTED TO HAVE SEX WITH ME IN HER TINY ROOM. IMPOSSIBLE TO BELIEVE!
I didn't allow it to happen, I might have, but she had a really cute cousin there and I wanted to keep my options open. I make stupid mistakes like that ten times an hours so big deal.
Tyra also had a fake amputated leg with a seventies suede sneaker on it and she made that herself too. She gets a couple of points there. Right?
Also, did you know she is half Japanese? Well she is. Look at her bellybutton if you don't believe me.
Anyway, The whole time we were upstairs her aunt and some dude that looks like Jesse James were allowing a couple of traveling salesmen to give their pitch. They were saying all kinds of bullshit about hundreds of pounds of impacted fecal matter trying to sell everyone on some expensive counter top enema/rooter equipment. I shouted down some skeptically inspired Google search suggestions to the subjects of the pitch, but they REALLY wanted to believe the salesmen. I mean who DOESN'T want to believe you can lose 40 pounds of turd matter just by putting a hose up your butt?
Oh yeah, Tyra gave me 3 antique watches. Something tells me they are fake.
Point is:
If you're gonna be full of shit, why not sell a machine that deals with exactly THAT?
That's all for now.
Don't get caught name dropping Tyra Banks when it very well couldda been an unrelated half Japanese girl with loose stomach skin, since you really might'a been drunk at the time.
June 10, 2009
Penguins For Sale, Dumbfounded Corporate Stiffs & The Casserole Rat
So I decided to trim my beard really short. I did a terrible job. I looked like a 1990s Kenny Loggins with cancer for a minute.
Went wandering though some souvenir shops in a really janky town up the coast. One of them had barrels and barrels of real stuffed penguins, or so I THOUGHT. Some of them were stuffed but the rest were alive. Don't ask me why they all stayed put in their boxes and barrels, I tried to coax some of them out but they were all apparently perfectly happy to be for sale to tourists. I suppose it also had something to do with the fact that they were bred right there in the souvenir shop -- you could buy them at any stage of development, from egg to old dead and stuffed.
Not such a bad life I suppose.
Anyway, I was tempted but I really don't need a penguin so I bought some 100 year old overalls straight out of the dryer. NICE.
Later I was hanging out with a bunch of corporate stiffs who behaved accordingly and quizzed me about my finances/ When I told them I haven't had a JOB since 1991 they looked sorta dumbfounded but mostly bitter and jealous. So stupid though because it's not like I was bragging. I'm just simply unemployable is all. Fake authority makes me violent.
Anyway when I got home I went into the kitchen and there was a big black rat taking a nap on the casserole I made earlier. He looked so cute all snuggled up I couldn't bear to wake him. As I went to turn the light back off, it heard me and opened one eye. Man that rat was sure comfortable because it didn't even get up to run, it just rolled over for me to scratch his belly. Truthfully, had the casserole been big enough I would have crawled right in and snuggled with that little motherfucker. CUTE!
Maybe I live in a Pixar movie.
Point is:
All authority is fake unless you've got a gun.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to hang yourself with string cheese.
Your First Choice For Prom Queen,
Some Stupid Bitch
Went wandering though some souvenir shops in a really janky town up the coast. One of them had barrels and barrels of real stuffed penguins, or so I THOUGHT. Some of them were stuffed but the rest were alive. Don't ask me why they all stayed put in their boxes and barrels, I tried to coax some of them out but they were all apparently perfectly happy to be for sale to tourists. I suppose it also had something to do with the fact that they were bred right there in the souvenir shop -- you could buy them at any stage of development, from egg to old dead and stuffed.
Not such a bad life I suppose.
Anyway, I was tempted but I really don't need a penguin so I bought some 100 year old overalls straight out of the dryer. NICE.
Later I was hanging out with a bunch of corporate stiffs who behaved accordingly and quizzed me about my finances/ When I told them I haven't had a JOB since 1991 they looked sorta dumbfounded but mostly bitter and jealous. So stupid though because it's not like I was bragging. I'm just simply unemployable is all. Fake authority makes me violent.
Anyway when I got home I went into the kitchen and there was a big black rat taking a nap on the casserole I made earlier. He looked so cute all snuggled up I couldn't bear to wake him. As I went to turn the light back off, it heard me and opened one eye. Man that rat was sure comfortable because it didn't even get up to run, it just rolled over for me to scratch his belly. Truthfully, had the casserole been big enough I would have crawled right in and snuggled with that little motherfucker. CUTE!
Maybe I live in a Pixar movie.
Point is:
All authority is fake unless you've got a gun.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to hang yourself with string cheese.
Your First Choice For Prom Queen,
Some Stupid Bitch
June 02, 2009
The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer, The Lovable Gay Cop That Never Happened, & The Not So Lovable Provo Experience on Endless Repeat
I don't know why I keep moving back to Provo, it never works out and I always end up back in SF, but there always seems to be someone else convincing me to go back. This time it was an old friend from back then who has recently been living in LA and a totally lovable gay coke dealer friend of mine here in SF that lead the charge.
The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.
I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!
I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.
Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.
BIG IDEAS!
Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.
The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.
I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!
I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.
Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.
BIG IDEAS!
Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.
I don't know why I keep moving back to Provo, it never works out and I always end up back in SF, but there always seems to be someone else convincing me to go back. This time it was an old friend from back then who has recently been living in LA and a totally lovable gay coke dealer friend of mine here in SF that lead the charge.
The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.
I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!
I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.
Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.
BIG IDEAS!
Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.
The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.
I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!
I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.
Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.
BIG IDEAS!
Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.
June 01, 2009
The Underpants & Socks Floor Slide Party, Taze Me Not Amigos, & The Greatest Chase Story Never Told
I cleared out all the furniture in my house and shined up the floors. I had company over so I got down to my underpants and socks and started a slippery-socks slide-a-thon. I don't know why this has never made it as an actual olympic sport. Who the fuck needs SKATES when slippery socks and a shiny floor is just as fun if not more? Anyway, I had to coax them all a bit but eventually we were all in our underpants sliding around on the slippery floor. One girl had sweaty feet which doesn't work so well for slipperyness so I cut out a piece of plastic the size of the bottom of her foot as a sweat barrier. That took care of that.
We all ended up leaving the house in our underpants. I somehow lost track of the group, maybe they ditched me. I doubt it though. I started feeling a bit underdressed. I came upon one of our many mexican cowboy clothing outlets but I couldn't find the door. The only one I could see was up a ten foot ladder which I quickly scaled only to find that it wasn't a door at all. Someone below spotted me and rushed to report me as a vandal. Less than 20 second later there was a team of Mexican security guard waiting for me as I descended.
"Hey don't taze me guys. I'm just trying to find the front door to buy some pants and new socks cuz I wore mine out sliding around on my newly waxed floors with a bunch of girls in their underpants, which is why I'm in MY underpants."
They weren't believing me. I could hardly blame them. Sounded like a big lie. The truth often does.
Anyway, they were circling the wagons like I was a crazy person and before I knew it there were no fewer than 50 men and women with tazers coming after me. I'd tell you the whole long story of how I eventually escaped after beating the crap out of at least ten of them but I realize that highly suspenseful chase scenes with adventure, violence and humor around every corner are really boring so I'll spare you.
I will say that I ended up in the midwest in the snow where I hopped onto an olympic rowing team boat and they raced me to safety in a total off season blizzard.
Fun times.
Oh yeah I also rode home back to SF with a family in their homemade convertible van. I can't remember any of their names. Nice people though.
Point is:
Cadillacs will now be manufactured by the United States Government so If I seem suicidal that's why.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught copying Cuba like it's some how a good idea.
Your favorite President whose dick in your mouth is making it hard for people to understand you.
Yeah, THAT guy, HIM.
also, coming soon: LATE NIGHT FEELINGS
We all ended up leaving the house in our underpants. I somehow lost track of the group, maybe they ditched me. I doubt it though. I started feeling a bit underdressed. I came upon one of our many mexican cowboy clothing outlets but I couldn't find the door. The only one I could see was up a ten foot ladder which I quickly scaled only to find that it wasn't a door at all. Someone below spotted me and rushed to report me as a vandal. Less than 20 second later there was a team of Mexican security guard waiting for me as I descended.
"Hey don't taze me guys. I'm just trying to find the front door to buy some pants and new socks cuz I wore mine out sliding around on my newly waxed floors with a bunch of girls in their underpants, which is why I'm in MY underpants."
They weren't believing me. I could hardly blame them. Sounded like a big lie. The truth often does.
Anyway, they were circling the wagons like I was a crazy person and before I knew it there were no fewer than 50 men and women with tazers coming after me. I'd tell you the whole long story of how I eventually escaped after beating the crap out of at least ten of them but I realize that highly suspenseful chase scenes with adventure, violence and humor around every corner are really boring so I'll spare you.
I will say that I ended up in the midwest in the snow where I hopped onto an olympic rowing team boat and they raced me to safety in a total off season blizzard.
Fun times.
Oh yeah I also rode home back to SF with a family in their homemade convertible van. I can't remember any of their names. Nice people though.
Point is:
Cadillacs will now be manufactured by the United States Government so If I seem suicidal that's why.
That's all for now.
Don't get caught copying Cuba like it's some how a good idea.
Your favorite President whose dick in your mouth is making it hard for people to understand you.
Yeah, THAT guy, HIM.
also, coming soon: LATE NIGHT FEELINGS
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