Monday, April 19, 2010


Vacuuming the floor he looked up and noticed that he was nowhere near the floor he was working on or anywhere near anything else.
Pesky kitchen floors, the vaccuum picked up little to nothing that was left after his many encounters with cooking.
It wasn't that he liked to cook, but more like he liked to eat.
On this particular excursion out into the kitchen with the sucking machine he entered what some might call a more accurate state of being, having woken up to his true situation somewhere spinning in a vortex, alone again, but without the hampering idea of other people nearby.
And then it came back to him. His spinning. His vortex. His place where he no longer lied to himself.
"Are you dead?" She asked.
"I've been asking myself that for quite a long time." He was in a state of utter ecstacy, but unable to have any sort of free will at all.
Not bad.
Just let me fish.
Just let me fish.
Just let me fish.
Thousands of years ago, he sat in an Photoshopping glass and broke pictures down to random objects, but them together, like a DJ sampling music and then delicately smudged them into other symbols.
That's what humans do.
And here he was and she was asking if he was dead. And in a way he was, but more precisely, he had been smudged/sampled into something else.
"Can you go back?" She asked.
"Then you're dead."
"Dead to those that live."
"But then what is the difference?"
"Probably none. Are you able to go back?"
"Then I'm dead. Come back when you can't go back and I'll probably seem alive."
"That's an interesting way of looking at it." She looked up at him as he continued to spin in the vortex.
"How did you get here?"
"I'm a tourist."
"Must be nice."
"I thought I'd see dragons and halos and God."
"I'm sorry."
"It's OK."
"I could stand to lose a few." The man looked down at himself.
"You look like a real person."
"Because I'm flawed?"
"I guess."
"Isn't that the way."
"It is."
He continued vaccuuming and forgot about the whole exchange and never realized he was floating around in a vortex.
She kept speaking to him and realized that he was gone - making vaccuuming gestures with his hand.
"You're here. You're not there." She tried her best and soon she too disappeared back to where she came from.

"Where do we come from?" He asked.
"We come from where we're not. That is how the universe is." The old Zen master or whatever fucking thing you want to call him said.
"That's very cryptic." He answered.
"You put a puzzle together and hang it on the wall and people call it tacky."
"Uh, huh."
"You tell them that it was put together from billions of pieces and they decide it's cryptic or art or genius."
"Uh, huh."
"But it's still fucking tacky."
"Is that the way of life?"
"No, but it's the way of man." And then the Zen master, bullshit artist farted.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

God Has a Plan

God has a plan. You can see it in the trees and the flowers and the sky and all that is life. But what is surprising is that it's a dental plan.

One time I went to the dentist and the dental technician was looking at my teeth and complaining about how much plaque was on them. So, I jokingly said "Yeah, you should just yank them all out and get it over with."
She responded, "Oh, no, you don't want to do that."
Astounded that she took me seriously, I said "Oh, I'm just joking."
But that didn't sink in and then she began explaining why I need my teeth.
Then I started wondering if I'm secretly retarded and no one told me…or I couldn't understand it when they did.

One thing that I like about the retarded is they don't picket. You never see a bunch of retarded people out picketing. I mean the real kind, not Tea Baggers.

The Tea Bagging movement…that's the joke.

Jokes are a good way to hide the truth. Like when I hid an affair I was having from my wife in a joke. I said "Yeah, right – like I could get hard again after just having sex with your sister." She laughed, but it was because she thought I was impotent.

Impotence affects a large number of men. It's a spine tingling disease in which you can't have sex because your ding dong doesn't work. It's like when you have a big oil drill made out of rubber. Everyone's like, Let's get some oil! And the drill's like How? Then they take the drill and they try to bore a hole in the Earth but it just bends and starts comically circling the ground like a deflating water balloon. Then the drill is like It's because I'm wasted. Then the guys are all like Whiskey Drill. Then the drill's like Yeah. Then they all start drinking and then all the humans are impotent too. And then no one's gonna have sex or get any oil. So no one has anywhere to go.
That's how you truly green up Mother Earth.

Speaking of Earth, wouldn't it tick Al Gore off if he found out the sun was just this huge incandescent bulb?

They have energy efficient bulbs now-a-days. They look really fucked up. It's like a spiral tube that's wrapped up like a good pile of dog shit. My mom has them up in the bathroom around a vanity mirror. You know – the old timey mirrors with the bulbs around them. Well, it's just like the olden days, but you have fluorescent coils of dogshit lighting your face. It would be so cool to explain this to the writers of the Jetsons.

Writers can be weird, reclusive people. Some live in castles with moats and own slaves and stuff. Then they write about it. And everyone thinks it's just a story, but it's really real. Like Dune.

In the book Dune there's a planet that has so little water that the humans on the planet have to wear special suits that recycle all their fluids. There's also these creatures that can bend space and warp it so that spaceships can travel to distant galaxies in no time at all. So why can't they manage to irrigate the damn Dune planet? Hell, Sting is even there! Let me get this straight, you can bend time and space and you have Sting and you can't water a planet? This is just like the future with the dogshit bulbs.

It's springtime and the bulbs are blooming. Bulbs are these things that you plant in the ground in the winter and then these clowns on accordions pop out of the ground and scare the living shit out of all the moles in your yard. So, if you have a mole problem…

My mother was just diagnosed with low sodium. It seems she needs more electrolytes. Which is cool, because she needs more electricity like a robot. My mother, the robot. I'm stoked.

Have you ever been with a bunch of guys and they're all fighting over the best way to stoke a fire? And then you set one of them on fire to prove your point. And then the guy you set on fire starts running around the camp ground on fire yelling "Oh my God, I'm on fire!" And it kind of looks like he's dancing so everyone thinks he means that he's really good at dancing. Then you follow him around with a hotdog on a stick. And then finally he falls down and you have your fire. Then everyone gets "cozy".

One time my great grandmother knitted me a butter cozy. It's basically a piece of fabric that you put around your butter dish to make the dish cozy. Or possibly the butter. I don't know. So, I put it on my butter dish and I started hearing snoring. Then the butter started pooling out of the cozy because it was so snug and tight in its cozy that it melted. That's how I want to go.

I hate going. Like when you're at someone's house and you have to go. Or you're at work and you have to go. "Hey, I'm going." It just sounds bad. Besides, no one seems to understand that yes, I am staying where I am and yes, I'm peeing myself.

One time I got so drunk I peed my bed. Which was kind of cool. You know like when you see an old TV show or movie from your childhood and you get a warm feeling? Nostalgia for peeing the bed isn't wrong.

The other day I set my bed against the wall so that when I wake up I don't have to get out of bed.

Someone told me once I should get out more. I was like "Where?" And they were like "Just out." And then I was like "Your advice is really vague. Can you be more specific." Then they mentioned the movies. And I was like "That's in." And then they were like "Or the country." And I asked "What country?" And then they were like "Just out there in the country." And they waved their hands at the door going out of the woman's locker room.

99% of bad shit that happens in an After School Special goes down in a locker room. I think what they were trying to tell us is that you shouldn't exercise.

I've been doing some exercise lately. I have these small weights that I do lifts with. I figure when I get really good at lifting those weights, I'll buy bigger and bigger weights the better I get. I figure one day I'm going to be really built, but really broke. That's when I start using my muscles for crime.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Evil Voices

"God damn. Yes. Oh, shit."

It's two in the morning and Floyd Barger is shooting heroin.

This might not be anymore groundbreaking than the average crackhead you see on your way to work.

But, Floyd is different.

Floyd is 85.


Floyd started using when he was 80. As he explains it "I was living in an assisted living home when I started thinking – I'm fucking bored."

Soon, Floyd was looking for something to "ease the boredom," when he came upon a copy of Trainspotting.

"Well, most people would look at a movie like that and think 'hell, that looks like a lot of fun, too bad it makes you die. But, I was 80. I mean it's kinda like, if 80 is an age to do anything, it's an age to do this."

But, the plot thickens; soon Floyd had turned on an entire geriatric unit of the home and was dealing to keep his habit alive.

"Well, it's like, no guilt, man. Take Florence, she's got cancer and maybe a couple of weeks to live – why not go out stoned? What's it gonna do? Kill her? Who cares?"

We caught up with a friend of Floyd's at the home and spoke to him about Floyd.

"Hello, John Rogers, BBC. Could you tell us how you feel about the sudden turn in events for the home, concerning heroin use and sale?"

"Who you with?"

"The BBC."

"Who do you want to see?"

"We want to speak to you about your friend Floyd."





"Look, buddy, I think you want to talk to a nurse. I don't work here."

But, it wasn't just his friends who didn't want to talk.

Nurse Gretta Reid was leaving the hospital as our camera crew showed up.

"Ms. Reid. Ms. Reid, could you tell us what you know about the usage and sale of heroin in the home?"

"No comment."

"Ms. Reid, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?"


"We'll be your best friends."

"Oh, all right. What do you want to know."


As our crew ran from the home to the van we definitely decided that Ms. Reid was a doer.

So, what of this heroin epidemic among the elderly? Who is responsible? Is this a victimless crime?

The jury is still out. But, I will say this – I totally would have bagged Courtney Love. Did you see her in that one thing? With the porn guy? Man, good lord, those tits were like manna.

Oh, well. Signing off, I'm Keith Jerrod.


Notes from the Overground

The moving has begun, I dread the shaking.

The boss is now moving in. There is no turning back. Her peripherals are being set up as I type in 8 point so that I can be assured that she won't see this.

Good Christ.

My silverware has come! That's right, I've been filling my empty soul with useless products. I hate people like me: I just got a credit card and I've been buying shit I don't need with it. Seriously, I hate people who do that.

My first purchase? New silverware. Now, I did need silverware, I was down to three forks and two spoons and ate soup with a pipe last night, but what I didn't need was hundred-dollar silverware. There's no excuse for having hundred-dollar silverware - unless you steal or just had a wedding.

But, rest assured, the stems are exquisite.

My apartment assistant manager called to ask if Shaturday was a good day to show my apartment. I don't know where she got the idea I was moving, but I thought maybe this is standard practice. Like, maybe they didn't have a studio to show, cuz there was a dead body in the vacant one, and so they needed to show mine. So, I made up an excuse that I was having company this weekend and couldn't help. It turns out she called the wrong dude, so I lied for no reason.

There's nothing more irresponsible than lying for no reason.

Tonight I'm supposed to be meeting some friends at some Ohana's piece of shit. Then, it's off to go get drunk for five hours. I really don't want to be hung over tomorrow, what with my new silverware to use and all.

No plans for Shaturday. I'll probably do some reading. I have five books that are new and I feel I must read, considering I bought them. It's not like the fifty or so that have been lying around my apartment, last apartment, before that apartment, before that apartment, room at my mom's house for like 15 years.

According to my one-book-a-month calculations, I should be done with them all (5) by June. I'm excited about this.

I got paid today. After bills and the amount I was overdrawn, I get a whopping 120 dollars. Isn't that awesome. I was overdrawn 725, I paid a 100 credit card bill, a 35 dollar light bill, and a 300 dollar car payment. Coupled with taxes, 26 paychecks a year, 3% for 401K, 70 a check for a 401K loan, and you'll be able to know how much I make a year. Answer below.


This Secret Built a Universe

Today Like No Other, can someone tell me how a guy like Hunter S. Thompson commits suicide?

It was last night when I heard. I was drinking the last of seven beers when Keith called from Oklahoma.

"Did you hear?" He asks.

I'm thinking maybe those new Bush tapes revealed that that thing on his back during the debates was Amelda Marcos. But, I was wrong. "No, what happened?"

"Dude, Hunter S. Thompson shot himself."

"What the fuck? Are you shitting me?"

"No, dude, it happened tonight. He shot himself with a gun."

I ignored the fact that Keith seemed to think that I might have thought the good doctor shot himself with a slingshot and a potato (wink).

This led to a long (a whole beer's worth of time) conversation about suicide and motivation.

By the end of it, I figured out a couple of things that made me sleep easier knowing a savage drunk skeleton of fingers and mouths could be dead and a degenerate nacho eating bastard like myself hasn't pulled the trigger.

I see it this way: Hunter (from what I know of him through his books, which are half fiction and opinion and half fact) lived by his own rules: why the hell let God decide when he's going to go.

Look, I'm not advocating suicide, but what a grand act of self-reliance to pull off your own death. It's a good shot to the universe proclaiming that you own your own destiny.

So, God bless.

Besides, Hunter is a man of adventure, maybe the world wasn't quite as weird as it used to be, or he had seen it all and decided to head out for the final frontier.

I would love to see a suicide note that reads:

Hey, look, I'm not sad or in any pain. The fact is, I've seen it all and I need to explore. Look at me as an astronaut shot into the great almighty void. I'll try to relay my findings if I can. Seeing as no one has yet, you can bet that I'll be the first.


Of course, Hunter would write it with the hyperbole and batshit fuel of a banshee on crack that I couldn't muster if I lived nine lifetimes in the fast lane.

My buddy didn't agree and gave me the old line about the people you leave behind.

Fuck em.

Look, there are a million movies about people in small towns that leave friends and family to make it big. And we applaud it. We think, that must have been hard to move on, what with the guilt.

Well, think of death as moving on and congratulate these pirates on the quest ahead.

Good lord.

The other thing that came up was this was a Hemmingway suicide. See, there's two types of suicides I know of: the Hemmingway and the Cobain.

The Cobain is dreary and full of "Look, I just couldn't go on with all the pain. I know it's hard to understand, but if you felt this way, you would have done it a long time ago."

Now, the Hemmingway, like the Hunter is more of an ego thing: "I've done the best I could do, it's down hill from here – fuck it."

Now, the former is more of a sad thing, and is done by the frail or weak. The latter is more of a pride thing and is done by the strong.

Hell, I don't even know what I'm talking about at this point.

In truth, who the hell knows why people off themselves? I've never known anyone who off'd themselves, but I'm sure it must be painful to lose someone to it.

But, the world turns and we're always better for it. Hunter was pure genius and if you read half of my archives you will know that I've ripped off have of his vocabulary and style....poorly.

I'd like to think the man is having a shot of amyl nitrate whilst beating some sort of space koala bear savagely in the parking lot of some strip joint on Jupiter in an alternate reality formed from the foam from Nixon's mouth and the notes in "White Rabbit."

This man was myth and truly stomped the terra. God save the heavens.

In other news: the boss is now behind me and I'm in nine point. I'm risking this as I figure I can call this a lunch break. But, I still get the willies thinking about the maw that is her face coming down like a beak on my shoulder and explaining the Internet policy.

So, the hall monitors at that nine inch nails chat room won't let anyone post mp3s of the leaked songs off the new album. This angers me as anyone who knows nails will tell you every single song is really about communism. So, look, if you have the downloads, send:

K, I just looked at the clock so my boss would have more reason to believe that I'm doing this on a lunch.

The weekend blew. Friday I went to that Ohana restaurant and then to Bada. At Bada absolutely nothing happened. Later, we went to Jai Thai and I threatened to grapple with a tree that was outside. This was all I talked about the whole time – how much I wanted to beat up a tree outside the bar.

Really, I'm not joking.

Later, I went and sat down by this group of people that probably didn't want me to sit down by them. Something about one of them being in the witness relocation program and something about them moving to Pennsylvania. I tried to explain to them that Pennsylvania is full of vampires, but they wouldn't hear me out. My friends left, I went and got a burrito and went home.

Shaturday: stared vacantly at a book and/or TV.

Sunday: stared vacantly at a book and/or TV.

Which brings me to here, where I'm typing and drinking coffee, hoping that you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it. Just joking. I'm only writing to not do work, and I'm sure that's the only reason you would read this.


200 lbs: it's all fat

6'1: It's all fat

Hair: Brown like a lions mane

Skin: White, but turns dark white in the sun

Favorite color: fucking blue, whadya think?

Eyes: fucking blue, whadya think?

Favorite food: it starts with "sand" and end with "wich." K, also pizza and nachos....hell, anything that has cheese and some sort of sauce – it could be an otter for all I care.

Favorite movie: this is getting gay now. But, I still have more lunchtime to write.

Dude, I just got that email again: "This secret built a small empire."

Spam is fucking awesome some times. I still think that's the best subject though, and I encourage you to use it as a title for your blogs, or subject line for your emails.

Oh, I'm serious here: I have this real love of porno music. I'm not lying. If anyone knows where you can purchase a CD of porno music, let me know. I'm not joking and it's not a sex thing:

Oh well, it's probably time to go. I have large parcels of knowledge concerning more stuff you should know about, but we'll wait and see what develops.




When we last visited the Llama man he was in bed watching CNN and smoking a cigarette.
What the hell? Why did we visit him then?
Anyway, the Llama man was boring the piss out of my readers, sitting around smoking cigarettes and...but, i've already mentioned that.
Let's keep on topic.
Lesbian sex is the mutual same sex relationship between two females, aged eighteen, hot as hell and...
But, again, we have run off topic.
So, the Llama man got out of bed with a start.
"In our latest CNN poll, it seems that Dr. Charley is robbing an Arby's in Renton, Washington."
"KAZART!" Screamed the Llama man. "Dr. Charley is loose and robbing roast beef again. I must summon my super human llama strungth and lay down my swift brand of justice, mexi-style!"
The Llama man then drifted off to sleep. Because, you know the Llama man was tired.

Creation Island

EPISODE 234: The Penny and Dice Party have nothing to do with this episode of.......

It was getting dark and the Llama man had just finished milking the fridge.
"Ah, looks like a good haul this time. Three cartons worth." He unnippled the jugs of milk he had bought from the grocery store and put the bucket full of fresh milk into the fridge to replace them.
"Ah, there's nothing like a good milking. Speaking of, where's my ham sandwich? Oh, that's right, I didn't have a ham sandwich. I wonder what Dr. Charley is up to?"

Meanwhile in the lab of Dr. Charley:

Later that night in the lab of Dr. Charley:


"It is I, Dr. Charley, this time Llama man won't be able to stop me!"


"From walking over........HERE!"


"Yes, it is great. Now, it's off to rob something. I think i'll start with the Salvation Army. HA! That's how evil I am. I will now cuss a swear word, uh Damn. HA!"

Earlier that evening:

"Mom, could you pick up some Snickers bars for the fundraiser tomorrow?"
"Sure, huh. Is your dad going?"
"I don't know, call him."
"You call him, i have an errand to run."
"OK.....Dad, hey you coming to the fundraiser tomorrow?"
"Sure, son."

Dr. Charley was just finishing his milk when he ran into Llamamanandtheygotinafightandllamamanwontheend.


Frozen Karl Rove Statue

A Diet that Really Works!

So, I was thinking: what if you were really uncreative at assisting suicides? I mean, like you used a gun, or even worse, a heavy object. Man, that would be nuts.

In other news, "The Line Begins to Blur" and "The Hand that Feeds" have been leaked on the internet and I was able to score the former. The song is fucking awesome and Dave Grohl's drums certainly don't make it less awesome. The thing about nails is this: the lyrics are somewhat lame, but the music makes up for it. You have to take it with a grain of salt. It's like putting on headphones and pretending you're an angry teenager. I think I wrote something about the new Nirvana box set making me want to commit suicide like when I was in high school – same type of thing. It's like watching Scott McKellen, you kinda just have to let go of reality and pretend you're somewhere else.

The boss is still behind me and is probably going to ask me at some point in time just what the hell I'm writing about in 8 point. I can't really tell her it's a technical document because they usually have pictures of computer screens, and I can't say it's a newsletter article, because I wasn't assigned one, so I'm going to have to call it lunch.

I'm nearing the fattest I've ever been: 205 lbs. It's wicked awesome; at this rate I might be able to pull a Homer and stay home on disability for my fatitude. No, it's time I go back on my no food diet and get back down to the 160 I was four years ago. This means massive amounts of cocaine and Benzedrine. This is going to be a short and freaky road – but, hey, we all need to stay healthy. Tonight I'm going to load up on some crystal meth and do laps from Safeco stadium to the Space Needle until the next morning. I figure I'll keep my metabolism alive by popping an Altoid every so often. I mean, my gums will probably start bleeding and my liver will begin to chap and scale somewhere on the 20 lb lost, but it's important to look good in this super model society.

So, I've got this joint Outlook mailbox with the Purchasing group that I've been popping all my junk email into. I just popped a Christian Dating Service email in there and I'm hoping this is funny, but as I write about it, it really isn't that funny.

I just ran into this woman who went on this big tirade about how shitty our company is. I agree with her, but coming from her I started to think maybe this company is great. This is the woman who is super "I'm the boss, do things my way," made one of my buddies so stressed he left for New York, beat her boyfriend, has a boyfriend who does crack (ironic), and went batshit on me in a martini bar for not agreeing with the Bush administration. This last was nuts, because as much as I bitch here, I do respect people's opinions (to their face) and I was genuinely cool. I even just nodded my head when she pretty much told me that manifest destiny should be a policy of the United States. But, one head shake that wasn't vigorous enough for her and she went into a drunken tantrum about how great Reagan was and how I owe my freedom to the Trinity that is Cheney, Rove, and Rice. It was one of those times I should have pulled a Sean Connery and slapped her in the yipper. But, oh well. She apparently hates the company now. Also, this one dude who always looks pissed off left. He just left work one day with an email explaining that he quit. I thought this was awesome, as I have thought about doing it many times. It makes sense, cuz I didn't know the guy that well and this one time I gave him a courtesy "How ya doing?" and he replied "Like shit." Now, this isn't typical acquaintance banter. It was odd.

So, I'm thinking I'm diseased now. Look, I brush regularly, the whole bit – but, I'm waking up with either some film on my lower lip or skin coming off – on the inside. It's making me think I've got lip cancer. You remember lip cancer, don't you? That one anti-tobacco presentation from elementary school, with the dude who chewed and had to have his whole lower jaw removed and eventually died all the same? Yeah, that may be me. Good lord, I will shoot myself if I have to have my jaw removed. I promise you right now – if my jaw has to be removed I will blow my fucking head off. I won't even think twice. I'm sorry if you're living with a removed jaw (well, without it) and I wish you the best. But I have problems enough functioning in society, I'm not going to go about it with a metal clog attached to my face. No, fuck that. In fact, please email me at if you would like to assist me in the suicide, but please see the first paragraph as the gunshot to the head will be fine, but I don't want to be crushed by a heavy object.

No, seriously, what the fuck makes the skin on the inner lip peel or give a film in the morning? It's after I brush, too. Could it be lip cancer from smoking? Or, could it be too much vitamin C? I've been taking a lot for no good reason at all. Please email me if you know what this vicious illness is.

Oh, I just remembered something that may be useful: the best way to get out of a really uncomfortable situation is "I'm not having this conversation." It works on so many levels.

Dude, I've been playing that new nails nonstop all day and it's only one song. This album is going to be dope. I'll be happy to send anyone a copy, because I think music piracy is awesome. Seriously, anyone who tries to tell you different is a greed hound. And that fucking douche from that flaming Zeppelin bag of shit called Metallica should be beaten with a hose. Lars Ulrich, get bent. You are a tool of such magnitude that I'm not gonna have this conversation.

Well, that's all. Some woman from Trinidad left me comments a bit ago. Isn't that amazing? I mean really, think about how awesome this Internet thing is. One day we'll all just be able to live in the confines of a closet and see the universe. I can't wait. I'm already storing all the food I won't eat from my crash cocaine diet.



You Have a Cunning Beaver

Watch my Weight

Good lord, it's sunny in Seattle once again.

For those of you Seattley challenged, this place is like the backdrop for the movie Seven during the winter months. But, thanks to El Nino or Global Warming or Al Queda; thanks to whomever, we have our season in the sun.

And what sun! It's immaculate, like the bottom portion of a strippers back. Well, not really at all like that, but that place where you can see the spine, man that's beautiful.

I finally managed to get a copy of the radio rip of "The Hand that Feeds." I would like to tell you this is a good song. But, I can't. It's so poppy that it could be the background music for an after school special.


Maybe it'll grow on me and I'll recant, but I doubt it. But, never fear, "the line begins to blur" is now playing in my headphones for the 190th time and it keeps getting better. Also, the second single of The Fragile, "We're in this Together" blew goats, and yet the rest of the album was great, barring some small holes: "The Fragile." It still sickens me that there's no instrumentals on the new album, but I have a feeling we'll see some precious stones unearthed come 2006.

So, I'm still on my diet. Yesterday I did four lines of coke around 4. I followed this with a large amount of Red Bull and a chaser of Jack Daniels. I felt this was a good way to start my no food diet. After leaving work, I felt fantastic with absolutely no food in my system for the day.

On the drive home I chain smoked a pack of cigarettes and went to my buddy Raj's place for the meth.

Meth is an ugly drug and I was sure to cut it with the cocaine. This made for a pleasant two hours of cleaning utility outlets. Diagnosis: no hunger.

I then turned on CNN to watch our president embarrass us in multiple languages in order to get the adrenaline going.

It was now time to tackle the exercise. Look, folks, you can't get skinny the easy way; you need good exercise.

So, it was off to the doorstep where I acquired a homeless man and paid him nine dollars to be strapped onto my back.

With a mighty snort, that lasted a full minute, I inhaled the better part of two grams of coke and began my loop around Seattle, from the Space Needle to Safeco and back. I did this nine times.

The homeless man was getting drunk on my back and by the time I was finished he had puked on my back more than a dozen times. This was unnerving, but I had a mission to accomplish.

It was now time for the weigh in: I had lost five pounds.


Now, I don't want to advocate starvation – far from it. So, I made myself a decent meal of pasta and then made myself vomit it back up.

I was lucky in this endeavor, as the homeless man was below my window and I was able to nail him with curdled cheese and Ragu.

More cocaine followed a raw egg and it was time for the Valium and weed to bring me down so that I could rest up for work.

It was around 4 in the morning.

I got a good two hours of sleep.

When I say, "sleep" I mean shivering in a dark corner, sobbing wildly, and biting my nails.

Soon, it was time to go to work.

A good shot of Red Bull and vodka was procured and within the glass walls of the tumbler, I spooned in more coke.

And that's that. I just went down to the gym to weigh myself: 195!

That's ten pounds and three teeth lost.

Tonight I'm going to be inhaling an eight ball of meth and swimming from Seattle to Los Angeles, all before four in the morning.

This may seem impossible, but you have to take in account the fact that I did some shrooms and somehow acquired the powers of both Aquaman and the Flash.

I'm happy about this.



He said, she said

I Love Earl

Hello all,
My name is Earl Forrester and I'll be speaking to you today about composure.
Composing oneself in the corporate environment is essential to creating a powerful, productive, and progressive work environment.
There are two main focus points I will be discussing today: exterior composure and interior composure.
Let's start with exterior, shall we? Right.
Forthwith I shall give you a little demo and I'll leave it to you to figure out whether I'm displaying composure or not.

Hey, fuckface, you, fucker? Are you listening to me and my fucking speech about corporate fucking composure or what the fuck?

Now, then, was I displaying composure?
No, of course not. What was I doing wrong?
Correct, I sprinkled my sentences with fuck and....
That's right, I was screaming loudly and rubbing my crotch.
And would anyone like to take a stab at whether that was poor external or interior composure?

That's right, external. You see, I was externally displaying myself with a total lack of composure.

Here's a harder one.

K, what did I just do?
That's right, nothing. But, what you don't know is that I was thinking about having anal sex with the woman in the front row.....Judy. Now, was that appropriate?
No, of course not, Judy doesn't want me to anally penetrate her.
Now, was that a lack of external or -
That's correct Judy, internal.
Quick, off the top of your head Hillary, what were you just thinking about and be honest?
Really, an image of me anally penetrating Judy - now, is that internal composure?
No, of course not.
Now, you may be asking yourselves how to protect yourself from these intrusive and obnoxious thoughts. Well, a simple trick of self-inflicted punishment will do the trick.

OK, what did I just do?

OK, I just thought about Judy and Hillary going at it on my lectern. So, let's correct it. What I'm going to do is simply hit myself, closed fisted, in the genitals nine times. Now, remember, nine is key.

Oh, that's better, now I'm thinking about continuing a productive meeting on composure and not about Judy and - oh, drat.

Another nine for myself, now you try it.

Step right up, in this office for one day only, watch the painful display of self abuse inflicted by and on a group of bankers.

This it? This what it's all about...

K, this is hilarious.

If this is old news, sorry.

K, so there's this thing called Blogshares. What it is is this website where you play the stockmarket with weblogs. You get 500$ play money to bet on weblogs according to their volume.

You guessed it: some dude named Michael bought mine from someone named Dust Speck. I feel like one of my ex-girlfriends (read: hooker).

Sorry, but this is phucking phunny.


I'm Vaguely Human

Well, after waiting out my big, fat coworker to leave, I was able to begin drinking at five. Something I should have taken into consideration, was the size of the beers I ordered.

According to Scott, the juggernauts I was ordering were the size of 2 and a half beers and I beat two of them back within an hour. It was ugly. I'm a pretty big drinker, but that was five beers in an hour and I wasn't expecting it. Also, I didn't eat a lick that day. So, I'm having a normal conversation with Scott at this shitty chain-restaurant bar when I begin slurring my words.

It was sad.

Oh, good news! I don't have lip cancer. It seems the fucking Colgate whitening toothpaste is to blame.

As I wrote before, I was getting some sort of film on my bottom lip in the morning. Well, I took it to trials and figured out that it was only happening after I showered. So, I'm thinking maybe it's the water. Well, then I start thinking harder and realized that the film's texture reminds me of the crap that's on Crest Whitening Strips (P.S. you're not suppose to use these if you're a smoker – they open "pores" in your teeth that end up getting tar'd up).

So, long story short – my toothpaste causes lip cancer.

The diet is dead.

Well, at least on nights I'm going to binge drink. The no food diet (which worked in the past) is severely dangerous to the hardcore drinker in the way that you get fucking blitzed easily. I passed out at ten last night, for fuck's sakes. No, the diet will resume on the next day I'm not going out. But, I'm going drinking tonight, so, I had a bagel.

I feel like drinking tonight! Drinking tonight!

That's right. I'm going over to Erin's to watch an exclusive ABC special on UFOs. See, it's not going to be like all that shit you see on Sci Fi – no, Peter Jennings will be there. For those in the dark:

Peter Jennings = News.

So, I'm going to drink beer and watch Peter Jennings uncover a skateboard with wings that crash-landed into a Virginia home.


According to Amy, Virginia is the epicenter of Freak Power. Seriously, I'm never going there, it's ripe with child molesters, people who bathe in lakes, men who beat women, storage units full of gypsies, and monkey incest followed by decapitation. Seriously: stay away from Virginia.

Places to stay away from in Washington:

Anywhere east of the mountains.

Really, it's the armpit of Washington. In fact, one of the louses that lives there, a Senator in fact, wants to split the state in half and make a new state. I'm all for it. Eastern Washington is an embarrassment to the West and I hope Hanford turns it into a moonscape that I can shuttle by in an airtight monorail, rather than drive through that ugly desert of shanties and rednecks.

There's a conference coming up in Seattle that I'm supposed to attend. This made me feel like an adult for the first time since I got this job.

It's like three days and it's downtown (no commute, dope!). One of the classes is about all the new technologies coming out and I think I'm going to have to take some sort of barbiturates to enhance it. Because, guess what one of the topics is?

Virtual Humans.

That's right. I read it. It's really there. I'm going to treat this like watching 2001 and get heavily tanked and hear about the marvels that are the virtual humans. Hell, I'm virtually human. They should have studied my habits.

Vaguely Human.

I mean really, I'm not exactly right with the mainstream and my insides are so polluted that an autopsy would end up on the Sci Fi channel.

In fact, I'm wondering if my liver and lungs even exist and whether the mad scientist that is Mother Nature has given me some sort of universal survival organ. There's no reason I should be able to pump blood and breathe air in the condition I'm in.

When you throw in the fact that I hung out in my studio with the lights out, drinking a beer by candlelight and listening to music like a freak last night – c'mon.

Diagnosis: Vaguely Human.




OPINION: Personality Tests are for Shit

Are you the type of person who feels curious about what your personality may be? Do you take random tests that survey your lifestyle and emotions and grade you accordingly with one-paragraph studies?
Well, let me help you and do all the work for you: you're a fucking geek.
That's your personality. You are a troglodyte that finds self satisfaction in answering questions to the best of your ability, using your better judgment of what is right or wrong. NOT what you actually are.
I doubt there's a large range of men and women who answer the "Do people find you hostile?" type questions honestly. So, who are you kidding?
Look, you're a fucking asshole just like the rest of the brain-dead hair balls that take these tests.
But, wait, here's more:
You are generally the type of person who enjoys masturbating to Yanni records while you webcam it for others. You are prone to fits of paste eating and probably enjoy huffing with your friends. You find social situations awkward, because most of the time you're panting and drooling while humping a leg. Friends might describe you as incoherent, retarded, or Republican.
Personality Tests: strictly for the birds.

More things I hate:


I'll Be Back

I Lack Skillz

"Fuck....shit! Shit! Where the....fuck! Jesus fucking Christ! Fucking bastard...where the fuck?!"

This was the man next to me at 7-11 this morning.

The guy who works the counter was doing inventory, or something, and this guy next to me started losing it because he had to wait an extra minute for the guy to get back to the counter.

I got a coffee and a pack of smokes on that credit card I got a while back. I'm signing the electronic card reader thingy and thinking the guy is probably going to lynch me for paying for smokes and coffee with a credit card.

Ugly morning.

Last night I went to Erin's and watched that special about UFOs. It was fucking lame. So, Erin mentions something about the phenomenon called "Rods."

Rods are these ghost bugs that are only caught on camera, and according to one website, they only show up around disasters, as the only pics they had were of Rods in Baghdad during the invasion, and around the Hindenberg when it went down.

On that same site you have to agree to a disclaimer that makes you take full responsibility for any demons you see, seizures you experience, nightmares, nausea, etc....

See, they felt that their web pics of Rods were so horrific you'd go nuts.

I didn't. I saw a bunch of grainy images with Slimer drawn in.

I've been at work for an hour and I already want to pull a Hunter.

Yeah, I guess he did it while on the phone with his wife. He simply put the phone down and blew his head off in the kitchen.

"Yeah, uh, huh, uh, huh. K, well pick up a sixer and some eggs...wait, hold on.


So it goes.

Personally, I think I would do the same thing, but it'd be a sick call to work:

"Yeah, this is Matt, I'm not going to be in today. Why? Oh, well..........BANG!"

That was awesome.

Fucking Keith's degenerate ass called me this morning at 7.40. I'm not usually awake at this time, but for some reason I woke up early.

There was no point to his phone call, I later found out, but I called him back after missing the call cuz I was brushing my teeth.

And when I say "brushing my teeth," I mean taking a dump.

So, I call him back immediately, thinking that the only reason anyone would call me at this ungodly hour was if Condoleeza Rice suicide bombed Richard Perle.

But, no, no horror or brutal savagery, he was just bored.


I've noticed lately that this blog is really sucking. I can't think up any new stuff and nothing in real life is going on (see above).

That's why I've been running repeats.

I also got some much-wanted criticism from a fellow blogist on my photo gallery.

Apparently, I'm not the best cameraman.

Look, lady who thinks I'm not the best cameraman – I'll try harder.

For you.

It's come to this....

Things I Ate Yesterday

A bagel with butter and Parmesan

A baked potato with ketchup, Parmesan, and Tabasco

Chips and bean dip

Peanut M&Ms

Isn't that amazing?

Seriously, bloging sucks ass. I think I'm going to learn more about pediatrics with my spare time, rather than trying to think of comical things that aren't all that comical.

Like this one guy who did this one thing and we all laughed.

Fuck, that was funny.

And you're funny.

Make me a cake.

I love you.




K, so here are my secks stories. They are all lame, but see comments for why I am publishing them.


Done a bunch with an ex. But, see the trouble with anal is two part: 1) You get shit on your dick and the smell wafts up. It has nothing to do with hygiene, it's just when you put a good amount of lube inside a woman's butt, and you stir it with your dick...well you get the picture. 2) I like the woman on top when I come. It may sound strange, but when I'm doing all the work it's hard to get myself into the zone of coming. So, therefore, I can't finish from behind. I'm sure there's a way to do anal with the woman on top, but I haven't tried it. Also, I'm really into looking at a woman's face while I'm "on the job," so there you go.


The closest I came was with an ex and when went over to this cokehead chick's place. So, she gets us coke and we're doing a few lines and all of a sudden she asks my girlfriend if she would like to try on some lingerie.
I'm like "it's on!" So, they both start posing lingerie for me. At some point in time, I go out to get some CDs and ask my girlfriend if she's into a threesome. She's all for it and I'm raring to go. Well, we go back in and I start trying to nudge the cokehead into it with hints like "So, you ever have a threesome, been with a girl, etc." and she's not really taking the bait. So, I'm thinking this is fucked.

What are my options? Well, it's either me or my girlfriend who have to make a deliberate pass. My girlfriend isn't and this cokehead chick is going on about some afterlife test or some shit. So, it's up to me. The problem is, if I make a pass at this woman, the next day I'm going to catch hell from my girlfriend for making a pass at her. Trust me. Even though we both wanted the threesome, the second I make a pass it will be remembered. Especially if she doesn't go for it. So, long story short, and hour later I'm too coked up to even think about sex and we're taking her afterlife test.

Apparently, I'm an "old soul." So, maybe I've had shitloads of threeways and don't remember.

Lesbian sex:

I'm not a chick, so I haven't had lesbian sex.


A woman sends in a submission....dear lord.....

k: anal/threesome(hehe, kill two birds with one stone): I play guitar. The most fun I hav e playin is gettin together with a few people and Jammin. Not many girls play guitar ...have an 8-Ball in thier pocket, a bottle of Jack and a chip on thier shoulder that begs to be knocked off...except me.So were over at dude's house, jammin Allman Bros., snortin coke,(I am stealthy with my Jack...god knows why, its cheaperthan the Coke)...I prided myself at that time in my life(stupidly), as being the Chick that could outdrink ANY guy...and I could too...Well, hottie shawn and his roomate are left standin...well...not standin , but they can still fuckin talk, sorta. Next thing I know, Shawn is movin in to kiss. I had kissed him before...numerous places, numerous times..Good Kisser.As shawns hands entice nipples, toungue teasing me into ...OMGness..Roomy moves in.Hot Roomy moves in...(plays like Eric clapton...makes me wet..) So I'm all into it BIG BIG...not to mention both of them are BIG BIG...

....I'm rubbin dick...they are ALL OVER ME...both em, tradin kisses, kissin me at the same time...HEAVEN...Clothes are disappearin FAST...I'm straight up TEARIN clothes offa me, him, and him too. ...Naked...allthree...FINALLY! I am hot, wet , and swollen as hell...Winkin BIG BIG...finally...I feel the toungue of both in 2 different places. I WANT MORE!!! I grab the one lickin my pussy, deep throat him while the roomy is strokin hisself...I'm eyeballin him the whole time his dick goes down my throat...lookin up at him with "Fuck Me NOW' eyes...I stand up, beckon to the man with his dick in his hand..and kindly bare my ass/twat. Mmmm...I felt the head of his dick do that "nudge-nudge" thing...he slaps it up against my ass cheeks, then full out -open -hand spanks me...At this point I am MOANIN an WIGGLIN an BACKIN THAT ASS UP!! Roomate lays beside me...I am on him stink on shit...Straddled. Shawn is behind me ....we look at each other..shrug...I put roomy inside me ever so slowly...

...relishing the contrast of mushroom tip/shaft...I tease myself this way until I gat another "Slap" on the ass cheek by an enormous dick. Peering over my shoulder I wik...He gets the "go ahead"...Next thing I know ...I got big dick crammed in both holes...AND LOVE IT! That particular oriface had been "exit only", NOT NOW! OMG!!! I got two dicks poundin me...Long hair from all three of us all tangled...flyin ...sweaty...panting.....

I think we hear violence

I Can't Discern Commercials from Shows

I'm sitting, watching radio. Everything I need to know. There are bombs and guns, and guns and tanks, I'm shooting my gun at the TV, but it's full of blanks. Two score and four years ago, a teacher told me all I know. And forever I thought I was good and taught, but something comes and makes me dumb and I'm forever lost. Long, long time ago, dead skin and filthy elbow, I've been crossed. Back long time ago, when I lived like an elbow, everything was forced and made to believe. In my elbow days I was a joint to be relieved. Come far to come so far down, I've learned that learning is crime. Shot in face with spray paint. Dead hit with repellent and still we fall to knees. Said arms akimbo with hate on sleeve. Said for from tomorrow and out our eyes we bleed. Turn on the TV and blood is what we need. Not far from far down below – we make up what we believe. I watch commercial and trade entertainment for what I need. All I like on are blue and white lights. I'm so full of nothing I'm living off...say, come on, come on. Say come on! Come on! We're so full of lice that hangs from eyeballs full of cratered death so far, so sick, so fucking full of it! There's a done did, shoulda said, say quit bleeding noises and images off the fucking TV!

I've Got You, Bender


It's like seven in the morning and I'm probably still drunk.

Issaquah used to be a small town, until Microsoft and Costco came and turned it into a borough of Seattle.

And don't think the hicks don't forget this.

Sure, they'll take the millions in park funds and road construction and spend it on mayoral orgies under park benches, but they'll be damned if some bastard from the city is going to come and wreck "their" precious land of garage sale nostalgia.

Hey, kudos to them, but I have to work here.

Trust me, I wouldn't visit for any other reason. The place is a mess of traffic and drugs.

I lived down the street from work once, and when I say "down the street" I'm talking a couple blocks. Now, that should be an easy commute, but no, it was like a half hour to get to work. Five minutes to walk.

"K, so we basically have two parallel streets and the sides are lined with Costco, Home Depot, Fred Meyer, Krispy Kreme, Tully's, Starbucks, endless/nameless fast food, and corporate headquarters galore. So, now that we need two zip codes for this two mile area, let's go ahead and put a shitload of apartments in as well."

The drug scene is ugly as well. I lived in this one apartment for only two days before some cracked-out whore ended up on my doorstep asking me to go in on an eight ball.

"I don't even know who you are."

"So, let's party." In retrospect I shoulda fucked her and taken her coke, but I was a different man then (i.e.; believed in monogamous relationships and the idea that fucking a cracked out 20 year old was bad karma – I've grown since).

Every bar in this shithole has at least three drug pushers playing pool in it. And, if you want to see the effects of ecstasy on an 18-year-old with a fake ID, go no further than the Joker pub.

So, there's a little byte of what this city is like. Now, to live here is nuts, but to call it home and be proud is insane; that's why I had to laugh when...

I'm driving around, probably still drunk, at seven in the morning.

I pass a Target and see this cop.

I know the cops here suck: they park next to "no right on reds" and issue tickets all day while crackwhores break into apartments and give Dobermans oral sex for want of anything better to do, while urinating and defecating on silverware they steal and sell to immigrant farmers working at the Taco Time.

Ha, and I don't even know what hyperbole means.

So, I'm driving and thinking to myself "Let's not blow this, I have an egg Mcmuffin to be had."

Sure enough, the fucker begins pursuit.

It always amazes me the amount of Armageddon these cops use on the simplest pursuit.

I've got rollers, chasers, reds, blues, and a siren that sounds like Nazis are dropping V rockets on the roofs of school buildings; meanwhile, I'm doing five miles an hour and slowing down to stop.

The prick, because he is a prick if I ever met one, takes like nine years to approach the car. My guess is this is a cop trick to make you sweat.

The whole line about license and registration falls out of his mouth like so much gibberish from a Korean calculator manual.

He asks, "Why are you shaking?"

See, I'm a nervous person by nature, and with this pig's snout in my face and a venti Americano in my gut; I'm shaking like a bobcat on crack.

"Uh, well, it's been awhile since I've been pulled over."

"Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"No clue." And I didn't. I was driving safely and I'm a registered voter who only half believes anarchy is a legitimate option to government.

"See this?" He motions to my outer door panel, which is kinda hard to see from inside the fucking car.

"Um...." I poke my head out and begin thinking this guy must be nuts or maybe the T-1000. I start thinking of liquid metal forming a large machete and halving my head open.

"That's ash, son." He seems genuinely disgusted.

I look again and realize he's talking about what looks like the outside of an overused Weber. See, he's not nuts and he's not a robot from the future coming to decapitate me – he's just a prick.

It seems he didn't like the idea that I was driving a car with a mixture of rain and cigarette ash down the driver's door. "Sorry, sir. But, I put my butts out in the ashtray." I say, figuring that that's the only reason I could get a ticket: flicking the butt out the window. But, I was lying anyway.

"Don't matter. You know what ash can do?"

I'm dumbstruck. What the hell could ash do? I mean, it's somewhat a pollutant, but it's not like agent orange. "No."

"You get a motorcyclist behind you and you flick your cigarette ash and it gets in his eyes...see what I'm saying?"

I guess I saw what he was saying; the same way I see what politicians are saying when they exclaim "I have a plan."

I guess, in this cop's mind, ash is more dubious than the millions of pebbles on the highway that get kicked up in motorcyclist's face every day. In fact, a single flake of ash smacking a motorcyclist over and over could cause them to experience eye irritation on such an atomic level that he or she would be rendered blind by duck bites.

He left me with this gem, "I'm gonna give you a warning, but if I see you flicking your ash in my lovely city again, I'm gonna come down on you."

What pissed me off the most was this guy really thought he owned this city.

And what made me laugh is that he can have it.

I drove away thinking about him beating his children savagely for spilling juice on his lovely rug. Or, branding his wife's pussy with "my lovely pussy." Or, burying his billy club in a hooker's ass before burying her in a shallow grave in Renton.

The savagery that is the American Pig is mind-boggling and is the thread worn hole in our society that exposes just what kind of animals we really are.



Na Sue Lan

Dear Diary,

Splendid. How could i not have known that it was you, Diary that would betray me?
It was you on that midnight dreary that looked down from the barrel of that gun and pumped round after round of lead into my still beating heart.
But, ahoy, I live on, diary, you viscious bastard. And now I have you here, cornered and shaking in dread - Oh, Matt, don't kill me!

But, ha, I will kill you, diary. You smarmy twit.

Ha, look at those smoking holes, chump.

Diary man

A Slow Jam

Sex Story

So, I'm with this girl and we're at this circus. I took her out for her 30th birthday and I told her I had something special for her.

So, we're about to leave and I say "Wait, there's something I want you to see."

I take her to this tent, outside the circus, and lead her in.

The tent is empty and she asks me what's going on. I tell her to strip and she gets really excited.

I lie her down on the hay and begin kissing her body all over. She's panting and asking for more, I pull out a rubber horn and squeak it three times.

Into the tent come three of the most breathtaking clowns I have ever seen. One is female and the other two are male.

The female has an afro of bright red hair and the other two have long purple hair. They begin groping her body and spraying her with seltzer.

I watch all of this from a corner in the tent.

She's on fire as the female clown removes the two male clown's 14-foot rubber cocks from their trousers and then begins banging my girlfriend with her nine foot shoe and starts trying to climb her with this really small ladder.

An elephant comes in and the female clown applies KY to it's trunk and –

We interrupt this blog with a message from Ted Stevens of Alaska

Do you see what I mean by indecency, folks? You get these bloggers going and who knows what's gonna come out of their mouths.

I'm Ted Stevens, your Alaskan senator. I'm currently working on a campaign to make sure that cable stations abide by the same decency standards as the networks.

Now, I know most of you are wondering what a man from Alaska, who just sold out his state to big oil, would know about decency?

Well, for one thing – I know it has nothing to do with clowns fornicating. Good, sweet baby Jesus and all the saints! Is that what you people out there in cyberville get off on?

Clown porn?

Does the thought of a steaming clown pussy, wet with the ripe smell of pancake makeup and green fuzz turn you on? Or is it the enormous clown cocks that you wish would keep pounding you in the ass, over and over again until you scream "I'm one Alaskan Senator who loves taking it in the ass by clowns!"

I'm all sweaty now.

Well, folks like Joseph Leiberman and Al Gore are even on my side when I say that this nation is plummeting into a hole that we have decided is indecent.

Nevermind the fact that Joseph Leiberman and I enjoy the ripe stank of dead Iraqi carcusses, but scream in moral terror when we see Janet Jackson's fondue-ish milk jug. Nevermind that we prescribe religions that believe that snakes offer women fruit and the world was created in a week. And, finally, nevermind that Joseph Leiberman and I dress up like clowns and 69 to the break of dawn like wild Barnum and Bailey fluffers!

Look, we is the law and we make the rules.

Sit on it.

No, really, if you have that wig and make up, I want you to sit on it.


I Knew it Would Come to This

This is why I don't join groups.

So, I have a freakshow on my hands blaming me for some gibberish involving Martians from distant lands.

Hey, there's a few cool people out in the Spaces community, but don't involve me in your little cliques – I have no interest.

Click on my site all you want if you think there's something worth laughing at, but let's not pretend that we're buddies and you can throw your luggage on my doorstep or comments section.

Unless you're Aimsky, who keeps composure and can ride a typewriter like a champ.


This person has been forgiven for being cool.

But, it's spanking season and I got a hankerin' for a spankerin'.

Sunday Night I Rode a Bike

It's true.

Back before Monday had occurred, I was at The Great Nabob playing pool with the old man.

The old man had come by to pick up this end table he'd given me, and now was paying me 200 dollars to give it back.

Well, kinda. There was a stipulation: I had to bring him the head of Ed Asner. Oh, and I would have to buy a new end table.

It's fucking stupid. I told him I was broke and that I could use the money, but he wasn't having it. He wouldn't give me the money unless I bought something I didn't need. So, I'm getting a recliner Saturday, even though I'm broke.

Well, a couple beers later, and the old man leaves and I'm outside the bar with the bartender smoking.

The dude was cool and even bought me a beer and we sat around and talked about comic books; we were the only ones in the bar.

Soon, I was using change to buy beers. Later, I had him try a credit card to see if it had any money on it. Then, I had him try another one, drank off that for an hour, then had him try another one and left when I saw the last "Do not honor" receipt.

In between, this dude from the framing shop across the street came in with a bike.

It was a special edition, made by those dudes on that show Orange County....Christ, I forget the name of the show. It's the one where they make sup'd up motorcycles and such.

Well, according to this dude (who looked like Richard James from Aphex Twin), he got the bike from a garage sale for 70 bucks. The bike is probably worth 500, but whatever.

Oh, keep in mind, it's a bike bike, not a motorcycle.

So, I take it out for a spin after being told not to ride it in the bar, and I got a picture of myself on it.

Well, that dude left with his bike and some 23-year-old kid came in and started ordering Greyhounds and slugging them back. This is when the bartender handed me water and a "Do Not Honor" receipt and I left.

Man, in my mind, before writing, that was a better story.....


I'm Feeling Soooooo Baptist Today

Ah, what a morning. I think I might take a walk or - ahhhhhhhhhhh, nuts. I all of a sudden feel totally Baptist.
Lord, this happens every Sunday.......
Turning on the TV I find that the homoseckshuls have again spread Satanic Hate on another city.

Damnit, GOD! What the hell? I think it was that moonshine I drank last night or something. Jesus, I better lock the door before I -

I think I'll read some passages from the good book, let me lord, find wisdom in your hatred for all that are not like I. Let me bathe in the warm light and sunny glow for all that is deemed offensive to me and my close minded ilk. Let me run like a lost child in the sea of make believe, as I spin yarns of the good old days when we could righteously hang and quarter the offenders of thy lord

Fuck! This is just great. I have the neighbors due over for brunch in an hour! If I'm Baptist for even a second they'll never come over again! I need to see a doctor or

Ah, praise the Lord and let me spin the devil's internet into a mouthpiece for my utter hatred of those that would offend me for no reason at all. Let me lay a blanket of fundamentalist interpretations upon the comments of every site from here to etherternity. Oh, the Lord is a good lord, who giveth in parcels of paper that I shall hand out at colleges and save the non-Christian heathens from a good time. I shall -

Christ, they're here.

"Hello, Becky, how are you?"
"Great, Matt. This is my new girlfreind Judy."

(Gritting teeth....can't hold back...........slowly hulking into a ....)

"Oh, praise the Lord that you have come to me, for unto me I shall deliver you from the evils of your wayward, disgusting witchery that has perverted you into the demons I see before me, the louse himself has driven you to the bowels of evil and you stand before me for a feast, but no feast will come until you have unraveled your coils from the evils of female sodomite....ness. Oh, Lord, will you give me the strength to...."

"Matt, hey, are you OK? You seem to be a little....Baptist. Did you drink that Moonshine Scott made?"


"We could come back later?"

"Yeah, that might be best. I'm going to take some Advil and see how it goes. I'm really sorry about this."

"That's OK, my dad had a bout of Baptist about a week ago, was in bed for days. Get some sleep and stay away from the TV. I'll call you later."


"See ya."

Long Guitar Solo

Written by Aimsky.

driving school

when i was 17 i took drivers ed. the driving instructor was this guy named bryan. he was gross-looking, a hideous little troll of a man. had to be in his 40s, short, pregnant-looking and his face had a lot of loose skin, looked like a bull-dog. he was very mild-mannered, the class walked all over him. it got so bad one day that i think he was crying, everyone was talking and running around, people were going in and out of the window........he was always really nice and i always felt bad for him. then came the actual driving part. the first time he took me driving there were no problems. second time he patted my knee a couple of times but i thought nothing of it. third time rolls around. he has scheduled it for a dark rainy night, this is the first time i would drive on the highway. so i'm driving on the highway, doing good, and he keeps patting my knee again. then he leaves his hand there. then his fat greasy hand starts moving up my thigh. i look over at him and he is sweating. he's like, 'do u like this?' i'm kind of in shock, so i say, 'WHAT??' and he goes, 'nevermind' and u can totally tell he's getting off from fondling my thigh. then his hand moves up and starts trying to rub my pussy through my jeans and i push it back down. he keeps trying though. i'm starting to panic, can't breathe, decide to kill us. so i floor it and the car starts flying. it's dark and rainy, my first time on highway and we're doing 90. dammit, i forgot, he can brake from his side!

when he drops me off he apologizes and tells me what a nice person i am. i'm just like, 'yeah, i'm the nicest person i know' i go in the house and tell my mom what happened. we don't call the cops cuz every time we ever have, no matter what the situation, they find a reason to arrest me. so she calls the school, sends them a letter, i get my certificate w/out having to go back to class. a few days later i actually see him in the hall. he walks up to me and says hi, i book. all freaked out. i'm not even the only person he has done this to, why does he still have a job?? a few days later me and krista are outside waiting for someone and we see him in the driving car w/a student. krista starts screaming shit at him, calling him a fucking pervert and child molester. he covers his face with a newspaper.

i wonder what ever happened to that crazy guy!! in a way i hope he gets fucked in the ass by the cars tailpipe, (nolube) but in another way i was never really that angry about what he did. not happy about it but hey, it could've been worse.

i am on the phone w/a customer right now and when he found out his cd was no good he put it through his fucking PAPER SHREDDER! i thought he was joking when he said he was gonna do it, then i heard the crunching/snapping. why. i asked him why and he just laughed.

Where are you?

Another Inspirational Story of Love in Christ

This was written by a Hospice of Metro Denver physician

I just had one of the most amazing experiences of my life, and wanted to share with you how righteous and awesome I am:

I was drunk and driving home from an AA meeting this evening about 5, stuck in traffic on Colorado Blvd., and the car started to choke and splutter and die - I barely managed to coast, cursing, into a gas station, thinking this might be it: time to kill myself.

Before I could make the call, I saw a woman walking out of the "quickie mart" building, and it looked like she slipped on some ice and fell into a gas pump, so I got out to see if she was okay and if she'd give me some change for malt liquor.

When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was a young woman, so I'm thinking - maybe I can con her into sex?

At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient Suburban crammed full of stuff with 3 kids in the back (1 in a car seat), and the gas pump reading $4.95. I asked her "How about some backdoor action?" And she just kept saying "I don't want my kids to see me crying," so we stood on the other side of the pump from her car. She said she was driving to California or some shit. I wasn't really listening at this point.

So I asked, "And you were praying?" That made her back away from me a little but I assured her I was not a crazy person, gave her googly eyes and said, "He heard you, and He sent me." I then put my arms up like I was hanging from a cross.

I took out my card and swiped it through the card reader on the pump (so she she'd take the rap if someone found the stolen credit card), and while it was fueling walked to the next door McDonald's and brought her some packets of ketchup and mustard so the kids had something to do.

She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City. Her boyfriend left 2 months ago and she had not been able to make ends meet. She knew she wouldn't have money to pay rent Jan 1, and finally in desperation had finally called her parents, yada, yada, yada.

I had to laugh at how pathetic this was.

The next thing I know, I've got her in the backseat of my car on all fours. She was loving it. Later, I told the kids Ronald McDonald was outside and managed to talk the woman into coming with me and later I sold her and her Suburban for meth.

Sometimes the angels fly close enough to you that you can hear the flutter of their wings...

Psalms 55:22 "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee He shall never suffer the righteous to be moved."

Instructions were to pick four people that I wanted God to bless, especially for the months in 2005, and I picked you. Please pass this to four people you want to be blessed and a copy back to me.

This prayer is powerful and prayer is one of the best gifts we receive. There is no cost but a lot of rewards, let's continue to pray for one another.

Here is the prayer:

"Father, I ask You to bless my children, grandchildren, friends, relatives and email buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of your love and power. Holy Spirit, I ask You to minister to their spirit at this very moment. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self doubt, release a renewed confidence through Your grace, In Jesus' precious name. Amen."

I know I picked more than four and you can, too. When Satan is knocking at your door, simply say, "Come on in!"

Being blessed is GOOD...being HIGHLY FAVORED is best! Don't settle!

Garden of Eden

Letters to the Editor: A Sampling of Letters to the Editor

Dear, Matt
While I understand your opinion on the war in Iraq, I was just wondering why you state "and peanut butter was spread on the sandwich" when in last week's column, you stated that it was "a good helping of lettuce." Which is it, Matt? Or can't you keep your story straight? It seems to me that ever since you started applauding your view on the war in Iraq, you can't keep with what you said the week before. So, Matt, which was it: lettuce of peanut butter?

Evelyn Glades
Renton, WA

In Thursday's column you recommended oats for treating depression and I had some concerns. I'm a long time sufferer of depression and I've been eating oats since I was a child; almost for every meal and still I find myself melancholy most of the time. I haven't touched my salt lick in weeks and no longer have the energy to run the full track, much less catch that rabbit that is propelled around it. Could you please research this further and let your readers know of other resources for fighting this debilitating disease?

-The Horse
Kansas City, California

While you suggest that alien life is far from possible, may I suggest this: maybe you are not looking in the right place. Say, maybe within the letters of intranet communication? HA HA HA HA HA

-(name withheld)

Hey, bud, I'm still down in Florida. I enclosed some vacation photos and a couple of bucks for the kid's birthdays. Love always, Susan.

- Susan
Ft. Meyer, Florida

What's the deal with this thing I'm holding, right now. You know what this is? I picked it up over there and I can't figure out what it is for the life of me. I mean, it's gotta be something?

Four Oaks, New York

Where do you get off? I'm outraged. In last's week's column you explained that bald men should be "shot" and are "a disease on this society." Well, being bald, I took exception to this particular hate-filled anger rant. My people have been living in the United States since it was founded and have given to this nation for years and for years to come. I guess bastard bigots like you would just like to dress us up in wigs or send us back to our own country? Is that it? Well, maybe you have a few inadequacies that you need to discuss with someone. Look, we're bald and we're here to stay. Get with the program, buddy.

-George Fred
Waterpark City, New Jersey

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Leave Early

I want to share my tongue with you.

Notice that I've been eating peanut butter girlscout cookies.

I know you're wet with anticipation.

Boredom. Nothing to do. Work sucks. I think I might leave my computer on and leave. Maybe start a cult in my attic.

Dude, I don't even have an attic.