Wednesday, September 30, 2009

You're One Charming Tiger

A Well Groomed Tiger

That's my first thought when I think of Tony the Tiger. I'd be more impressed with how neat he is than with his talking and love of Frosted Flakes. I mean, he's perfectly clean, and he has the sense to put a bandana around his neck with his name on it.
Think of it – you don't want your kids just walking up to any old tiger and talking to it. Tony knows this. That's why he writes his name on his bandana – so that you can say to your kids "Kids, do NOT talk to tigers. Except Tony the tiger, and if you talk to him, tell him that you already ate breakfast, because Frosted Flakes are bad for you, but you don't want to hurt his feelings."
But, he talks. So what? Well, he doesn't just talk, he has a loud booming voice and reminds you of Tigger from Winnie the Pooh – only a boomier voice.
Also, he has a job.
Most tigers don't have jobs. Tony overcame the obstacles and got himself a pitch job for the most popular breakfast cereal in the country.
Most tigers just work at zoos, like losers.
I don't know how college was for you, but for me it was tough. Now, imagine you're a stupid tiger. Now imagine that you can't talk. Then imagine that the only jobs you can get are ones where you learn how to talk or the ones where you just loaf around like a loser in a zoo.
Tony didn't half ass it. He learned to speak, got a degree, and got his ass a good job.
Also, I've noticed that his stripes are perfectly spaced across his body. You look at some of these loser tigers in zoos and the outback or bush or whatever and their stripes are all over the fucking place. Mangy beasts is what they are.
So, what does Tony do? He uses his college smarts and gets his DNA to correct that situation by turning himself into a fucking cartoon.
Some cartoon characters are born cartoons. Not Tony. He was once a living, breathing tiger, but he used his gift of brains and what he learned in advanced biology and turned himself into a cartoon.
There's not even a plaque.
It's really a shitty world when folks like Bill Clinton get awards and shit and tigers like Tony get jack shit.
Here's to you – you're one charming tiger.

Militant Aliens Are Rad

It was near dawn and the first ships began landing out in front of the house. I grabbed my shotgun and walked out front to greet what only could be aliens.
I deduced they were aliens because they had spaceships way past my technical skills. You know, like I totally couldn't build one of those things. All big and stupid looking. I mean, I couldn't even come up with an idea for that…you know, big green doohickey that sticks out of the front part and looks all badass. I mean, that's like way out of my league. And I'm pretty smart. But maybe someone from Earth built it like a kid with Assburgers syndrome or something. I mean, that could be possible.
So, when I confronted the first spider-like alien I pointed my shotgun at him and dumped some toothpicks on the ground and ordered him to count them like Rainman.
The fucking thing just ate the toothpicks. Which really bothered me in a grotesque way. So I shot it.
Then the aliens got all militant on me and joined anti-human gangs. I mean, this took like a week.
Anyway, that was how my weekend went.

Sometimes I Get Sentimental

It's not uncommon for me to stroke an old toy from my childhood and think about how much fun I had playing with it. Other times, I will get weepy looking at photo albums of me and my family. There's nothing wrong with shedding a tear for the old days. It's just important to remember that you should cherish the times you have now. Like how I'm writing this. I cherish this moment as much as I do that time my dad took me fishing at the aquarium.

Some Cool Ways to Freak Out a Loved One

1. K, take all your bathroom stuff, like razors, soap, mouth wash and put it into you fridge. Then take everything out of the fridge and put it in your bathroom. Do this all in the morning before your partner wakes up. Then, get in the shower right when they are supposed to wake up and let them find you eating a hotdog while showering.

2. Turn to a loved one and say "Have I ever told you I love you?" They will get all weepy and whatnot, and probably return the gesture. Right as they do, tell the couch the same thing.

3. After making love ask your lover if they feel itchy, then start scratching yourself all over and go "I'm all itchy", then climb out the window.

4. Make some spaghetti for your loved one and hide a prize in their bowl. When they find it say "Just like cereal."

5. Take all the keys off a loved ones keyboard and change them around. Then hit them in the head with the keyboard.

I Remember You Once Had This Fish

I do. It was like an inch long and it was red. What ever happened to that fish? It was all into swimming around that fish tank you had. Man, you loved that fish. What happened to it? What?! It died? It fucking died?! NO! NO! Why didn't you tell me? It was just a fish? It wasn't just a fish, it was your fish. Dude, you fucked up. What did you feed it? It was not old. It wasn't old in 1983, why would it just get old all of a sudden? Dude, that's fucked up. I guess you don't take care of your shit. Anyway, it was a cool fish.

Good Things Don't Wait

It was in September, if I remember. The air was cool, and full of splendor. She lay on the table, covered up from me. And if that covering was cardboard, it was still the covering for me. I walked out of the room and into the day's light. If she lay now, then she will lay later, there was time for love and that time was later. The sun was in the sky and I could imagine her in my eye. And that fancy would lead to yearning and yearning to love. I let my love lay down without me, for only her was I thinking of. But when I returned from my flight of fancy, the yearning so strong in my heart, knowing that we would never part, I found her gone. The pizza box was empty.

The Spoon Deluxe and Other Stories

Have a Good Day

"Have a good day!" The man shouted at me.
"Could I get some ketchup?" He moved from the window and put two ketchups in the bag and shoved it at me.
"Have a good day!"
The woman working the till handed me my change and my receipt at the same time the man punched the food out the window. I had to figure out how to put the change away and put the food down at the same time.
"Have a good day!" The man yelled at me again.
"I'm trying!" I shouted back. The change went all over the floor of the car and the food dropped to my lap as I tried to set the Coke in the cup holder.
"HAVE A GOOD DAY!" The man shouted and tried to physically push my car with his hands flat cross the roof out of the drive thru.
"Please, I'm not having a good day right now!" I pleaded with him as I spilled the Coke all over the passenger's seat and hit the gas and launched the car into the intersection on a red light.

The Check for Over

"Can I write it for over?" I asked the woman at the Fred Meyer.
"Of course, how much?"
"How much can I write over?"
"OK, 50."
She looked at my groceries.
I had purchased some beer, condoms, and cigarettes.
"What's the fifty for?"
"The girl."

What Can I Say

The other day I was thinking about how I'm not good at speaking to other human beings. This tormented me, as I have a job, family, and friends.
At this point in life I should know how to talk.
But I don't.
So, this morning I saw a guy say to another guy "What can I say?"
He was asked if he had a good weekend.
I started thinking, that's gonna be my full conversation for now on.
Boss: How was your weekend?
Coworker: Are you done with that edit?
Friend: Do you still have my basketball?
All can be remedied with "What can I say?"
I'm typing it right now on a resume. No address, accomplishments, or work history; just a big, bold, in 40 point: WHAT CAN I SAY?
The only problem is when I want something. I can't try to borrow money from people by simply asking "What can I say?"
Or can I?
I figure that the people who know me know what I'm after without having to ask. So, if I just give them a shit eating grin and say "What can I say?" and hold out my hand – Bingo!
But then, what about drive thru restaurants? I can't order by saying "What can I say?"
Or can I?
I just thought about it and no, I couldn't order drive thru with "What can I say?"
Back to the drawing board!

Back in Bethlehem

"Hey, do you know Jesus?"
The shopkeeper looked up from the fish he was eating with a spoon (in the olden days, the knife was super expensive and the fork had yet to be invented).
"Jesus of Nazareth?"
"The very same!" The pilgrim said.
"Yes, of course. He was a carpenter, I understand he's a religious man."
"He is the son of God!"
"Really? Well, that's great. He was a nice fella."
"Nice fella? He was the son of God!"
The shopkeeper put his shoebox of fish (plates were also really expensive, but Nike boxes were really cheap).
"OK, son. I understand that you believe he's the son of God. And maybe he is, but to me, he's just Jesse the carpenter."
The pilgrim became angry. "Just a carpenter! That's like saying a knife is just a knife!"
"Well, to be honest…I don't know how to say this…he wasn't a very good carpenter." The shopkeeper looked down at his hands.
"No a very good – wait – what?" The pilgrim was thrown off.
"It's true. He made this." The shopkeeper produced a large block of wood with a stick taped to it (do not ask me why they have tape or Nike shoes back in the olden days. You weren't there.)
"What the hell is that?" The pilgrim asked.
"It's supposed to be a spoon."
"A spoon?!" The pilgrim was stunned. "Jesus made that?"
"That's correct."
"Well, Christ. Maybe I need to rethink this."
"Well, just because he's bad at carpentry…"
The pilgrim looked stunned again. "Bad at carpentry? Bad at carpentry? That's a block of wood with a stick taped to it! If the son of…if that man thinks that can be passed off as a spoon!" The pilgrim was red faced.
"Now this is carpentry." The shopkeeper produced a fork.
"What…what is that?" The pilgrim's face lit up.
"It's called a…spoon deluxe." The shopkeepers eyes lit up and he licked his lips while he stared down at the wooden fork.
"It's…what are the tines for?"
"For poking your food so that it can be easily removed from bone and lifted to your mouth from your shoebox."
"Who made that?"
The shopkeeper looked around, then pointed at the red man with the horns growing out of his head.
"Him." The shopkeeper's finger shook as he pointed.
"And what is his name?"
"His name is…………………………I don't know his name."
"Well, can I meet him."
"Sure. Hey, guy! Guy!" The shopkeeper yelled at the red man.
The red man stood up. "Yes?"
"This pilgrim wants to meet you. He likes your spoon deluxe."
"He does!" The red man bounded over and shook the pilgrim's hand.
"It's very nice to meet you." the pilgrim said. "Where can I get a spoon deluxe?"
The red man exclaimed "I can make you one right now!"
The pilgrim put his hands together and let his fingers tap one another.
7 minutes later…
"How did you produce a spoon deluxe so quickly?" Asked the pilgrim.
The red man answered "Well, I simply take a spoon, and then shave into the base with my horns twice and viola!" He produced the spoon deluxe.
"You know" said the pilgrim "I noticed your tongue is forked."
"Yes." Said the red man.
"I'm just saying, that's pretty weird. Anyway, how much for this spoon deluxe? Clever name, by the way."
The red man scratched his head. "Well, I'd say your sole would do it."
And with that, the pilgrim handed the red man his fish and left the store. "Wait. What the hell am I gonna do with this spoon deluxe now that I don't have fish?"
And that is how the story of Satan and ironic punishment and soul selling started.
Tell a friend.

That Onion Field

It's a long way home.
From this point, it's a very long way home.
I'm looking out across a burning patch of onions on an old abandoned farm. I think it's after midnight.
Smoking and staring out at the onions burning I take a deep wiff of the air and decide I've smelled worse.
I get up from the dirt and walk to my car.
It's a long way home.
Home, of sorts, was not far away from the farm in the whole meters and feet of the world where home once was.
Up the street from the farm, and up a hill, and down another I grew up in a small family.
My father left when I was two and my mother pretty much raised us.
I grew up, went to school, got a job, and that was the end of that life.
But within that life there were paths and roads that led away from that place. And I ended up way off the beaten trail and here in this onion farm that's burning down.
It's burning down because I set it on fire about an hour ago.
I wish I could say I hate onions, but I don't. I'm actually quite fond of them.
Back on this very farm when I was sixteen, I worked on this field and picked the onions and laid pipe to irrigate them.
It was owned by a Vietnamese family and was overseen by an old American Vietnam vet who hated onions, teenagers, and probably the Vietnamese that employed him.
He would cuss a blue streak and threaten to hit us if we fucked something up. Which, only having worked there one day, was a lot.
There were stories that the Vietnamese really did beat you if you fucked up.
I remember quitting the next day and buying a bunch of Pink Floyd albums with the money I got.
I still remember the smell of the onions and how good I felt after a long, hard day of work.
And then quitting the next day.
I think that was 1992. The year, right now, is something like 2950. I'm sure it's after 2900, as most of the Earth, or at least this patch, has returned to somewhat good health. But there's also another moon, which put it after 2948. I haven't really been here in awhile.
The onions no longer smell good. I think the dirt is now burning.
No one planted the onions. They just grew of their own accord.
Imagine that, a thousand years later and the Earth still remembers…
In case you're worried, no one is here to bust me for burning the onions down.
There's no person left on Earth. Or, if there is, they wouldn't look much like a person. I mean, you couldn't walk up to them and say "That's a person."
People changed long ago.
At least here. Maybe down the line things are different in different places for different times, but I'm still the same, so this is the same for me. Maybe there's another different me in a different time and things are different, but it would still be the overall same and everything is kinda one in all, like in the Buddhist sense.
Now, if that's true, I'm like asshole of this body, because it smells like burnt soil.
In the car I look around for a pen. It's important to write down what the weather is like when you're traveling through time.
The biggest reason being, people will ask you "So, what's 2950 like? And you can just say "Clear and breezy" and walk away.
If you think I'm joking, I'll tell you about the last time I came back to my "normal" timeframe.
I think it was 2019, and someone
It was in a bar. I was drinking and trying to find a way back home, like usual.
I was approached by a man in his early twenties who asked why I was wearing a "Gay Toga".
I told him it wasn't a "Gay Toga", it was a funeral robe for a friend of mine who was killed by The Singularity.
"What the fuck? Come here, guys. Check this guy out in the gay toga!"
"No, don't check him out. He's trying to get drunk."
The man looked at me. He was fat and puffy looking and when he spoke spit built up in the corners of his mouth. "What's the singularity, dude? Check this guy out, he's from the future."
His friends ignored him, as friends do when they aren't really your friends.
"Look, actually, I am from the future…and the past. But today I'm from here and I'm trying to drink in peace. It's been a tough 43 years and I just want to relax for a bit."
"Before you go back to the future? Get out the old movies, guys, this is Michael J. Fox."
I looked up at him and replied "I can't believe you even know who that is."
He got serious and said "He's an American hero. He's that football player who defeated the Taliban in 2002, then made that geeky movie about the going back in time with Christopher Plummer."
Then he went back into frat mode and asked "So, what's the future like?"
Before I hit him in the face, I replied "Sunny."
In fact, his future is REAL sunny. So sunny that there's a 90% chance he got/gets burned to death by the sun.
In 2034, the climate is so bad that the polar caps average temperatures in the 90s. Few people make it. But you could have seen that one coming.
Some people actually, literally, burn up. It'd be like the sun came up and the temperature goes from 109 in the evening, and by noon people are dying of dehydration and exposure, and by four in the afternoon, bodies begin to char on the more fleshy parts.
It's like those awful pictures of Ethiopia in the 80s of dead bodies in the desert, but imagine those same images, but the people used to be Caucasian.
Ugly stuff. And it happened so quickly. Or so they say; the ones who survived it up/down in the poles.
I would have never made it. When I landed around that time, I had to immediately take off as I felt the car heat up like an oven.
Jumping back a few years, I realized what happened/will happen and chose a better landing location.
The South Pole and the North were the only places on Earth where humans were still around, aside from the few that went underground.
Most people just stuck around and died. Like that Truman guy who let Mt. St. Helens kill him. People don't like moving. Hell, look at Hurricane Katrina.
The people who ended up in the poles weren't even the very rich, demographically, they were every type of person from any walk of life. The only thing they all had in common was they really, really, really didn't want to die.
Now, most people really, really, really don't want to die, but as long as death isn't staring them in the face, they also really, really, really don't want to move.
Back in my twenties I used to move all the time. I probably lived in 15 different apartments in the first decade of the 2000s – all in the same area.
People would look at me horrified each time, like they couldn't understand why anyone would want to move – for any reason.
I just got bored.
So, maybe the survivors just got bored.
Hell, the North Pole was just a flotilla of floating barges by then – that's some change right there.
It was also one of the most happy periods in human history. For once there was no governments, and no money and people all joined hands in a sense of "At least we aren't burning to death in California."
Someone told me once that different parts of the world were also hospitable to, you know, not burning to death, but I never met any of those people.
Point is, it's important to never drop anchor for good. Some fucking catastrophe, years in the making, having nothing to do with you personally, will come and tip your ship.
Well, that's one future. Again, any of them can be anything. I would imagine if you're reading this you have a good idea that climate change is real and whatever creates it should probably be avoided.
So, you know, don't use hairspray.
I'm now driving away from the farm in the Dolorian.
Yes, the irony isn't a mistake. The time machine could have been made of anything, but the creator chose the Dolorian, after the movie.
It's not really funny to me anymore and when people bring it up, it's like "Yeah, I know."
But when you time travel, jokes never get old to other people.
And by the way, I have no idea how it works. But you're welcome to step inside and go wherever you want. I'm leaving it in 1985 on the set of Back to the Future when I'm done with it.
Let them deal with it.
I can see the smoke from the fire against the moon as I drive down the abandoned highway, away from the farm.
If I had to guess, this highway hasn't been used since people started burning alive.
After that, humanity kind of decided to say fuck nature and moved more and more towards very unnatural things.
Like cyborgs, artificial humans, clones, and then, finally, the Singularity.
Which was just what you would figure it would be: a hive mind of the 80% of the remaining humans bent on the integration of the other humans.
That's how my friend died.
But, that's three hundred years after the sun's temper tantrum, and that provided humanity time enough to return to this farm, but they never did.
No one ever bothered to leave either pole. They all dropped anchor once they got comfy. When humans get comfy they fuck up, and that's why they created the hive mind.
But maybe it wasn't a bad idea?
It's dead now, so it doesn't matter.
The hive mind, or Singularity, eventually ran out of humans to integrate and got bored, and like the philosophical universe of Zen, decided to branch off from itself and explore itself subjectively.
This was only after 300 years.
The Singularity had that big of an ego.
So, now, here in 2950, there's what amounts to robots walking around trying to understand themselves. And they believe they created the Earth and the Universe, and so on and so forth.
The Singularity is insane.
That's what happens when things become self aware.
The other moon is rising and I realize that I failed to explain that.
That was the work of Mother Nature. Or, Mother Universe. Flyby comet trapped in the gravitational pull.
Which the chances of that happening without killing off most of the planet make little to no sense, but then why am I time traveling to burn up an onion field?
Things just happen.
Or don't.
There's every chance that the Singularity did create everything and I'm just a byproduct of that creation with the actual knowledge of the decades that came before me.
Or, shit happens.
Either way – hey, new moon, guys!
One of the little robots is walking out into the middle of the highway, it waves its arms in front of the Dolorian.
I do. They're still kinda human.
I'm rolling down the window and the little guy is walking to my door.
They look exactly like old movie robots: a TV shaped midsection, with organed hosing for limbs. The heads are biological and resemble the almond shaped entities from alien folklore. They stand about 5 feet.
"Wait! Wait! Wait!"
I ask it if it means "Stop"?
It doesn't.
"Who. Are. You?" It's asking as it moves its head out with each word, like it's singing the question.
"I am a time traveler."
"From where?"
"From here."
It's walking around the car and looking at it, murmuring to itself.
"That's really a nice car. What year is it?" It's trying to be loud so I can hear it from the other side of the car, but instead it's just upping the frequency and making my ears ring.
"I have no idea. Why don't you come back around and talk to me."
"Is the noise bothering you?"
"Yeah. Look, can I help you out with something? I mean, how many of you are there left? The chances of you being out here and just happening to find the only living human are slim. Do you want something from me? Like, say this time machine? I really don't need it anymore."
"No. No time machine. Information. Why did you burn down the onion patch out there." It points back down the highway.
"I was hoping someone would be left and see it." I'm telling this thing. I think I'm lying, but I don't know. Maybe I want there to be humans left, or maybe I was just really bored and figured burning something to ground might be fun.
"There are no humans on this planet." The robot is telling me.
"Where'd they all go?" I'm asking.
"That onion field."

Tuesday, September 29, 2009


Notes from Bogotá

There's a fever in the air.

Edward the bunny rabbit took a trample through the lovely locks.

It doesn't say what happened to Edward after that, but my only guess is that he grew rich on peanut futures.

It's approximately 10.34 in the AM. There's a large military vehicle parked in the col de sac and the children are getting nervous. We've been in the house for over nine days and we're running out of potable water.

That was back before the Rainbow Coalition saved our lives. Jesse Jackson parachuted in and read a long poem that made the tank go away. It was a beautiful account of how beer distribution may save the planet from poverty.

The neighborhood is swarming with vampires ever since he came. We believe that Sean Penn, armed with a Beretta and a copy of The Falcon and the Snowman let the word out that our neighborhood is ripe with HIV/AIDS-free blood. There was a story on Nightline and Sean Penn visited us the following day. He and his fellow Hollywood vampires are sapping the life out of us. They Swiss Army knives and bamboo chutes to do the job correctly. It's amazing I'm still alive.

Tomorrow the sun falls from the sky. We didn't believe it at first, but FOX first reported it, then CNN picked up the feed, Lefty journalists refuted it, my uncle blogged about it, and now we are all quite certain the sun will be falling from the sky around noon tomorrow.

We drove around in my Impala, throwing cheeseburgers at elderly people. 132nd is ripe with elderly people walking themselves and playing chess in the rain. Wallop – right to the face. I shoot a "V" sign and smile gamily. The old people continue what their doing, their pride still intact, because they know that one day we'll be old and robots of the future will be throwing liverwurst at us.

But, wait, this is all a dream.

We're currently seeking shelter from Barbitol, a synthetic human from the year 3459. He's confused and thinks we're a family of Italian immigrants that enslave American in the year 2934. We've tried to reason with it; we even viewed the movie Terminator together, but it's no use. Tomorrow I'll die because of some treasonous Mediterranean from the future.

With one day to live, I should write my memoirs:

1976: Born to June and Thomas Paulsen

1982: Ate first Big Mac

1988: Bought one of those hats with the fabric that hangs down in the back that totally looks queer now.

1993: Got laid

2001: Got laid again

2006: Lived off Hotpockets for three weeks, died at the hands of a synthetic human from the future.

I'm surprised I could fit that all in one lifetime.

I feel blessed.

Alan Funt. Jr.


Speaking on the Muslim uproar over the cartoons:
Learn to laugh at yourselves. For Christ's sakes. They are cartoons. I mean, fundamentalist Christians turn red when they see Jesus being joked on on South Park, and so I can imagine your very orthodox Muslim getting mad. But, fuck, unless the media is overemphasising this: it seems like Muslims everywhere are torching everything they see over this.
Get a sense of humor. Quit burning flags in effigy and have a Coke and a smile.
Seriously, quit acting like pussies.

Phone Calling

Market Research Call

As some of you may know, I will occasionally do focus groups in order to obtain drinking money. In this way, I'm something like a hobo, or the brother of the hobo, the wino.
But this article isn't about name-calling it's about phone calling.
The pre-selection process for a focus group involves a phone interview and the one below just occurred minutes ago.

ME: This will be me.
FGG: This will be the Focus Group Guy.

ME: Hello.
FGG: Robert?
ME: Hello?
FGG: Robert?
ME: Yes, this is Robert.
FGG: Robert?
ME: Martha?
FGG: What?
ME: Hello?
FGG: Is this Robert?
ME: Yes.
FGG: Hi, Robert I'm FGG from Gladmore Research Group and I was calling about the email you sent us today concerning over the counter medications.
ME: Go on.
FGG: Ha. Well, we wanted to ask you a couple of questions to see if you qualify for the group.
ME: Shoot.
FGG: OK. First, have you had any of the following ailments in the last 90 days?
FGG: Heartburn?
ME: Yes.
FGG: Diarrhea?
ME: Boy, howdy!
FGG: Excuse me?
ME: Yes.
FGG: Yes you had diarrhea or ???
ME: Yes to both.
FGG: OK…constipation?
ME: I wish.
FGG: So, no?
ME: No.
FGG: Dry or irritated skin?
ME: Wow! You're all over the board. Yes.
FGG: Acid reflux?
ME: Yes.
FGG: Flu or cough?
ME: I have both. Both of them. Right now. As we speak.
FGG: Stomach ache?
ME: Didn't we go over that in all the question but the one about my skin?
FGG: I see your point, but I'm just reading from the page.
ME: You're a Yes Man!
FGG: Yes, I guess.
ME: Yes.
FGG: Headache?
ME: Yes - Christ, I'm not well!
FGG: Have you ever attended a focus group before?
ME: Yes, once (I lie. I go to them all the time. In fact I'm typing this from one).
FGG: Once?
ME: (I realize he's probably looking at my profile and sees that I've attended an assload of them) Um, yeah.
FGG: Are you sure?
ME: How can I be sure, seeing as I've had diarrhea, head ache, heartburn, and irritated skin for the last ninety days? Throw in the flu and I really can't tell you what I remember about my health.
FGG: Sir, I'm just asking the questions written down for me.
ME: I know, but I'm not well. I didn't realize this until we started this phone interview.
FGG: Sir…
ME: Should I see a doctor?
FGG: I'm not a medical professional?
ME: But you know some, right? I mean, that's who put you up this, right?
FGG: No one put me up to anything, I'm just interviewing you.
ME: Did I get the job?
FGG: Well, we have some more questions.
ME: Shoot – Christ, I'm sick.
FGG: OK, how many times in the past 90 days have you had the following ailments:
FGG: Heartburn?
ME: 300.
FGG: 300 times?
ME: Well, are we only counting one time per day, or – sometimes it goes away and comes back.
FGG: OK, 300 times. How about flu or cough?
ME: All the time. I've been literally fluish and coughing for exactly 90 days. In fact, I remember the day it all started, I had just been to a focus group and there was this guy there that had been sick for 90 days and
FGG: Upset stomach?
ME: I don't know. I don't feel well. I don't think I can do your focus group.
FGG: Sir, would you prefer to end the call?
ME: I don't know. I'm so sick. I think I just shit my pants.
FGG: Sir, are you OK?
ME: I don't know. I think I have that pig flu.
FGG: I'm sorry, sir.
ME: Does that get me into the group?
FGG: No, I'm sorry, it doesn't.
ME: Will you call me back sometime? You know, just to talk?

Monday, September 28, 2009

Wow! I mean, Wow!

Composite of a conductor. Sitting in dark red on a throne of ivory white. The ceremony has begun.
Bring us your flowers, ferns, and fetid virgins. Bring us the oil, the book, and the blood. Bring us everything we need for a picnic in that other place.
Ah, the other place. Isn't that what we've always dreamed of? Christ and demons and Buddha and lemmings. That other place we are always speaking of.
It's high and wide. It's weird and wild. It's what from what wonders come love.
Once you're there, there's no faith to bare. There's no spells and demons, and no lack of pixallated entities that dream of us. There's no more reading, no more guessing; this is it.
High cucumber model of a man. Shaft broken no more for women and lore. No more proving, no more posing, and no more worry about what you is and what you were.
Here in the other side there's no coming back. No wrong or right. No white or black.
If you can't see, then you won't find your way. It's that way from the start and it's that way you'll stay.
Cloud bringer, skinwalking, and made to bleed. A dark something approaches.
Sudden fall of blood on the desolate valley. Your knees all gnarled up in desperate trade. Your fear is what they wanted and you've just been made.
Ocular gouging and a good kidney up the spine. You're learning your lessons, and lessons take time. Which over here there's none of which. You're lucky to choke on your spine and pitch.
Hell is a rumour and heaven a lie. You sink softly on both pillows and sigh.
One is the other and the other is this: heaven and hell never were, they were only preparing you for becoming, becoming of this carress.
Wayward and wanton you stifle a groan. From what mad corridor of the brain you were not to know.
The body is stripped and with you, down with it. There's bigger fountains than the nervous system.
There's a clear jelly that's not matter or liquid. From ecoplasm and rotting decay, you're finally alive now and on your way.
For a spirit can never really be lost
But will become open
You're on the other side now
And heaven and hell and in between
Are but faint memories of flesh
And flesh is obscene.

Unfortunate Meeting with Dick Cheney

Dick Cheney came to me in a dream last night.
Or, should I say I came to him.
Sometimes there's bedtime stories you tell yourself to go to sleep.
I met him in a bathroom in Pike Place Market. He was stuck on the toilet dumping chowder down the hole. I didn't expect to see Dick like this:
In a white undershirt stained with beer and piss, his hair disheveled and his skin yellow with alcholism. His pants were around his ankles and his feces was so powerful that I gagged.
It's open air shitting in the Market and there are no doors to hide your transgressions.
Dick was downcast, staring at his white shirted gut and making grunting noises that coincided with splashes of dung.
"Mr. Cheney? Are you alright?" I couldn't think of anything else to say. There was nothing more depressing than seeing the Vice President of Earth taking a dump alone without any guardians.
"Heh? Who are you?"
"Um, I'm Robert. Mr. Cheney, are you alright?"
"Yes. Yes. I'm just lightening the load so to speak. Urrrrrgggghhhhh!" Another large 'plop' and he looked up and grinned. His mouth was full of teeth the color of Pepsi and the smell that came out nearly knocked me to the ground.
"Do you need me to get you some help?" I hated the man, but to see anyone in this state turned me into some nuturing mother or some maid that can't help but panic when the head of the house has lost his nut.
"No. Fine...fine. Do you know why I'm sitting here?"
"No, sir."
"I'm sitting here because of the Lord."
"The Lord? You mean God?"
"That's correct. I'm sitting here because I'm in purgatory."
"I'm sorry?"
"I'm dead. I'M FUCKING DEAD!"
"I don't think so, sir."
"You don't think so?" At that he began to giggle. "I've been dead for three years."
"I don't think that's right, sir."
"Oh, it's right." He shook his head back and forth and I saw beads of sweat hit the floor and burn holes.
"I think something is just wrong. You know. Maybe something's just not right. Like you're not feeling well."
"Oh, I'm feeling well...what does your T-shirt say?"
"It's a Nirvana shirt." I didn't know how to explain it. It was the only clean shirt I had and I hate wearing it around Seattle.
"That's the Cobain guy, right?"
"I ate him."
"I'm sorry, sir?"
"I think I should probably call someone."
"No. No."
"Sir, you ate Kurt Cobain? It's just, I think you're not feeling well."
"No. I ate him. I ate them all...Kennedy, X, King, Lennon, Cobain, Biggie, Tupac; all those fuckers. I ate them."
"I think you're not feeling well."
"Fuck what you think! I ate them." His tongue came out of his mouth and slipped around his lips and his eyes lit up like morning stars.
"I don't understand. Look, I'm gonna get some help."
He jumped of the toilet and onto me like rubber band snapping. "I ATE THEM!" He was in my face and I couldn't see because of the stench.
I yelled whatever I could and the next thing I knew I was laying on the bathroom floor and Mr. Cheney was at the sink, adjusting some unknown tie.
"People like you will never learn. People like you will never believe." He turned to face me. Me, on the ground looking at this thing. "People like you don't want to believe the winners win. Heh. It's a shame really. I've begged for mercy, but no one admits my crimes. I keep getting...geeettttting aawayyyyyyyyywithitsssssss..." Behind the suit there was a lizard and it wanted peace, but it was far beyond it.
I kept muttering "I should call someone."

Sunday, September 27, 2009


Lord, God – What Will it Take?

So, you're watching this movie.

It's a political thriller. Harrison Ford is in it. They advertise the new Chrysler in it. Jessica Alba has a nude scene. You're having a good time.

The plot is pretty basic. You have this CIA agent, Ford, that finds out the truth about his government. He follows the clues left by the hot undercover agent, played by Alba, that works in the cafeteria at the NSA.

Towards the middle of the movie, the agent finds out that the President is an absolute menace and will do anything, including creating multiple wars, to consolidate power, money, and maybe the entire world.

So, the agent goes to his superiors, to the press, to the American people and explains, in that shaky, angry Harrison Ford way: "The President has taken us to war under false premises, he rigged the last two elections, and he plans on more war; not only that, he plans to turn this country into an oligarchy reminiscent of 1984!"

Slowly, the camera pans from Harrison Ford to the American People. All of us, masses of us; you can see us from New York to Seattle and we all have our back turned to him. Up in the air hangs the moon and on the moon American Idol is being broadcast like a giant drive in movie. No one is paying attention to Ford.


But, it's far too late. When the broadcast is over, the Americans try to go home, but realize that 67% of them are now under arrest and that the rest will soon be off to war in Iran.

That's what this feels like.

An article just came out: NIGHTMARES.

Imagine that. Let's look at the money quote:

Ritter described how the U.S. government might justify war with Iran in a scenario similar to the buildup to the Iraq invasion. He also argued that Iran wants a nuclear energy program, and not nuclear weapons. But the Bush administration, he said, refuses to believe Iran is telling the truth.

He predicted the matter will wind up before the U.N. Security Council, which will determine there is no evidence of a weapons program. Then, he said, John Bolton, the U.S. ambassador to the United Nations, “will deliver a speech that has already been written. It says America cannot allow Iran to threaten the United States and we must unilaterally defend ourselves.”

“How do I know this? I’ve talked to Bolton’s speechwriter,” Ritter said.

Ritter also predicted the military strategy for war with Iran. First, American forces will bomb Iran. If Iranians don’t overthrow the current government, as Bush hopes they will, Iran will probably attack Israel. Then, Ritter said, the United States will drop a nuclear bomb on Iran.

This isn't a crackpot, this is a Marine and ex-Chief Weapons inspector in Iraq until 98.

What the hell does it take to throw Bush out of office?

Has Bush arrived at the "Nothing is true; everything is permitted" stage of apocalyptic ascension?

Is being a successful President nothing more than stepping around chubby inters with open mouths? Hey, as long as you don't pork the intern – you're good.

Hell, 50% of New Yorkers believe Bush had prior knowledge of 9/11.


That's just belief, but if people believe this administration to be this terrible…how the fuck is he still in office?

And the hits keep coming. This guy has more bad weeks than the last season of Seinfeld.

Just today Libby has fingered the upper administration (most likely Cheney) as OK'ing the outing of CIA agent Valerie Plame, Michael Brown (Katrina douchebag extraordinaire) is blaming the Bush administration for the slow response to what amounted to mirco-genocide, and another CIA official has come out of the Iraq closet to describe how Bush doctored the Iraq war with no probably cause.

And I'm not even going into the illegal wiretapping thing.

Maybe because another poll showed that 50% of this country are OK with it.

Look, I know a lot of you would sacrifice your liberties and freedom for peace and order. Benedict Arnold was a fan of that. "Look, the British aren't that bad. Why are you making such a fuss? I'm not having my house bombed by the Brits for a right to vote."

And that's just what that 50% is doing. They are selling America down the river for a little peace of mind.

"Oh, but look at all the attacks the President stopped with his wiretappings."

Bullshit. If that list is real, and according to the mayor of LA there's a good chance it's not, it doesn't tell us anything.

First of all, what is considered a credible threat? If LA was a credible threat and all those "ELEVATED ALERT" purple and gold bullshit alerts that seemed to pop up every time Kerry was up in the polls are credible…well, then; where does that leave us? I don’t recall anything coming out of them and many were after the dates on Bush's top ten "I STOPPED THE BAD GUYS" list.

But, let's go further into credible threat. Was LA spared from a terrorist attack, or was LA spared from Alonzo Raphael of Rancho Cucamonga, CA who told his buddy in P.E. that he was going to blow up a tower in LA? Meanwhile, Alonzo isn't old enough to drive a car.

But, hey, that's a credible threat.

A man in South Dakota was arrested and got a couple years for saying he was going to kill the president. Was this hick from South Dakota a credible threat?

My pocket knife, that's so small it fits on a keychain, is a credible threat to Alaska airlines. So much so, that I can never get it back, and damn if I didn't like that knife. It had abalone on it….

Pointing a toy gun at a police officer is credible threat; look at how many kids died in the 90s playing laser tag.

So, I don't know that I'm buying the credible threat assessment.

But, let's just say that all this wiretapping is working. Let's say that I wouldn't be alive today if Bush didn't wiretap some Saudi's conversation with his buddy in Renton.

Well, where does it stop?

If we all want to stop terrorism and make sure, 100% certain that it doesn’t happen, I'll tell you how to do it: jail the populace.

That's right. No going anywhere. We get Halliburton (that creeps me out that Windows doesn't spell check Halliburton, its fellow war profiteer) to build the largest jail system in the world and we fortify it with the hardest diamonds we mine from the passing comets that our ballooning defense budget pays for. No one gets in, no one gets out. There you go: no more terrorism. You have no rights, but damn if you can rest assured you won't get hit by an airplane.

But, hey, safety is nice. And you have a right to be safe. But, if you think for one instant that you're safe from this administration, then you're wrong.

Al Queda might not get you, but the jackboots of goosestepping Bushalikes might.

Hey, it's your country.

Well, it was.

Way Back

February 12
Sci Fi Reality
What can I say? I guess it's a slow news day.
Oh, kid, you know I'm joking.
The Vice President shot a man with a shotgun.
Let's let that sink in deep.
I mean, really, think about it.
OK. Now, let's comment:
It seems the good swine, Dick, was aiming for a bird and nailed a attorney. I don't know if you call that a tragedy or a miracle, but the attorney is in the hospital with a permanent executive decision all over his face and chest.
Which makes me wonder if the old W. pretzel incident was sparked by a softball game.
Apparently the Dick can't aim. Like a bad porno where the "actor" nails himself in the face with his own jizz.
Lord, that's ugly talk. Especially on a Sunday. This is God's day and there's no reason to think I'm above the other sheep. So, for the sake of the dainty Christians, let's try to keep this clean.
I've only had one chance moment with a forrealz gun. It was back in 96 and I was among gunnuts. That's right, yours truly was in close association with what could aptly be called "gun runners."
It all started with NAME WITHHELD who got into guns and I found myself going to "gun deals" all over Kent.
This wasn't small scale BB gun crap. No, I saw more AK47s than most people see in their lives. The only surprising thing is that it was all before the age of 20.
NAME WITHHELD got into the send away Ninja shit at the age of 9 and it all went bad from there. Pretty soon he was subscribing to GUNS AND AMMO, the most cleverly titled magazine of the gun enthusiast.
Fuck, that's like naming a skin mag TITS AND ASS.
Yes, I'm sure there's a TITS AND ASS magazine. It was a bad...what do you call those things that are supposed to give an example of something in joke form?????
It got ugly when NAMEWITHHELD purchased an AK47. It got uglier when I was driving around with him as he sold these guns.
I have no recolection as to how he got these guns; it's all a blur.
But, I think the pinnacle was when he orchestrated a deal with a coworker from Loew's.
This coworker showed an enthusiasm with NAMEWITHHELD about gun. This blossomed to a budding deal with numerous guns.
All automatic and illegal.
It was hooked up and on one ugly Saturday night NAMEWITHHELD had another friend of mine, who was a felon by 15, selling guns to his coworker.
The guy showed up at this mall and was soon surrounded by 20 cop cars and various law enforcement.
My buddy, NAMEWITHHELD, was no where to be seen.
It turns out that the coworker was a EXPLORER OFFICER. In other words, he was one of those creepy nerds that rides along with cops to learn the skillz it takes to beat black people to death for shoplifting.
That's harsh.
But, it's a harsh world, and cops are generally not the best of people. There's plenty of good ones, but I already told you I was speaking in generalizations.
Now, generalizations are quite impressionable to the youth. And the youth are rebels if they have a mind about them. So, if you want to be a cop at the age of 17, you've probably got some problems. Like the kind that stem from being beaten up 24/7 for being the tattle tale.
Moving right along.
NAMEWITHHELD was no where to be seen. No, he clocked out early. He had an early lunch. No, it was a complete surprise on him that he inadvertantly set his buddy up.
Now, the gun runner was a scum ball. Keep this in mind when I say NAMEWITHHELD should have done more time than the scumball. NAMEWITHHELD is a scumsucking yellow fuck.
Who the fuck gives someone up like that?
He had an out. He could have called the gun runner up and nixed the deal. Did he?
He lied and acted like he had no clue.
Unfortunatley the scum sucking gun runner didn't pay NAMEWITHHELD a visit when he got out of jail.
Now, this story I tell a lot because it's a good analogy for Republican scumsuckers like Bush and Co.: Sure, we'll participate in the most heinous of crimes for no good reason, and we'll sell our own mothers out if shit hits the fan.
The whole lot should be packed away into small boxes that read: DON'T OPEN UNTIL...NEVERMIND, JUST DON'T OPEN.
But, what the hell?
Later, I came across the guy again and we went camping. I got drunk enough to fire one of the many AK47s they had, complete with one of those round tommygun style clips. It's one of the things I regret worse in my drunken episodes of dipshitery: just firing off into the woods with no regard for what the numerous potentially fatal accidents that could have occured.
Luckily, that friend has been gone for a good time.
I guess I miss the stupidity, out of writer's point of view. But, you know, good riddance to bad rubbish.
Hell, own a gun. Own heroin. Own a environmentally challenged car. I could care less. It's your life.
But, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeese don't act like your vice is not a vice. Don't pretend your stupidity is stamped by God. I don't buy it. Guns kill.
That's what the bullets are for.
I don't think there should be a law, but I think if you own a gun you're no better than a junky.
Accept it.
Potential is a mean animal, and those with no regard for the instrument they possess will fall far from heaven's grace, and most gun owners have little to no regard.
Think I'm full of it: well, your Vice President just made Swiss cheese out of a man. And, to tell you the truth, I have no pity for that man carrying a gun around blindly with an octagenarian with a loaded shotgun.
Bottom line: if the Vice President, and expierenced hunter, can blast buckshot into a man when he's aiming for a, there's something wrong with owning a gun.
Think I'm blowing this out of proportion?
Look at this choice quote from Katharine Armstrong, the Ranch owner, where the incident occured:
"This is something that happens from time to time. You know, I've been peppered pretty well myself," said Armstrong.
Funny...the second a kid blows someone head off at Columbine it's an act of apocalypse and his music and video games are blamed. But, here at Katharine's ranch, where shotgun "peppering" (and don't think getting "peppered" by a shotgun is as loverly as it sounds) is the norm; it's an awful accident where the culprit was just plain old or stupid...or both.
Own all the guns you want, but don't EVER try to tell me they're some God given right that is neither dangerous of just plain stupid.
But, then again, the way the wind is blowing in favor of Hitler's ghost: we may actually find a good reason to have them.
Let's hope not.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Abort South Dakota

South Dakota and Brokeback Mountain will determine the Election

That's right.

The "red" states are sobering up and figuring out that it's not a joke: we really have a totalitarian oligarchy on our hands.

Slowly, one by one, Republicans are waking up to the fact that they made a big mistake.

A really big mistake.

But, what to do?

Elections are coming up and each and every Republican is treating Bush like a leper pedophile. The closer to him you get the chances of you coming down with canker sores and a prison stint are exponential.

That's why campaign 06 is going to be all about those two topics everyone has to deal with in their day to day life, the two topics that could make or break the rest of your life, the two most important reasons politicians exist to protect us: butt sex and proto humans.

The Republicans know how to stir a pot, and they do it well. Mix equal parts gay bashing with making sure rape victims carry their demon seeds to term.

Yes, those dirty Republicans will do it every time and it's only up to the good Democrats to turn the tide.


Think again. The cunt that passed this law is a Democrat.

Not only that, the leader of the Democratic party, Harry Reid, is pro-life.

And these bastards even believe that abortions should be illegal when the mother is raped, when her life is at risk, and if the child is a product of incest.

Which shouldn't surprise us. The other states jumping on this anti abortion bandwagon are all the buttholes of this country: Missouri, Tennesee, Florida, insert additional inbred, backwoods holes in the continent.

So, there's that. And don't think that King Crimson Alito won't help ban abortion period.

Moving right along: the Oscars.

The Oscars are the single biggest jerk off in the universe. Peppered with celebrities that should be shot before allowed to act and annoying hosts that pose as comedians but are really doing a commercial for the shitty movie industry.

And, yes, it is a shitty industry.

I can't remember the last good movie I saw.

But, they ARE political. Remember after 911 when blacks swept the awards? What were the chances? Because, you know how when it comes to the Oscars, blacks always take away the gold.

Pish. They continually get marginalized. Has Spike Lee ever won an award? Singleton?

No, it was a political move to show that America is NOT racist in light of the coming death camps that are now in full swing and populated by Arabs, Persians, Afghans, Thais, Filipinos, and one white guy: The American Taliban kid.

Oh, and of course AN ASS LOAD OF BLACKS.

So, don't believe the hype when Brokeback Mountain sweeps the Oscars. Now, I can't speak for the movie, having never seen it, but if it's a drama about forbidden romance…THEN I'VE PROBABLY FUCKING SEEN IT A MILLION TIMES.

Christ, Jungle Fever, Romeo and Juliet, Guess Who's Coming to Dinner, Anal Assassins….

Look, it's bullshit. Brokeback Mountain is the same shit as always and the only way it's gonna sweep is because there's conservatives at work here.

They need abortion and gay sex to split up the would be anti-conservatives spurned by Bush into a clan of knee jerk "That's the fag candidate" hicks.

And they'll do it.

I promise you: wait for election 06 and I promise Brokeback will be mentioned as a barb numerous times against liberal candidates (the two or three that are left).

"But, Matt, Hollywood is liberal: why would they help conservatives?"

Bullshit. Hollywood is NOT liberal. Hollywood works off money. They would skin children and flavor the popcorn with their guts if Hollywood execs thought it would sell.

Hell, they may support Democratic candidates, but don't think those Dems are liberal.

Even Clinton is talking like a backwoods bible thump these days: both of them.

Mark my words: the election will center around butt fucking and proto humans and the bad guys will win again because this country sucks.

Face it: Democracy has failed.

Find a third party and vote for it.

Fuck Republicans, and REALLY fuck Democrats because it was their job to protect us from this fascist affront to our nation.

Shiver Me Tenders

Bird Flu Fever

Bird flu is hype. Pure bullshit. There's no need to panic and start selling your United stock. Or, so says United. In a press release dated August 31st, 1987, United warned that if you sell their stock "you will get AIDS".

It's true.

Really now. Mad cow and bird flu are the most over-hyped catastrophes since Y2K.

Infecting 174 and killing only 94, bird flu is on par with the July 1st flood that killed 94 in India last summer.

Shouldn't we be more worried about floods? Bird flu has been around for, maybe, five years. The floods have been around since Romans wrote the bible.

Yes, that was a finger to the bible. Did you enjoy it? I'm clever. C – L – E- V – E – R.

Last week, a flood from a dam killed 8 in Hawaii.

The 2004 tsunami killed anywhere from 3000 to 200, 000 depending on where you look.

So, my point here is not really to downplay the bird flu that will kill each and every one of us by April. No, my point here is that floods aren't getting the coverage they deserve.

Do you live next to a pond, aquifer, lake, sea, or ocean? Well, your chances of living long enough to see Die Another Day again are slim.

Like suicide bombers, floods don't care who they kill. Like what George W. says about the terrorists, "they hate us for our freedom."

I mean, c'mon now. Did you really think the water was just going to sit idly by and watch you drink it, swim in it, boat on it?

No, the floods have had enough of your beach towels and BBQs; your jet skis and water wings. The floods hate your freedom and they hate your friend's freedom, and their friend's freedom. In fact, if you were living in a non-free country and then you went to a free country (like Iraq), you would still be killed by floods.

That's how much these floods hate your freedom. They will hunt you down and kill you. Look it up. Google "Floods hate your freedom."

But, back to bird flu, or the beaked killer as I like to call it. Bird flu has killed 94 in five years. How many have you killed? I guess you think you're pretty tough, buying stock in airlines and eating ice cream cones and pretending that bird flu doesn't kill every living thing down to the smallest bacterium!? You try to kill 94 people in five years. Yeah, I'd like to see that! Ha!

And while you're killing 94 people to prove that bird flu is a pussy pandemic, think about this: Mad cow will have killed (est.) 150 in its ten years in the media. Think of that. That's like…150 people dying of mad cow disease. But, back in 1996, British researchers were predicting 150,000.

What does that tell us about bird flu? It tells us that it will kill us all, but it will be sneaky. It will pretend to only kill 150, but then when you least expect it: WHAMO!

And with all the floods, and the mad cow, and the bird flu, and you running around trying to kill 94 to show bird flu up – all rolled up into one they might kill more people than George W. Bush's war on terror/Iraq/beaver fever.

Think about it.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Giant Solar System Guitar Will Bring Rock to Space

I Want to Get Serious Here

Most of life is just a bunch of stuff that happens and your reaction to it.
Take for instance today. I woke up and said "Fucking shit!"
But is there more? Is there something that we are missing? Something deeper?
Remember in Abyss when they just kept going deeper into the ocean?
"Dude, we're hella deep now. I mean leagues."
"Still no aliens."
And then finally they found aliens at the bottom and they were like WTF?!
Then they submerged and could go out and tell people "Hey, aliens, dude."
And see, that's what I'm talking about.
But not aliens, like something even deeper.
I bet if they went even deeper they would have found werewolves.
And then vampires and so on.
Until finally, they would find themselves.
See, that's deep.
But I bet even deeper they'd find talking trees and think to themselves "Wow, I thought I was deep, but talking trees are even deeper."
And that would probably make them feel bad. Especially, even deeper when they find dudes made out of Cocoa Krispies and gum drops.
God, it's amazing how deep I am.

Exo Planet

Lately, astronomers have been finding lots and lots of planets outside of our solar system.
If you don't believe me, you can look it up, dickface.
God, I'm sorry. I just get worked up over exo planets. I mean, look at me, excited about meeting intelligent life on other planets and this is how I treat it on my own planet.
I'm sorry, dickface.

Dark Matter

Physicists are still puzzled about the Universe. It seems there's large portions where something SHOULD be and there's not. They call this dark matter.
Others call it God.
See, God is still making his mind up about it. He's like well, there's planets, stars, nebulae, and so on…what the hell could I put here?
But that's silly.
What's really going on is there's a large piece of licorice stuck in the gears of the universe and it's black licorice. You can't see that in space. All you can see is the absence of stars.
But man, if that's true, that sucks. I hate black licorice.
God, dark matter is baffling.

The Planet Titan

Here's something you might not know – the planet Titan has seas of methane.
Some propose we sail them. I'm not sure why.
But I would wager it has something to do with selling boats.

Sun Spots

Recently, our sun has taken a big nap.
That's right, normally the sun is covered in explosions call sun spots.
Some say that they could be responsible for global warming. And now, the sun spots have had there biggest decline in years. So, maybe it's gonna be colder for a few years.
This makes sense to me, because when there were an assload of sun spots back in the nineties we never got any snow in the lowlands and I'd be forced to go to school or work everyday in the winter.
But last winter it snowed hardcore and it was awesome. But I lived close to work, so I couldn't say I couldn't make it in and skip.
So, the sun spot effect got away from me. But now, with this new sun spot knowledge I'm going to move to a big hill somewhere and call in when it snows and say "Yep, it's them sun spots again. Or, rather, the lack of them."
My boss will have no idea what I'm talking about, but I'll wink really loud.

I Don't Think There's Anything Wrong With Rock n Roll in Space

I don't. That's why I think we should be prepared to start making some rock n roll for space.
Some would say that Pink Floyd was space music, or any of that genre of progressive rock. But I think space rocks a little harder.
Which makes me wonder – how could we make the rock n roll harder?
I bet we'd need some huge guitars. With assloads of necks on the same guitars. Like a guitar that's base is on Jupiter and the end of the neck is Neptune.
Then all the people on Neptune'd be like what's up with them giant strings?
And we'd tell em' "We're just trying to rock!"
And they'd say "Far out!"

The Moon Should Be Conquered

OK, I know we went to the moon and put a flag there, but did we conquer it?
Hardly. We hardly visited any of it, and now the French and Chinese and stuff are sending satellites up there.
And we do nothing.
It's not right. We need to really make our mark.
That's why I suggest we send some boss flags up there. In fact, I think we should make a giant sweatband with an American flag on it and tie the thing around the moon.
Do you have any idea how patriotic that would be? Everyone on the planet would look up at night and see that headband and think "America kicks ass." All the terrorists would surrender.
In fact, all the Islamic terrorists would HAVE TO surrender because they'd have to put a quarter American sweatband on their crescent moon gear.
"It's a half moon tonight, honey."
"No, it's a full stripe moon!" Then I turn on our solar system guitar and everyone can tell my imaginary wife is impressed.

New Apartment

New Apartment

Recently, my apartment got a sex change and turned condo. Unfortunately, I didn't take this news as an opportunity to move into a cheaper place.

Sure, I could have saved $450 a month, maybe had to put up with a little more brick walls for view and a little less pure peach fuzz for carpet, but I opted to blow a grand a month on a death trap with a great view.

Behold: a view of the great and majestic Space Needle, framed perfectly in my new sliding glass window. Yet, beyond this sliding glass window is a six story drop from a rickety porch, and inside is a man of 29 who is deathly afraid of heights.

I began barricading the door last Saturday. My entertainment system, a deadbolt, a large dowel, and sharpened bamboo sticks prevent anyone from going out on the ledge of doom to enjoy the view.

$450.00 of my rent is being paid just for the fucking view that is now behind the large movie screen I've dropped in front of the slider.

But, up top, there's a roof that's nicely gated in, in case I want to look at pretty much any part of the #15th greatest skyline in the world.

It's true.

That sinkhole, L.A., isn't even on the list.

Good God! I hate L.A. Just the idea of it.

But, we need to concentrate on how I'm paying $1000 a month to probably drunkenly stumble to my death.

It's not just the plunge of doom that greets me each morning; it's much more.

Non-Existent Fireplace and Fitness Center: Both of these exist, if you were to take RENT.COM's word for it. Yes, there are fireplaces, but not in my $1000 a month studio. And, yes, there is a fitness center, but it's two blocks away and will cost me $45 a month to visit. But, because I'm part of the complex, I get a free month! The same free month everyone gets in their mail along with the adverts for contact lenses, windshields, and Mexican food.

Dirty liars! Thieves!

But, there's more – the little things: the vinyl and plastic barriers that assume you know they won't hold more than 100 pounds before they give way to a six story drop, the smell of some unknown dog, the ear piercing whine of some appliance I don't own, the sun blasting me awake at 5 in the morning like a neutron bomb, the sink that drips like a syphilitic penis, the maintenance man who assures me all this will be fixed the day after tomorrow (everyday), the parking spots that are easy to pull into, the parking spots that, while easy to pull into, are impossible to pull out of, the paper thin walls, the $900 rent, the $99 parking, the…

Look, I made a bad move.

The lesson here is: I'm an arrogant prick with a small penis. Why else would I blow so much money on an apartment that's only grace is that I can show women the great view? Tell them that "Well, it's $900 a month, but it's only a studio." To cluck my tongue and let the world know that I "Enjoy the finer things in life." Yes, this shitty studio is my penis car. I imagine, when I go bald, I'll supplement it with a Porsche with no engine.

Once again, I have proved that I am everyone I hate.


All right. I've had my moment.

Bottom line: I'm a douche.

Notes on the Movie Collateral in Real Time

Notes on the Movie Collateral (in real time)

- The makers of Collateral really, really, really want me to buy Bacardi rum.

- Tom Cruise is a cocky walkin fuck, but he's normally in good movies. This confuses me and makes me want to shit myself.

- Why are working class Joe's always finding solace in postcards?

- Lawyers ALWAYS make nice with cab drivers.

- Tom's hair looks like a dead pigeon.

- Five minutes of condescending nicety nice with Pigeon Head makes me weary.

- Body dropping on car is best part of the movie so far.

- Decided that Cruise looks like Don Johnson ala Crocket….with a dead pigeon on his head.

- A pony tail makes a cop "undercover."

- There's something spooky about a man with a dead pigeon on his head trying to calm you down.

- "I should only kill people once I get to know them?" – Funniest line so far.

- Why didn't he straight up tell the cops Pigeon Head is a killer?

- First time in my life I've seen a white guy teach a black guy to be more assertive.

- If you identify yourself as a notary, you can get in anywhere.

- Next best part: Pigeon Head kills homies.

- Assassins like to stop for jazz between hits.

- I figure one of the cops is involved. (later proved wrong)

- First time I've seen a white guy explain jazz to a black guy.

- Miles Davis is a prick according to the movie Collateral.

- Jazz club threw me – I'll admit I didn't see the hit coming, but I'm two beers in. Also thought he'd let him go.

- Next best part: jazz guy getting shot four times in the head.

- Assassins always remember flowers.

- K, Pigeon Head is probably going to have to kill Jaime Foxx, so why would he give Foxx's mom the chance to ID him?

- I think the musical score is good, barring the shitty Audioslave.

- Cops always turn their backs when a perp is getting away.

- Just when I forget that they wasted ten minutes with grab ass romance, they remember to call Foxx's girlfriend.

- Cue slow, thinking music…and what's left of Chris Cornell's shitty career after Soundgarden.

- I gathered that girlfriend is probably in on prosecuting whoever Pigeon Head is killing for, but I didn’t guess she was one of the hits. This seems so obvious now, as they have to bring the female "lead" back into the fold. Man, I must be wasted.


- Tom Cruise is way too convincing as a psychopath who has no empathy for others. Cue "silent" pregnancy.
- Believe it or not, I want Pigeon Head to get away.

- Vincent will die as the product of his own subway prophecy – I realize this when they enter the subway.

- Overall – solid C. It's about as much fun and action packed as putting together a puzzle of Mount Rushmore with 24 pieces missing.

- Oh, SNAP! Michael Mann directed it! I just found that out in the credits – hence the Crockett!!!

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


Station to Station

I think everyone remembers having stations back in elementary school.
You know, you’d go to different stations and do arts and crafts.
Like one would be making macaroni pictures and the next one would be lip syncing Judas Priest records.
You know, stations.
Well, did you know that the word stations comes from the 14 (15 if you include resurrection) of Christ?
So, my point here is, that probably right about the time you’re at the play dough station, you should be covering your palms and making sure there isn’t a cross nearby.

That was Blasphemy

What is blasphemy?
Besides a word you have to spell check?
Well, nowadays, if someone hung Kurt Cobain’s bones around the mic at a Nickleback concert.
But back in the olden days, when dinosaurs ate Christians for the Romans, it was making fun of deities.
Now a days it’s making fun of Patrick Swayze like the day after he died – which I won’t do. Swayze was awesome in Donnie Darko.
My point being, is that blasphemy is relative.
But I’m still not going to delete Station to Station. It was kinda funny.

Kanye West Joke

Not too many people read this blog. Last count, I had five visitors and they were all me. But all three of you know that I’m above topical humor.
But, that doesn’t stop me from saying “Hey, Kanye, why the interruption?”
I mean, there’s times where you should interrupt people. Below I’ve formed a list.
1. When the President gets all lying on you.
2. When you have to pee during sex.
3. When you’re a Beastie Boy.
4. When you’re peeing on a sex partner (consensual) and you have to pass gas.
5. When George W. Bush hates black people, Kanye West calls him out on it, and you’re George Bush and you and you say “What the?” during a hotdog eating contest with Karl Rove.
6. When you’re a peaceful Iraq around 2003.
7. You get the drift.
My point is, interruptions have their place and time and they should be important. Now, if you feel that Taylor Swift is important…See number four.

I’m Losing Steam

I’m at that point where I’m like “This could be funnier.” And then I realize I’m quoting myself while I’m home alone on a Tuesday.

Did I Mention I’m Listening to Iggy Pop?

It’s not really helping my humor or writing.

Abortion is Shock Value

So, here’s my joke about abortion.
This woman walks into an abortion clinic with a small teddy bear and some diapers.
The doctor says, “

See, I’m Just Reaching for Shock Value

It’s true. I need to dig deep into the soul for the next joke.


True story.
I was out one night and this girl invited me…out.
So, I meet her and her hot friends and they’re with this fat guy.
I realize I’m fat as I rest my beer in my beer holder (belly button) and start to think “Wait, why would this chick wanna be with two fat guys?”
Then it dawned on me, she was married and needed fat guy book ends to make sure
1. They wouldn’t hit on her, they’re fat and know their place on the sex chain
2. They were fat enough to look like husbands in case some other loser hit on them
But then I realized I had a huge dick, so it didn’t bother me.
(I have a very small dick)

That was out of Line

Seriously. The guy wasn’t that fat.
But I was.

I Summer in Places You Could Never Afford

K, so this wasn’t the best post. But, I – look at the title.


So, I guess Trey Parker and...the other guy decided to take aim at Family Guy for lacking story.
Meanwhile, Trey and Co. have been getting away with never taking a side in any debate, trying to form a moral point, then making fun of the moral point in order for you not to believe they are preachey.
South Park is still funny, sometimes, but they've got away with being "cutting edge" for way too long without someone saying "Buddy, you're preachier than Robertston."
Also, the creator of Ren and Stimpy (if you don't know what this cartoon is, it's because it resides in the 9th circle of Dante's lack of laughs Inferno) is "worried" that young animators will hold Family Guy to the gold standard, and that's bad because the animation sucks. Has anyone seen Ren and Stimpy and came away thinking it didn't look like a three year old's Trapper Keeper doodles?
Another one to chime in was Kevin Smith - the douche who brought you "hip" comedy in the form of Clerks (only good movie he made, and I use good loosely), Chasing Amy (lesbians were the only selling point here), and Dogma - the biggest pretentious piece of shit until Crash came along. Kevin Smith is douche bag and it's no wonder his sidekick is a junkie. They're making Clerks 2, I hear. I think the plot goes something like this:
That fat guy doesn't like to work.
Jason Mewlings gets stoned and talks like a three year old thug.
Silent Bob pulls off a quote that is supposed to be meaningful, but isn't. It's utter bullshit, like a Hallmark card greeting or an episode of Who's the Boss.

Movie Reviews

I've Made a Friend in Charles Manson


Well, what's new?

The easiest place to start is movies:

Meet Truman Capote. He's a big city reporter who gets his hands on the story of a lifetime and makes some friends along the way. Those friends are tragically hung to their death.

This movie was pretty good. I give it a B.

Two for the Money
Meet Al Pacino. He's an A-list actor who makes poor choices. Enter Matthew Mac…you know the guy. He's a douche who hasn't made a good film since Dazed and Confused. Together they do a bunch of crap that I didn't watch because the first five minutes of this movie persuaded me to eject the disc.


Meet that one dude from Donnie Darko. He's a new sharp shooter for the Marines. Enter Jamie Foxx, he's a military sharp shooter…captain? Together they avoid every battle in the first Gulf War.

All kidding aside, this was a really good movie. In fact, one of the best of last year. You should watch this movie. I recommend a movie night with the spouse or loved one. You could get popcorn and drink some Miller High Life. It's all up to you. Anyway you want to run with this is cool.


Happy Gilmore
I know what you're thinking: I do enjoy the company of elderly women. But, beyond that, this movie was A – OK. Well, not A. I'd give it a B-. It had its moments and kept me entertained as my girlfriend cleaned her apartment. Oh, did I mention that I was stoned? Well, I was.


Oceans 13
Meet all those actors and actresses from Hollywood that pretty much are good actors as far as they are all those actors and actresses from Hollywood. Brad Pitt used to be descent. Like in his 12 Monkeys days. But, I don't think he's made a good movie since Fight Club. The rest of the cast is that group of Oprah guests that can't act their way out of a paper crisp bag. And, no, I am not British. It's just that when I see some of these people on screen I become a British snob. Oh, also I become aroused. I don't know why. Maybe it's the thought of becoming British. Yes, I think that arouses me. In fact, I think I may dress up like the Earl of Grey the next time I have sex. Is The Earl of Grey a real person? Could be. You never really know. The point is, I hate Julia Roberts, Bruce Willis, and all those other people that I hate.

Now, for the movie. This movie was enjoyable, the same way Home Improvement is: it's something in the background that buzzes and doesn't offend while I'm eating delicious burritos.


King Kong
Meet Jack Black. His gift to acting is MAKING 20 (FORREALZ) LOOKS OF ASTONISHMENT FOR EVERY TWO MINUTES OF THIS MOVIE. Also, there's a large gorilla. The first section of this movie was godawful. Jack Black is a film director in New York and wants to make a jungle movie, but the studios won't give him money. That one chick who masturbated in Mullholland Drive is an out of work actress. When you mix the two of them together you get…pure shit. This part of the movie made me want to explore the grout in my bathtub with an electron microscope. The next part of the movie was on the Skull Island, where Kong and various nasty creatures live and frollick. This part was digestible. Much like rat vomit is. It's not that it is impossible to watch, I just wouldn't recommend it for anyone over the age of 3. Sure, the dinosaurs and giant insects are cool, but where is the…You know what? There's nothing that could have been added to make this better. Now, on the other hand, you could get rid of the two most overrated people on the planet: Jack Black and Peter Jackson. Jack Black was funny once: in Anchorman. Peter Jackson does a good job of directing action. LONG SILENCE. Oh, were you waiting for me to add something? Well, there's nothing to add. Lord of the Rings was a pile of donkey shit except for the battle scenes and the script. The inter personal exchanges could have been trumped by Tony Danza and a hot iron. Moving right along, back to New York. The gorilla goes ape and…you know the rest. Piece of shit. I recommend taping over this movie and then fast forwarding to the lesbian part. Yes, I assume that you would tape over it with porn. Is that a bad assumption?



Meet Truman Capote. He's a strapping young fellow who decides that it isn't zany enough to have sex with men: he's into horses. Soon, Capote finds himself caught between his erection for large animals and his love for a death row inmate. Capote begins a journey into his heart where he has to make a choice between continuing on as a man, or continuing on as a horse. Yes, a homosexual horse. Capote becomes a homosexual horse at the end of this movie. Capote: it will make you think, it will make you cry, and it will show you the first dude that ever had surgery to become a male horse in order to have sex with other male horses.

Two for the Money
Welcome to Pleasant Falls, Indiana. It's a small town where nothing much really ever happens. That is, until Tony Montana decides to pay it a visit.


Matthew Maconaheehay is a little league coach that just wants to see his team win. In a lonely bar, Matthew meets Scarface and they share a beer and a laugh or two. There's an obvious camaraderie that is shared between the backwoods yokel and the Cuban gangster. Tony talks Matthew into letting him fix the league series by beating unmercifully nine junior high children. But, Tony takes things too far and kills 13 nine-year-olds. Now, Matthew is out for revenge. The movie ends exactly like Scarface did, but Tony is shooting that monster gun at Matthew and Matthew gets riddled with bullets and his head explodes. More children die. The End.

Donny Darko is drafted into the military on the eve of war with North Korea and Iran. It's a futuristic romp through space and time, where the next dimension may be your last.

Just joking. You'll be OK.

But, Donnie won't. An airplane engine lands in Iraq and all of a sudden this bunny turns up and starts telling Donnie to frag Jamie Foxx. After killing his sergeant and disposing the remains in an empty oil field, Donny meets Mohamed on a desert road and converts to Buddhism. Why Buddhism? Why not? I mean, explain to me that part in Donny Darko where Drew Barrymore and that one guy laugh for no reason? I mean, really? Therefore, it makes sense.

As a Buddhist monk, Donny Darko travels through space and time and wins World War Two for the Nazis.

Happy Gilmore
Meet Happy Gilmore. Enter Rob Schneider. Add some Tim Meadows. Throw up the Saturday Night Live icon. Joining the film will be Eddie Murphy, Bill Murray and the ghost of Gilda Radner. The six of these brothers and sisters travel to Egypt to perform a sketch about how life is tough when you grow an extra appendage. The movie ends in front of a live studio audience of grapefruit.

Oceans 13
So, it's like me. And I walk out on this soundstage with that RPG that Scarface has at the end of Scarface and Two for the Money. I take the gun out and shoot George Clooney in the face, then I whip around and fire nine shots into Julia Robert's ovaries, then I put the gun between my legs and pretend it's a cock as I fire shot after shot into Bruce Willis' forehead. This movie lasts about two minutes. Five with the credits.

King Kong
Oprah Winfrey stars as King Kong, my best movie to date. Oprah is a lonely Kong on the island of Fat. On this island, Oprah is worshipped like a God by annoying housewives who have left their husbands to have lesbian sex on the island. There's like three hours of straight lesbian sex, then the lesbians turn on Oprah and kill her. They then have three more hours of lesbian sex. After the second half of lesbian sex, they gut out Oprah's insides and build a prison for anyone who has ever attended an Oscars ceremony. Then, there's like two more hours of lesbian sex. Then, the lesbians hunt all the actors and actresses for the prison down and enslave them in Oprah's carcass. THE END.

Part Three: I will Build You a Beard

I will build you a beard. A proud beard. A beard you can stroke and say "Damn. I'm a man."

I will build you a beard. Not just an ordinary beard, but a pirate's beard; a beard of strength and knowledge.

I will build you a beard. A beard woven with care and love. A beard that you can tell your girlfriend about and she will be impressed.

I will build you a beard. A mighty, majestic beard. A beard that makes other men stroke their's and long for more.

I will build you a beard. A beard of pure stroking satisfaction. A beard that makes bees buzz to each other "Hey, look at that awesome beard."

I will build you a beard. A beard that has become self-aware. A beard that has decided that humans are no longer needed in this beard-centric universe.

I will build you a beard. A beard that goes back in time and tries to kill your mother, cuz pretty soon you're tired of this beard trying to kill humanity.

I will build you a beard. A beard that succeeds in killing your mother and now you no longer exist.

La La La.

Enjoy Manhattan.


Monday, September 14, 2009

Tool Leak

Tool Leak and Other Bursts of Wanton Theft and Violence

Yes. Yes, I did.

Pretty good album so far. Lost Keys and the unfortunately titled Rosetta Stoned are the stand outs. It's not as good as Lateralus or Aenima (spl?), but better than Opiate and Undertow.

The theft occurred last night. It took an hour and a half to download – I perused porn in the interim. I'm sorry, but what's New York looking like?

Well, not anymore.

Last night, at 4.19 in the morning, black caped Comcast representatives broke in to my apartment and held me down while they beat me over the back with my laptop.


This was the only thing we really expected. Shortly after, Maynard from Tool hopped through the hole in the wall the Comcast guys came through and beat me over the head with a mic stand.



So, 5 years of Nazi doctrine have ended with the resignation of Scott McKellen. Yes, brothers and sisters, Scott is gone and now peace and freedom ring across the land!

A case of Bubonic plague showed up in LA. Apparently fleas spread it. 900 American Minutemen have been dispatched across the country to exterminate every filthy dog in this beautiful country.

The new Tool album leaked.

Scientists have cloned the first Pez dispenser. It was Porky Pig.

Julia Roberts is now a verb.

More theft: I'm stealing Internet.

78 million species of alien adventurers are living among us. They are all from Delaware.


It was scary and I had to swear never to steal Internet again.

Painted a bird. Shuttled to the nearest Wendy's and ordered the Beef Wellington. It didn't taste good today. I gathered my tent and rucksack and climbed down the roof and walked out into the driving rain. I decided a long time ago that I wouldn't take drugs from Lyle Alzado's dead body and it's just another day of sticking to that promise. Like so many others, before it, I won't keep this one either. And, before I knew it, I was digging up a grave and looking for horse tranquilizers. After the subsequent arrest, I met up with an email spammer who promised me riches and soul gifts for ten minutes of my time. I gave him 15 minutes and he gave me the power of speech. I had been a deaf mute since I was six, but now – there's so much to say. I started with "Fuck off, Jim."

Tom Cruise gave birth to Natalie Portman. The town was left desolated by the pod people from the night before. Extracted from the carbon residue left on triplicate W2 forms, the pod people grew to be a mighty race. They demanded riches and rights for their sufferings on our paper. They claimed that deep down we knew that they suffered the slavery of copying our tax returns for over 50 years. They were right. We tried to pay them in pen strokes and they exclaimed in unison (how else does triplicate paper come alive exclaim?) "The hell with you!" And with a mighty wave of the hand they set the town ablaze.

Your hair is on fire. Look for yourself.

"THE NUMBERS! WHERE ARE THE NUMBERS! Numbers, sir? THE FUCKING NUMBERS! HOW ARE WE GOING TO RECORD STATS FOR THIS QUARTER WITHOUT THOSE NUMBERS! I'm sorry, sir, but we flip burgers and make milkshakes. NUMBERS, MAN! NUMBERS! I'm sorry, but the soda machine only goes up to ten. WELL THEN FIX IT, THEN! Fix the soda machine or make it talk? We've been making milkshakes and fries and outlines in chalk. Woke up this morning. OUTLINES IN CHALK? DEAD BODIES ABOUND, I GUESS? You bet they did. I'll bet you wet the bed. I'M SURE YOU'RE RIGHT, BUT NOW IS NOT THE TIME FOR FLIGHT! NUMBERS!


I'm calling for Rosie. Rosie who? Rosie Redhanded. Rosie Redhanded doesn't live here. Where does she live, then? How do I know? I must have the wrong phone. Let me try calling you back on this other one. No, but that won't work. Why not? No matter what phone you call us on, Rosie won't be here. The fires lit the night sky and I stole off to find water for my horse. OK. OK. OK. Hang on. Hang on. I'm calling back.


But left me alive in the ruin, with my horse and my things; my television, grapefruits, shotgun, and good ideas for germination of my seed. He's come down the escalators! He's here to save us. The airport is still on fire and there are bodies everywhere. Flaming vending machines and escalators full of super heroes. Batman just removed nine bodies from the lavatory and Superman is defusing still more bombs. It's been a long day. Someone summoned the combined powers of the Bush administration and they're on the case. There's a good chance we'll get out of this unharmed. But, still…who could have done this? Sir, we believe the Coca Cola corporation had a hand in it. Really? Yes. Is this true? Sir, we believe up to 19 corporations took part in this joint effort to take America down. First this airport, then that building, there has been nine statues of Buzz Aldren blown to smithereens. In broad daylight? Yes. Microsoft agents have just set fire to Bull from Night Court's home and are threatening the estate of Doris Day. It's pretty bad. You said it. Yes, yes I did. Is this the end of America? It may just be. Sir, sir! Close to a million bacon cheeseburgers have begun to fall in the Washington D.C. area. Are you joking? No, sir. There's a chance that something else is at foot here. Not corporations, but God or something almost as big as corporations. You mean Jimmy Smits? Maybe. It's anyone's guess. The President is speaking in tongues and Israel has just invaded Australia with a large pack of wolves the size of donkeys. Donkeys get to be that big? Sure, they do. I'd guess the average donkey is five feet. Really, impressive. Not this phone or that, there's no phone that will get you Rosie and that's the fact. Sure it is. New York is now a large Revlon mirror. Are you kidding? Sir, in a situation like this, I don’t think jokes work anymore. I think everything has just become way too ridiculous. Another meteor has hit Yellowstone in the exact same spot the last one did. The moon has fell into the ocean and the four horsemen have shown up and they're gay. This has confused the entire nation of Baptists and they are expecting some sort of answer from the President, and if not the President, then God. Jackie Chan has grown to the size of Mercury and he is threatening the other planets with total annihilation. Green Lantern! Call the NSA! Someone is going to let out the fact that nine out of ten of us are high school dropouts! This won't look good. Call Karl Rove! We need some spin on this! Really, a turtle? He's become a turtle? Oh, a super turtle. And what is his super power? He can see through Jelly Bellys? That's astonishing. If I had just two men like him, I could probably get rid of all these bacon cheeseburgers. Good God! This is a great day to be an American. Do you hear me, Christ!? This is a good day for bacon cheeseburgers! God, I wish I could slather mustard on your feet, my great Messiah! Amen.

And the world blinked out.

Most of the humans responded by shrugging.

I was Abducted by Illegal Aliens

I was Abducted by Aliens…Illegal Aliens

It's true.

Where do I begin? I mean, there's so much to…it's hard to even put into words. It's like…um…it's like you can't really know where the story begins and when it ends. Like when you're having sex with a really ugly woman.

I guess I can start with my first encounter with aliens:

I was twelve and I was going to a baseball game with my father. We were walking passed a large parking lot, when we noticed some movement.

That's when it came at us.

It was…dark in color. It looked like a man…but it was…it was different. The eyes were all wrong and the hair was kinky. The skin color was nine shades darker than ours. I…I don't even like thinking about it.

It came up to my dad and said "Hey, you want to buy a ticket to the game?"

My dad grabbed me and ran.

We never talked about it again.

Present day:

Last night, I was in bed and I was reading the Wallstreet Journal, when I heard a knock at the door. It must've been six o'clock, because I was just getting ready for bed. It had been a long night and I had been doing a lot of cocaine.

I walked down the stairs to my door. I normally keep my door downstairs, because visitors find it hard to get into the house from two stories up.

I asked "Are you an illegal alien?" I ask this of all my guests.

The thing behind the door answered "No. I'm…uh…we're from the IRS. You forgot to pay your taxes or something." Or he might have said "We are illegal aliens and we have come to plant our intercontinental sperm in your butt." Or, they may have said something about selling magazines. I can't be sure.

Being a law-abiding citizen, I opened the door with my wallet ready to pay for whatever the good Bush administration needed. If it was the IRS, I was ready to comply. Whether they needed paper clips, puzzles, or nine hundred pounds of crack cocaine to flood the streets of Compton, I was willing to pay for it.

I'm a patriot.

Well, it wasn't the IRS behind the door. No, in fact, it was ILLEGAL ALIENS!!!

They grabbed me by my shirt collar (or calmly asked me if I would like to subscribe to Entertainment Weekly, again, I can't be sure) and the rest is a blur. I believe some nerve agent paralyzed me, because I couldn't move. Of course, I had been drinking a large amount of paint thinner in order to see through walls, like this one guy told me about in a Christian chat group; but, I don't think that was it.

I think the aliens had used some sort of nerve agent on me. I'm no stranger to nerve agents. For the entire Clinton presidency I had to use nerve agents to maintain an erection.

The next thing I remember, I was on a hospital bed and this alien was shining a light in my face.

"Yo, homes!? You OK?"

"What the hell? Unhand me, you alien!"

"I'm not an alien. My name is Robert. We were selling some magazines and you passed out on us. We're in your garage. By the way, why do you keep a hospital bed in your garage?"

"That's none of your illegal alien business!" I was beside myself. Literally. The paint thinner or alien magic made me think I was laying down next to myself. This is part of the alien power; it forces you to look at yourself objectively. I've never been so horrified in my life. It was like I could see how fat my ass was, and at the same time see my pale reptilian skin.

"How did you know we were illegal?" This from the half man, half dinosaur that may or may not have just been made up for shock value.

"You aren't like me!" This was true. I spend my summers hunting Indonesian children, while these monsters probably run in some gang or something.

"You mean, because we're Latino?" The thing had morphed into Betty Boop and I found myself a bit aroused. I quickly prayed to the Lord to stop making me gay again.

"No, I know a lot of Latinos. But, none of them are twelve feet tall! And none of them speak in tongues and have rainslickers for skin! Don't try to deceive me. Just anal probe me and let me go!" I had been anal probed before. It was in New Orleans, and I may have paid to have it done; I can't remember.

"Dude, I think this guy's a fag." This was said to the other illegal alien that was shaped like a milkshake.

"I am not a fag! I am an American patriot, and you are an illegal alien! I am making a citizen's execution!" And, with that, I tried to use my gamma ray vision on him, but it was no use. My powers were rendered useless. The illegal aliens were wily and proved to be more formidable enemies than I imagined.

Of course I explained this to them and they just looked at me like I was nuts!? Like I was the illegal alien?! Like I was Brian Bozworth or something?!

"Let's ditch. This guy's nuts. El loco!" And with that the aliens left me in my garage among my medical beds and waste.

That's my story. Sure, I know some of you are skeptical of Illegal Alien Abductions, but my story is true.

I guess I've decided to come forward because of the children…

That night, as I suspended myself above the kitchen on the pot rack and looked down at the tiles with a large meat thermometer up my ass I thought to myself If this could happen to me, think about how it could happen to me again?

So, be warned – the truth is out there. And the truth is that Illegal Alien Abduction is real.

And, as if to prove this point, and drive it to the barn faster than a pope in a field of dreams: a large Dutch man is on my porch looking at my cable box. Sure, he's got a jacket that says Comcast, and maybe he's not illegal, but he's still an alien.

Kirk Cameron said it best when he said "If you aren't Christian and you aren't American, then you should rot in hell." I'll leave you with those sound words.

God bless,

Pat Robertson