Levi Larrington Lives

If I Were a Bear

2012-02-09T17:15:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I’ll get bored and create legions out of the food in my house and make them fight each other. And, yes, the mustard is always a colonel.

The thing that bothers me the most about Seattle isn’t the rain; it’s all the misunderstandings when a woman tells me she’s wet.

Sometimes I’ll hit the mute button on my phone while ordering a pizza just to see how well I’ve got it down.

It’s a crap shoot eating expired food. On the one hand, you can get sick. But on the other you can discover some remedy to a disease you might have.

I once asked this woman out to dinner and to get out of it she said to me she had no mouth.

It’s not like I don’t like life, it’s more like I don’t know it well enough.

This one time when I was a kid I broke my toe. So, for a whole summer I couldn’t count to twenty.

What I like best about flying in a plane is looking down at all the people and how tiny they are and how from up there I have the biggest penis. Except for all the other guys in the plane. Maybe.

If you have grandparents still, you are lucky. They are nature’s national resource. Like coal they can be incredibly useful. And like gasoline they have a very pungent odor. But, unlike gold, they can not be melted down and made into things. This isn’t a joke. It’s more of a warning.

What’s that city that they say is the “city of lights”? Why not call it the city of shadows? That would be cooler and still would make sense.

Why don’t they make blinds for your bathtub? The drapes are so lame. I like the idea that I can open the blinds and see if it’s still sunny in my bathroom.

I have waking dreams where I’m getting really hammered.

Using a pencil without lead is pointless.

I was working out the other day and noticed the guy next to me was making grunting noises while he ran on the treadmill. So, I started moaning.

The thing I hate most about dieting is all the food I’m wasting by not eating it. I imagine all the different foods I could be eating and how I’m just wasting them. And then I think about Al Gore and environmentalists and then I really go ape on a pizza.

There needs to be more zoos with food instead of animals. You just take your kids and you look at all the cages of food. Then instead of little placards with information about animals, it’s information on how to make the food. But I’d still have a snake room.

This guy was on TV the other day talking about how dinosaurs never existed and that evolution was completely false. I think his name was Albert. Anyway, FYI.

Am I the only person who’s turned two TVs so they are facing each other and turned them on and really got turned on by watching them watch each other?

I’m a big fan of sex.

I bet those guys that throw knives at the circus start off with spoons. Then move to forks. Then the knives. The really good ones use chainsaws. I haven’t seen any really good ones.

The worst thing about the news is the tragedy. I couldn’t even make up some of the awful things I see on the news. Like that guy who took his wife and…see I can’t even make that up.

A fortune teller once started giving me mouth to mouth the second I walked in.

Children are little miracles. Like that one that I turned into wine.

One thing is for sure about Noah – he probably really stunk.

If I were a bear, I would probably teach the other bears how to run for president.

Interactions

2012-02-01T12:37:00.001-08:00

It would be better if you didn’t do that. Seriously, stop it. I’m really not joking anymore. You need to stop doing that. OK, now I’m totally serious about this. I want to prevail upon you that if you don’t stop doing that, I’m going to do something. I don’t even know what. It’s hard to think about it while you’re doing that. But once you stop it for half a second I’m going to really let you have it somehow, after I devise a plan to do so.

Yeah, I’d just like to take back this frozen pizza. No, there’s nothing wrong with it. I’m just really broke and need the money for beer. But the customer is always right. And I’m right when I say you need to give me my money back so I can get drunk with it. See, I have some cheese and bread at home and now I don’t need this until payday. I’ll be back to buy it back then. I know this isn’t a pawn shop. I’m not blind. I was just there selling my Dad’s class ring.

Hello! I saw you had a “For Sale” sign out front. How much? That’s a little out of my price range. What about just for the kitchen? Yeah right, what? You’d make a bundle piecing the house. I don’t know why you’re laughing. This is the scheme of the century. You sell me that kitchen for 50 grand, then you sell the living room for a cool 100, each bathroom for 25, then the master bedroom for 100, and the two other rooms for 75 – that’s a cool I don’t know how much and you’d still have the garage to live in. Man, I guess you just don’t understand real estate and I need to use your bathroom.

I’ll race you for one of those Big Macs. Hey – you! I’ll race you for that Big Mac. Yes, you. Get it together, pal. It’s racing time. I don’t care what you’re doing with your family. You need to get out of that seat and race me out front for that Big Mac. Your kids can watch you lose. But in the end, you’ll be watching me eat that Big Mac. What are you? Chicken? Bawk, bawk, bawk. See, even your kids are laughing. You want me to stop? Oh, you’re getting up to get the manager. Don’t shove me. I want a race, not a fight.

Do you have any vowels? Huh? No. I want a vowel. It’s the letters A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y. Dude, Amazon has everything. You have to have vowels. Yes you can. I saw it on that Wheel of Fortune thing – ya see, I figure if I get a stockpile of vowels I can sell them on the street outside the studios in Burbank. Yeah, so you and me – we make some vowel money. I know Amazon is just stockpiling them for the same reason, but we can double cross them. Sometimes. Why?

OK. Kind of a situation here. It’s rather embarrassing, so could you ask that everyone in the office leave? I understand this is Urgent Care – but this is REALLY urgent and REALLY embarrassing. If you don’t do it, I will. OK. You’ve forced my hand. Everyone! Hey, everyone – the urgent care has run out of medicine! It’s in your house, and Jack’s house, and Susan’s house! I see no one is leaving. OK, I have a Milk Dud in my ear.

Some stuff about stuff

2012-01-31T13:39:00.001-08:00

I was watching American Psycho the other night and I was thinking “I can relate.”

It’s not that I would like to kill people, it’s just that I think stabbing would be fun. Like as a sport. I would be good at it. You get real close to something and then just wam-wam-wam.

Remember that song Wham Rap? Now tell me you haven’t wanted to stab someone.

But murder is bad. You shouldn’t do it. I think. I can’t remember. It’s been ages since I’ve been to church. Sometimes I forget. Like the other day when I was worshipping that golden calf and in the middle I was like “Wait – I’m not supposed to be doing this.” That was a lot of clean up. Also, I had to figure out how to sell a golden calf. It’s not easy. Most people want half the cost for postage. Eventually, I just started riding it. It wouldn’t go anywhere. But I looked pretty boss, naked on my golden calf at Walmart.

A lot of people get down on Walmart for being mean or something. I can’t remember. It was in the news or something. Anyway, point is, people are mean to Walmart. It’s just a shopping center with cheap products – what’s wrong with that? Sure, they treat their employees like scum and run Ma and Pop stores out of business and have sex with my wife, but that’s how you keep margins low. Sure, every time you buy a gallon of orange soda an executive in Arkansas rapes a mule – but that’s the price you pay for orange soda savings – mule rape.

Rape is never funny. Not even when you’re talking about mules. Mules are people too. Think about it. And while you’re thinking about that, a mule is probably taking your job. That’s the way it goes when you live in the West: mules get raped and take your job. It’s the circle of life.

Why the circle of life? Why not a square. It’s not like the world is round. A lot of people will tell you it is – like creationists and gays. I’m pretty sure it’s those people – those guys that move their body parts into different positions and become cars. I think their god is Optimus Prime or something. Anyway, you shouldn’t hate Walmart.

Some people you should hate: that guy down the street who got mad that I was looking at his wife. Looking at his wife! That’s it. I was naked, I wasn’t in a tree, and I wasn’t touching myself. I simply looked at her and took out my phone and tried to see how much that model cost. When I couldn’t find it, I asked the husband how much he got her for. And, yes, I can see how that might be misconstrued – like I meant for sex or something. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I just wanted a housecleaner. When I tried to explain this, things got worse. Maybe because she had just had a stroke or the fact that I had lit his house on fire a couple weeks before, or maybe just because he was my Dad.

I don’t understand why people don’t get along with their Dads. Dads are great. Like this one Dad that I had when I was a kid. I think his name was Jim. Or Ronny. Maybe Ronny – Jim. Like we were hillbillies or something. Wait – that was Bill Clinton. Bill Clinton wasn’t my Dad. God, I wish I knew who my Dad was. Maybe I’ll ask the Dad I have now. He might no who the first model was. Then I could track him down and be like “DAD!” and then we could talk about old times. Like when he sold me to my new Dad for that mule.

If I could be one man on Earth for a day, it would be my Dad, Bill Clinton. He was once my Dad and once President. That’s two things I’ve never done before in my entire life. That makes him a hero to me. Like Patrick Bateman.

Jr. High

2012-01-27T12:59:00.001-08:00

The library is empty and I’m spinning a metal rack of young adult books around. There’s one about a boy who wakes up with a third arm. I open it and page through looking for the point where he grows the extra arm.
There’s a clock on the wall and I look up at it and realize I only have three minutes to get to the cafeteria.
If you get caught in the halls between classes, you get in trouble.
I put the book down and move towards the door and grab the handle, but it won’t open. Something is on the other side pulling it closed.
I yell at the person on the other side, but the door doesn’t let loose. I let go and try the door again and it opens and outside is the school security guard dressed as Robocop.
“You’re late for lunch.”
“You were holding the door.”
“I was holding nothing. Nothing at all.”
He puts his arm around me and walks me out a window.
Then I just, you know, just kinda fall. Extra arms begin growing out of my body as I plunge down the side of a tower and into the ground in Dubai.
I wake up and examine the world back then. When I got into the library and when I fell into Dubai. There’s nine new arms growing out of my torso and I can type on nine different computers, nine different stories. Each one has a different flavor to what I was doing in the library. In one it’s not a book about third arms at all. It’s a book about bees. In another I’m laying on the floor of the library reading emails that are posted on the ceiling.
All of these stories happened at the same time.
I’m in a large building as I type. The sun is coming in through a window and I have to squint.
*“I am in a library. The lights are all out. There’s a woman in glasses staring at me from behind a desk. I lift my hand and wave and she doesn’t wave back. I pick up a book from a metal spindle rack and begin leafing through ‘Eskimos of the North’ and every page is a different picture of me in the library. One where I’m waving at the woman, one where I’m reading the Boy with the Third Arm, one where I’m lying on the floor…”*
I stop typing and notice the light is coming from an approaching object. I stand and look out the window and it appears to be a comet or asteroid. The horizon behind it is on fire and I look down and notice that the city below me is also on fire.
I hope the tower I’m in stands.
The object stops in mid air and slowly moves towards the window.
The room lights on fire and I sit down on the floor and try to breathe in the fumes before I catch fire.
I feel the tower tilt and fall beneath me. I look around and I’m facing the glowing mass as I sit in mid air.
It beeps at me like a Fax machine.
I look behind me and ask “Are you talking to me?”
It beeps again.
A sound from underneath it and a very large number of human bodies drop and fall to the ground.
“Are you talking to me?”
It turns and speeds off in the opposite direction, but a rope made of light leaps from it and twists around my ankle taking me with it.
The librarian asks me what I’m reading. I look down at the book and it’s a snapshot of the aircraft dropping bodies on Dubai.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes. What are you reading?”
“I’m reading a story.”
“May I see it?”
I hand her the book and she looks down at the picture in disbelief and then up at me. Then she looks down at the picture and starts walking backwards towards her desk.
She gets on the phone and quietly gives instructions to someone on the other end.
I spin the metal rack and pick out a new book called The Librarian is Calling the Police.
The door opens and the guard isn’t in the hallway now. It’s empty.
The floor is littered with candy wrappers and soda pop cans. BDP is being piped in through the school speakers and it's that song The Blueprint. I kick some popcorn and move towards a drinking fountain.
It’s marked Out of Order. I try it and it works.
I walk down the hall.
A door opens and police run passed me and down the hall. They run through me. Dogs and all.
I look behind me and they open a door and as they pass through it their uniforms turn into the Desert Storm uniforms from 91 and I see burning oil towers in the distance.
I hang a left and two girls are fighting in the hallway.
They yell obscenities at one another and then the one with brown hair grabs the other’s black hair and runs her head into a locker.
Blood.
The brown haired girl is trying to understand what she just did when a large cavity opens in the hallways and the girls go dropping into the Earth, followed by candy wrappers, lockers, Coke cans, and I think a PE teacher.
“What are you reading?”
I look down at the book.
“I think it’s a math book.”
“May I see?”
She takes the book and says “I remember this.”
She hands it back and I look at it and I can’t read the language. It doesn’t seem like any language I’ve ever seen.
“What is about?” I ask her.
“Oh, it’s about that time…” She spins her finger in the air as if she’s dancing.
“What time?”
“That time we rocked around the clock.”
“Bandstand?”
She nods and smiles. She’s tearing up. The janitor is tearing large swaths of the library apart with his hands and there’s nothing but abyss behind it all.
I look up and a woman is staring at me from behind a desk. Another desk.
I tell her the door won’t open.
“You can’t leave here until 2.20.”
“But I’m 35?”
“3.20. Keep it up.”
I look around the room and I’m the only person alive. The rest of the seats are occupied by dead kids.
Light comes in through the window a tail grabs me by the leg and we go shooting off into the moon.

Egg Rolls

2012-01-18T13:37:00.001-08:00

They are projecting images in my mind. Nimbus clouds and rhombuses. Nimbus clouds and walruses.
Here in the center for the mentally unable.
I protest and when asked I only respond “I only see egg rolls.”
“You would.” A voice in my head responds.
The doctors shake their heads and say “You can do better than that.”
I stare at the walrus, the nimbus, and the rhombus. “I cannot do any better. I only see egg rolls.”
I imagine it’s better than playing along. I have no faith that I will be released from this very serious house, so why make my captors think they are progressing with my treatment?
“Eggrolls.”

Back in my room I greet David, my roommate. “Hullo, David!”
“Iggy Pop tried to rape me.” David says as he looks up from a game of Scrabble he’s playing by himself.
“Really, now? Is he still in the room? I would love to get an autograph.”
“No. He’s gone. He came to me in a dream. He also lost my dog.”
For the life of me I can’t figure out if David is playing nuts like me or is really nuts. Judging by his lack of taste for excrement like the others in here, I’m guessing he’s putting me on. Or, possibly, there’s nothing nuts about dreaming Iggy Pop raped you. I imagine you can’t be held accountable for dreams. I sure wouldn’t want to be. I mean, the pure numbers of times I’ve flunked out of college and shown up for the final naked after not studying all semester – my father would be pissed at that waste of money.
“David, do you ever want to get out of here? I’ve been here for almost ten years now and I know they won’t release me. All hope is gone.” I sit on my bed and put my face in my hands.
“You know, there’s more than one way to skin a goat.” David says.
I look up at him from between my fingers. “Uh, huh. And if that goat were an escape plan?”
David looks out the window and points. “There’s nothing there. Nothing.”
“Sure there’s something!” I stand. “Jobs, women, drugs, excess, freedom, cheeseburgers!”
“They serve cheeseburgers on Fridays in the cafeteria.” David says glumly.
“Yes. Of course they do. But don’t you, you know, want a life? A life of your own?”
“This is my life.” And David stares down at his Scrabble board and spells “freedom” off “eggrolls”.

Before I was caught, I was something of a cool guy. I had a great job, girlfriends, houses with an “s” and all the trappings of what it was to be a guy you wanted to be.
All of that changed with a simple encounter.
Something ugly came into my life and started sucking the life out of me. Something vile and parasitic. And if you think I’m leading up to a metaphor, you’d be wrong. It wasn’t drugs or women or disease – it was something alien.

“Are you going to eat that?” David asked me looking at the cheeseburger on my tray.
“David, you’re going to eat two cheeseburgers?”
“No. I want to give it to the janitor for a cigarette.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“I don’t smoke now. Who knows if I’ll ever start. And then where will I be without that cigarette?”
“I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”
“I think everything through. All the way through. That’s why I’m in here. I think farther than the normal person,where most people stop is where I begin. And that stepping off point is what they call reality. If they only knew what’s really out there.”
“You told me nothing was out there yesterday.”
“Out there, there’s nothing.” David said pointing out the window. “But in here…” He points at his head.
“Eggrolls.”
“What is your fascination with eggrolls?”
“I just think they’re cool. People are eggrolls. Fried and burned up on the outside, but on the inside they’re…what the hell is that shit in an eggroll? Not the meat, the – is it sprouts?”
“I think you just choose not to think farther than reality. And I think, for you, it’s cowardice.”
“Then I guess I’m a coward.”

I was in bed and this orb appeared. Just hovering over the bed. I stared at it and tried to think of what it could be besides a green orb. It was 4ish in the morning. I stared for a minute or so and couldn’t come up with any ideas to make me content, so I turned on the lights and there in front of me was the alien.

“You know, I heard they sometimes let people out. For good behavior. Like Marvin.”
“Marvin committed suicide.”
David shrugged “See?”
“See what? That Marvin committed suicide?”
“No, they let him commit suicide.”
“You’re insane.”
“I already explained this.”
“So, who’s winning?” I looked down at the Scrabble board.
“I am.”
“You are vague like the sun is hot.”
“And do we know that?”
“That the sun is hot?”
“Yes, how do we know?”
“Everyone knows the sun is hot. This is stupid.”
“Have you touched it personally?”
“I don’t need to, scientists take decades of schooling to assure me that it is.”
“Then you’re basing your opinion on hearsay.”
“99% of life is hearsay.”
“You don’t say?” David played “orb” off “monster”.

It was about 15 feet tall, and hunched over my bed. The green orb was circling it’s black shape. I couldn’t move. I only looked up into its hideous red eyes and determined I was about to enter a place I’ve never been before.
“We read all about you.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Your people. We’ve come to assign you a task.”
Nothing. I could barely manage a breath.
“You are to help us…adapt.”

“You know, you’re pretty content for an insane person.” I say to David as I watch him play Scrabble.
“Being in content means never having to say you're sorry.”
“We need to escape.”
“Like Marvin?”
“Fuck no. I mean leave the grounds. Escape. Go back to humanity.”
“It’s gone. Look out there. What do you see?”
“Rolling hills and trees.”
“And beyond that?”
“Nothing, I can’t see that far.”
“Then why?”
“Because I was there. I know that there’s steak houses, bars, booze, drugs, girls, websites…”
“Are you the same person you were then?”
“It was ten years ago, I don’t even remember what I was like.”
“Then how do you know those things are still there and you’ll still like them?”
“Don’t get odd. Every conversation with you is odd. Can’t you just – you know, talk normal?”
“No. I already explained where you choose to drop off and I choose to begin.”

“We need to install ourselves on your world. As…” It’s shadow face gained texture as it wrinkled around the black mouth and “…guests.”
I finally managed “I have money. You want…money? There’s drugs in the cabinet in the kitchen. Take them. Just…stop talking to me.”
“We need certain knowledge of where certain things are. Am I speaking correctly?”
“Take the computer. It’s a laptop. Or, I know women?”
“For instance, I need a supply of greenhouse gas? Is that what you call it?”
“Sure. Greenhouse gases. I can get those.” I summoned the courage to rise. “What are you?”
“We also need food fast. The greasy kind. And cigarettes.”
“I have cigarettes here.” I offered it a shaking hand with a deck of cards in it.

David is out the window, holding the inside of the room in one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other. The storm outside doesn’t seem to deter him.
“I started smoking – I told you!” David yells at me.
I had been downstairs playing a video game and had come up to offer David a bag of Fritos.
“David, maybe you should come back in.”
“You don’t understand, this isn’t an easy habit to kick!”
“David, it’s raining! You’ll slip!” He’s crouched on the sill.
“I really need to quit!”
"You just fucking started!"

2

The light faded away around him and then all was black, except for a red dot in the distance.
He floated towards it as it sucked him in.
He looked around. The room was lined with burlap sacks and the stink of sulfur.
He cleared his throat and looked around once again.
"Nothing." He said to himself.
He looked towards the orb on his left that hung in the air glowing red now.
It chirped.
He looked towards a painting of Napolean on a horse, hung on the wall of bags.
The orb began to moan.
Glancing at the orb, he nodded and moved towards the door where the trail of blood led.
Opening it, he found himself in the board room once again.
"Charles, where the devil were you?" Hamstrand exclaimed to the room of suits.
"Go fuck yourself." Charles said and sat down wiping dust from his sleeves.
"Excuse me?" Hamstrand asked.
"Fruit loops. Harlem Globetrotters. Ed McMahon."
The board murmured and Hamstrand asked "Are you alright?"
"I'm not alright." Charles took out a cigarette and lit it.
"Hamstrand!"
"Oh, pardon the cigarette."
"The cigarette is hardly the problem."
Charles looked over at the woman next to him wearing the Nancy Regan red power suit. "I'm sorry." And he flicked the cigarette at Hamstrand.
"CHARLES!"
Charles moved towards the woman next to him, grabbed her face to his lips and blew. "Bbbbbbbbbllllllpppppp". She screamed and leapt from the chair and ran into the closed door.
Charles snickered as she fell to the floor.
Hamstrand was too busy hitting the security button to notice.
The room grew black as Charles had his millionth heart attack and slumped in his chair staring at the ceiling, at the red light.

3

Communication

2012-01-13T10:27:00.000-08:00

We use straws as Lincoln Logs. We use straws as magic wands. Coming closer to a theater near you. We use straws as Lincoln Logs.
Did you get that?
No idea.
Safety in numbers. We come in hundreds. Thousands. Millions. To a theater near you.
What in the hell?
We know worlds. We use words. We come in numbers. To a theater near you. We, rabid principles. We ravaged disciples. Put them on puppets and wave them around. We’ve been doing this forever and we’re coming to your town.
Pretty sure it’s authentic. Can you…the reverb is….I’m not – change the mic. The mic.
Dawn and man, man in dawn. Loose lips sink ships and your time has drawn. Wondered through the Apache. Loved. Lost. Lived. Long lived and loved. Forms words. Sentences. Paragraphs. Telegraph, readouts. We’re within.
It’s like spam or? I think it’s over there…no, it’s like it’s coming in from all directions. Can you zero in on…or….
Massive static. Are you reading us or just fine by us. We are tuning our minds to process words, letters, numbers, we communicate through you.
Recordings picking up nothing.
Let’s try it again.
We’re coming from inside your mind. Webs, drawings, sequences, course of language. Liberal doses of language. Like Ls and Ps and Qs. Trying. Trying. Trying.
It’s making more sense.
Not really.
Having tried for thousands of years to communicate we are at a loss for words. Ideas and constructs elude us and we are only now coming close to any readily available terms used and conditions in making this movie. Better. Better. We are coming to you from inside your own minds. We are legion and are upon you.
It’s not even…crap. Did you turn the lights out?
No, that’s a power issue. I don’t think the transmission…it’s over. I think.
Christ! Fucking lights all over.
We have landed.

Badger Circus

2012-01-11T13:59:00.001-08:00

The Lion Tamer approached the lion and took out his whip. He prepared himself for the beast that was before him. Slowly, he approached the giant cat.

“There! You beast, taste my whip!” And the Lion Tamer struck at the beast and it submitted to him.

“Lion! Back! Back!” And the Lion Tamer picked up the chair and plunged it towards the lion.

Next, the Lion Tamer picked up another lion and swung it at the lion “How about some of your own medicine, Lion?”

The beast roared at the Lion Tamer (the one in his hand, the other lion, the lion he was taming stood still). The Lion Tamer became frightened and dropped the beast, now he needed to tame two lions.

So, he picked up another lion from his Shurgard storage container full of lions, then he picked another. He tied the two lions together and now he had lion nunchucks.

“On guard, feral lions!” And he swung the forward lion at the other two lions, but the lion in his hand began biting his arm and he let the lions loose and they flew into the other two lions and they all began to fight.

The Lion Tamer then slowly walked from the cage and then bowed at the audience of badgers who were clapping in approval.

“Right concert you put on!” Said one badger.

“You have inspired me to tame the forest!” Yelled another.

But King Badger the Second did not approve. For when the Lion Tamer walked to the great badger, he noticed a look of strict and utter disappointment.

“Yea, great Lion Tamer, you have tamed the lions, but you have done so out of accident. If that lion had not bitten you, you would never have flung the lion nunchucks at the other two lions, thus creating the fight that has now ended in four dead lions.”

The Lion Tamer began to weep and he walked away from the tent in shame.

“Let that be a lesson to all badgers – the mighty Lion Tamer is a fraud and let there be no more lion taming in the forest for now on. Strike that – let there never again set foot in our forest a human!”

The badgers all began to clap and the lights dimmed and went down.

A spotlight lit upon a lowly squirrel, dressed in a tuxedo shirt that he wore like a dress.

“Gentle badgers, my name is Larry the Squirrel and here’s my take on life:

Have you ever noticed how when humans come through hiking and they sit down and they are surrounded by nuts and fruit and roots and they take out a sandwich and start eating it? It’s like if you brought a sack lunch into a McDonalds – am I right?”

The badgers all boo’d.

“OK, OK, so get this, there’s this zebra in the woods. Everyone’s thinking ‘How did a zebra get into the woods?’ and the Zebra’s all like ‘I rode here on the bear.’ Get it?”

The badgers began to boo and a lion was released on the stage and the squirrel took off into the badgers and the badgers scattered and as they left the tent they ran into the poles and the tent fell down and then exploded, sending badgers and squirrels and lions all over the world.

And that’s how the universe was made, Bobby.

“Dad?” And Bobby woke up.

Do Not Disturb Me During My Fucking Lunch

2012-01-09T13:46:00.000-08:00

No matter how good or bad this lunch is, do not fucking disturb me during it.

Yes, I understand that you have a pressing matter that needs my attention – but I’m eating my fucking lunch.

That’s correct, it is a fucking lunch. Normally, I’m just eating lunch, but this is different.

I really needed this fucking lunch to catch a breather. Not only that, I’m starving from sitting in that meeting with you for five hours. Plus, it’s Taco Tuesday.

Put all those points together and you get a Fucking Lunch.

And you’re trying to disturb it.

Wait – you can’t proceed without my help? That changes everything. Here’s my advice – take a Fucking Lunch. By the time you’re done with your Fucking Lunch, I will be done with mine and we can regroup and pool our action items to develop the project by the end of the day.

Or you could just Fucking Go Away.

Normally, I wouldn’t tell you to Fucking Go Away, but you’ve been here at my desk far too long and I have not sunk tooth one into my tacos. That spells Fucking Go Away.

So, it’s your choice, you can take a Fucking Lunch or Fucking Go Away.

OK. I read you, you are choosing to pick Fucking Stick Around Awhile Longer and hope that I give up on my Fucking Lunch before you Fucking Go Away.

Well played.

However, I have an ace up my sleeve – I’m going to the Men’s Room to eat my Fucking Lunch so you can’t bother me, seeing as you’re a woman. You can’t follow me there.

Much better.

Please don’t rattle the door of this stall. I am in here eating my Fucking Lunch.

Calendar

2012-01-03T14:01:00.001-08:00

It’s another New Year and you know what the means – time to get a new calendar.

That’s right. In today’s techno age, you might think a man like me would be happy with his phone or his computer.

Make no mistake – none of those things make me happy.

I’m more of a nuts and bolts type of guy. I like material items. It’s the same reason I eat food rather than looking at pictures of food. I need a good flip book for the year, so that I can thumb through the calendar and it creates a sort of cartoon that is completely disjointed.

I like to write funny things down, like “Today is Tuesday” on ever Tuesday. Or “Quit smoking” or “Quit drinking” knowing that neither will happen.

What’s more, I like to cross out holidays that I don’t celebrate. It gives me a real joy in knowing that I got that holiday out of the way, even if I don’t plan on observing it.

Like Flag Day.

There are more conveniences as well – try checking your calendar on your phone when you’re on the phone. I did it once and it was nerve racking. I had to put the caller on speaker, then find where my calendar was and then tell him “OH, WAIT – I never use this thing.”

But calendars cost money. That’s why I sometimes just use old calendars and spend a good portion of the year rewriting the dates. Like the one I have from High School. I will sometimes leave in whatever was written on it too! Oh, WOW – I have a date with my sweetheart from Creative Cooking this Thursday!

I also like going to the local book store (local for this state) and figuring out what calendar best describes me. Am I more of a ducks on a pond kind of guy or (insert TV show) dude? Normally, I will pick a calendar that doesn’t describe me at all. That way I can hone the personality of, say, a guy who’s 35 and likes Twilight.

When I purchase the calendar I always say to the clerk “I hope this goes well.” That’s my type of humor.

Unfortunately, no clerk has ever laughed at this and one time I was boo’ed from the store.

Some calendars come with stickers and crayons and stuff like that. Like the one I got a year ago from my mother who still insists I have Downs Syndrome.

Oh, Mom!

At the close of the year I will trade calendars with my friend Rupert and we will rate our years based on the entries.

For instance, last September, Rupert gave me a “C” as I had only a dentist appointment and “GET BURRITOS” written down for the whole month.

Whereas, last February, I got an “A” for such entries as “Express interest in Erica”, “Ask Erica out”, “Tell Erica you love her”, “Ask Erica to marry you”, and “Apologize to Erica”.

On the final day of the year I will look back at my calendar and relish in my accomplishments. For instance, I didn’t overcome my alcohol dependency, but I did manage to clean my bathroom. And maybe this wasn’t the year to stop borrowing money from my Mother, but it was the year that I got a silk screen Metallica poster.

And now I find myself with an empty calendar – chock full of empty pages that I can write my hopes and dreams on for 2012.

Of course, on December 21 I have already written “Die.”

Which really puts a lot of pressure on this year – it’s the last one. Like Y2K. I remember living Y2K the way it should be lived: lots of booze, coke, and sex. And I also remember how the world didn’t end and I ended up with lots of disease, debt, and imprisonment.

Therefore, I have learned my lesson and let no one say that I wasn’t wise when planning my 2012. I have decided to survive the tsunami of death that will rain upon this Earth come December. Here’s how:

June 1: Make spaceship.

So, as you can see, a physical calendar is the way to go. Call it old fashioned, but I’m sticking to it.

And now I can cross “Write calendar post” off my calendar.

Ta

This is getting old

2011-12-28T17:15:00.001-08:00

If I could time travel I’d totally go back in time and see Back to the Future in the theater again just to be ironic.

I’ve been looking for the black setting on my coffee maker for years. I want to turn it off.

Little known fact: you can explore other dimensions using fabric softener.

I’ve got nothing to prove – yes, my teleportation machine only teleports me to where I started from.

Am I the only adult that runs and hides when people come to the door like kids do?

As much as I love my wife I wish she were around more. Also, that whole thing about being real would be good too.

The best way to get out of jury duty without saying something mean is stating I hate the Chinese. Then when the lawyer guy is walking away from you, pull out an egg roll and say …food and give the rest of the jurors a thumbs down.

I think it’s crazy that we live in an age where people use computers to communicate. Why did we give up on the shout? We never really explored it in my opinion. Maybe I’ll work on this. I don’t know. I’ve got a big weekend, though.

Do you ever do things and think “Man, think about what I would think of this when I was 12.” Like you get a bunch of booze and pizzas and fireworks and think about how lucky you are that you can buy that stuff because you’re an adult? I do that every day just to let the point really hit home.

I guess the most unpopular firework is the match.

This petitioner guy asked me to sign something the other day. I’m not sure what it was for, but I signed it anyway. Have to keep those jobs.

Try this: answer your phone and chewing on the receiver and hang up. Nine out of ten times they won’t call back.

When I was a kid I told my Dad I wanted to be an astronaut, so he showed me that movie Alien. He didn’t have astronaut school money.

The best thing to do on New Years day is to promise yourself you’ll get fatter. That way no one can say “You’ll never do it.” Because you can look them in the eye and say “Oh, yeah?” as you eat them.

Any time I take my niece or nephew out for lunch I will say “This is getting old” when I pay the bill.

It's For Me

2011-12-28T13:34:00.000-08:00

A good one is about the man who put time in a bottle and then, later, wanted to open it, but the lid was on way tight, so it took an hour to get the lid off and that’s all the time that was in there. That would be a good one.

Sometimes, while eating sunflower seeds, I will look at one and think about what could have been.

Other times, I’ll drive around roundabouts over and over again just to have the right of way all day long.

I had a buddy who visited his parents and his mom told him to go out and look at his dad’s new license plate and tell her what it said. He walks out and sees the plate “JAGADIC” and comes back in and says “Jagged dick?”
“No, it’s Jag addict!” His father yelled. He had put it on as a homage to the show JAG.
Later, his father went out and bought a license plate holder that said “Fan of the TV series JAG.”
This is all true. This isn’t the jokey stuff.

I was watching Godfather 2 the other night and I had some questions – the way Tom acts in the end makes me think he set the whole thing up and why did Roth have tax trouble all of a sudden? And did they set up Senator Geary in that hotel room? And did they purposely just almost kill Pantangelene? Also, what was with that guy in the bear suit who kept showing up and playing the banjo behind Michael?

I’m single and I got one of those Keurigs – the single cup brewer – and I have to say it may be the most depressing things I own.

A funny thing to do is to open a champagne bottle at the exact same time you throw a handful of cooked Top Ramen at the back of someone’s head while yelling “He’s got a gun!”

Sometimes I’ll shoplift at my Mom’s.

Do my feet look fat in this?

This one time I thought it would be funny to bring a buttload of Taco Bell burritos to a formal party as an appetizer. So, I go and order twenty of them and the guy there asks me three times if he heard me correctly and kinda looked at me forlornly. I told him “I’m positive. 20.” So, he told me that it would take awhile and that I needed to park my car. So, I park and I’m laughing out loud in my car about how hysterical I am and the guy comes up with this shopping bag full of food and he kinda looks me up and down and says “I really shouldn’t be doing this. You need help.” I thanked him and drove to the nearest dumpster and hucked them and started a diet the next day.
That one really backfired.

A lot of times I’ll answer my cell phone at work and exclaim “It’s for me.”

A Love Letter to Kim Jong Il

2011-12-19T13:58:00.001-08:00

Kim Jong Il is Dead

We hardly knew you.

Hell, we didn’t know you at all. You were locked away in a fortress like some backwoods villain from olden days, lobbing medium range missiles over the Pacific like a wizard from Lord of the Rings.

And I, for one, will miss you.

Well, maybe not me, the United States government will.

Take note: we are running out of bad guys. Without our Saddams, Bin Ladens, and Ghaddafis where will the new benchmarks for Western evil hide?

As Obama reminds us that American citizenry can be locked up for no other reason than having three fingers, he is going to need some more puppets.

Kids get bored, and when you’re out of make-em-ups to play war with you will turn on your family and go for the throat.

This election year you will have the chilling choice between what Obama promised not to be and what Gingrich or Romney really are.

And that’s just plain mean.

Hell, give us a show like before – your Clintons or Reagans. Make us want to vote, otherwise, we will get bored and turn on you. Occupy the White House. That sort of thing – you know, hideous costumes and cheap weapons.

But we miss you, Kim.

Will your son be able to blackmail foreign nations and deliver the lowest economy of living to your masses? You know, that kind of evil professor stuff that only floats a plot in Schwarzenegger movies? If not, you need to take note – we will come down on you.

Our only hope is that Iran turns out to be the arch nemesis that only exists at the end of Nintendo games. Otherwise, we have a serious revolution problem on our hands and there’s some big time money dealers at GE and Goldman Sachs that will have to burrow back into their holes until cheap thrills buy off a world again.

But still, there’s a real lack of Bugs Bunny to Iran – and I can’t even spell the guy’s name without Googling. That makes for bad casting. Whatever nukes they’re making or not making they better be able to really kill good.

Really Kill Good is the best way to sell it, by the way. And, yes, I bought the domain name.

Well, here’s to you, Kim Jong (license to get) Il!

Over and out.

It's Clearing Up Outside!

2011-11-30T14:35:00.001-08:00

It’s clearing up outside. That means only one thing – more rain.
My favorite thing about Washington is that no matter how happy someone is, you can remind them that it’s raining.
It’s not that I like to make people feel bad…I can’t finish that sentence.
But I can tell you this – I’m not going to sugar coat life for you. If you’re reading this, that means you are as bored as I am and it’s probably raining.
And you probably just made some bad decisions.
Bad decisions will ruin you, mark my words.
But good decisions can be just as bad.
Like the other day, when I decided not to honk my horn loudly at those geese – good decision.
However, when I got back to my once black, now white car I realized my best intentions only destroyed me.
So, you’re damned if you do good and you’re damned if you don’t.
Go with not doing good. Doing good will ruin you and your fellow man.
Honk at those geese.
They have it coming.
Imagine how cool the world would be if good people started being bad. They’d get away with everything – and that’s progress, folks.
Imagine if Mother Theresa all of a sudden started pocketing donations – she’d be rich. No one would question her. EDIT: she's dead.
That’s what IT nerds would call being “nimble”.
While we’re on the subject, if you hear anyone use the word “nimble” you can rest assure that they will really fuck up this world.
Yes, the braindead, those that clutch to buzz words and use them like condoms, are easy to spy and they will ruin life for you.
That’s who you should be looking out for – not the Evil Mother Theresas, but the braindead.
That’s why drunk driving is so illegal – you have a braindead person behind the wheel of a good tonnage of driving force metal. Like Lars Ulrich.
The meek will inherit the Earth, but it won’t be some clever plan – it will be pure stupidity.
No one will ever decide to start a nuclear war, but someone will decide to pretend to switch the key as a goof at an Oval Office Christmas party.
Blamo!
And Christmas is upon us. In all its glory.
In all it’s you’re gonna get fat and no one is going to like your gifts glory.
It’s a family tradition. Not mine, but yours. You look like the type.
Some people choose to give to charity around the holidays and that’s just selfish. You can give a man a fish or you can teach him to fuck off.
That’s what I say.
The homeless are a rumor. Like dinosaurs and honey bees. They don’t exist.
Sure, there are people who beg for money – but they like to beg for money. They are good at it. Like that guy…you know, that guy with no legs in front of Albertsons who is starving to death?
I think his name is Roger.
Anyway, my point was it’s not raining right now.
Enjoy it.

Another Thanksgiving Special!

2011-11-15T11:14:00.001-08:00

Did you know that the gravy boat you use on Thanksgiving is a symbol of the boats used by the early English to travel to America and ladle freedom on the indigenous people they found there? The turkey represents the cheapest bird we could get to represent an eagle and the mixed nuts you have out represent the insanity brought on by syphilis the settlers brought over. Thanksgiving is one of those mixed bag holidays.

One of my fondest memories is when my Mom burned a turkey and then crawled under the sink and rocked back and forth muttering "It doesn't matter…it doesn't matter".

Another memory is when there was this thirty minute silence at the table as everyone in my family struggled to form conversation. Eventually the turkey stood up and announced he was gay. At least that's how I remember it.

When times were tough, my Mom would sometimes combine Thanksgiving and Easter into one holiday and hide turkeys throughout the house. I remember Thankster '84 when I bagged nine of them. It is REALLY hard shooting turkeys in a house.

The real magic of Thanksgiving comes when you have visited nine parents related and separated through divorce after divorce and you realize being single isn't the worst thing you could do to the world.

The Macy's Thanksgiving Parade is a must for any true American. This year it's being occupied by those Occupy guys. I don't really know what they want, but I bet they have some really cheap balloons that are easy to make fun of.

I'm not a big football fan, but the gambler in me always applauds the coming of a full day of football related gambling. A good rule of thumb is to bet with children. They don't have a lot of money, but there's usually assloads of them at Thanksgiving and they don't know jack about football.

In our family, we call that Cornucopia thingy a "fruit womb".

In this age of technology it's quite acceptable to Facebook your Thanksgiving so that others don't have to drive to your home in Milton. "Pass the salad" I would Facebook and then secretly devour a plate of nachos from Issaquah.

You can Skype Thanksgiving too. It's always hilarious to watch your father lose his mind after finding out your sister is pregnant out of wedlock and his screams of rage are chopped up by the satellite delay. "You" – "really" – "fucked up this" --------------"time" (table is thrown in slow mo).

Travelling during the holidays can be stressful. I hope that helps.

Pointing a wing at me and telling me I owe you money is the best way to be sure I'm not going to pay you for that cocaine, Grandma.

It's important to remember the poor and homeless on Thanksgiving. And the troops. And the astronauts. Don't forget the good people at the grocery store that have to work until five and then drive home in what is a virtual octagon of converging paths of drunken drivers. Oh, and the children…OF THE CORN!

A fun game is to cut people off at the table mid sentence by yelling "I forgot what I was going to say!"

Mashed potatoes are just plain stupid. Is there something too showy about French Fries? Why can't we at least have both? Thanksgiving should be about options. Like how freedom is about having options. French Fries and Freedom – that's how America rolls.

When you get down to it, Thanksgiving is just the practice run for Christmas. Have you noticed how Thanksgiving is always completely fucked up and then Christmas comes and everyone has their act together? It's the truth. You get a dress rehearsal and then a month later it's the real deal. And this time Christ is watching, folks.

Ways I've hid food as a child: in glass of milk, stuck under table, thrown across room when no one is watching…

This one Thanksgiving I was so sick of my family I walked up to 7-11 and played Ninja Gaiden for three hours. When I returned no one had noticed I had left and they were still yelling at me.

Getting that day off is cool. It's like three days, then you go and party Wednesday night, end up hungover on Thursday and then go back to work on Friday and then get REALLY drunk Friday night and then you try to find a way to summon the courage to fill out an FMLA form to sleep off that really bad hangover. Then you get fired. Then you ask everyone for money for Christmas, but let's face it, 400 dollars isn't going to pay your gambling debts. Then you move in with your parents and it's like Thanksgiving every day. Then you walk up to 7-11 and play Ninja Gaiden until someone offers you that job banging models for a living.

Dieting can be difficult around Thanksgiving. I suggest bringing your own food to your destination. A good sack of celery and carrots can be a lifeline for the serious dieter. If you have trouble overcoming the urge to sink your teeth into the holiday bird, just remember it's a mechanically disemboweled hunk of premature rotting material that represents the brutal slaughter of Native Americans.

What's the saddest thing about Thanksgiving is throwing away all the food. I remember my Dad would drive us to a homeless shelter and burn all the food in front of the starving homeless people and watch their reaction. Then he'd turn to us and say "That's why they starve – they are too angry to enjoy freedom." My Dad was funny like that.

Let's Just Get This Over With

2011-11-14T12:15:00.001-08:00

Sometimes I'll close my eyes and then open them and pretend that I just awoke in my body for the first time. Like I was someone else before and now I'm in this body for a new mission.
And every single time the first thought is "I'M NOT PREPARED FOR THIS!"

I went over to my Mom's the other day and saw a squirrel in the backyard and said to my Mom, "Hey, a squirrel!"
She responded "I hate them."
I asked "How the hell can you hate a squirrel?"
Then she rolled up a sleeve and showed me a serial number tattooed to her arm.

My mother is a great cook and this was always lost on me as I have bad taste in food. I still remember being super happy to miss out on my Mom's brisket by going over to my buddy's house for Macaroni and Cheese out of the box.
The point here is that my buddy was poor.
And yet I enjoyed it much more than the expensive food my Mom would make. Which leads me to believe that the poor secretly have it good.
Think of all the expensive stuff you have in your house. Really think hard. How much of it, if it were gone, would make your life easier?
Imagine not having to worry about what's on television – you have no television. That goes for internet and movies too.
Or trying to figure out what's for dinner – it's always Ramen noodles and Cragmont from 1982 that you bought in gross at a flea market.
The poor have it good – make no mistake.

A cool video game would be a first person shooter type game, but you're a bartender. You make drinks for all these people, but you have to keep track of who you are serving because you lose if someone gets in a fight, gets a DUI, or rapes someone.
I'd call it Your Watch.

Every year there's about nine storms they call the Storm of the Century. They need to raise that bar or people will no longer take that title seriously. Like "Hey, here's a pretty good storm".

Here's a cool tip I learned – always ask "What?" when people say something to you. That way you get another chance to think about what they said.
Most people don't know this, but the deaf are just really, really slow.

I'd like to apologize to any deaf people out there. It was just a joke. Not even a good one. Not nearly as good as that one about the deaf pony and the jackass.
But I'm not going to tell that one. I'm not an animal racist.

Racism is the worst thing about America. Like the other day I was walking home from the store and this guy comes up to me panting. He looks me in the eye and then points straight ahead.
"Fuck" I thought. "Now I have to race this guy".

I always thought it was funny to run ahead of people jogging, then turn and pretend to be training them like on Rocky.
"Keep your head up!" I'd yell. Or "Let me see you jab!"
I stopped doing it when I realized I was getting exercise on accident.
"Christ, I lost fifty pounds."
I don't like that kind of thing – on accident. I want everything in my life to be on purpose. Like that shitty book The Purpose Driven Life. Except I do really dumb things on purpose.
Like if I'm in the bathroom I'll scrawl numbers on the wall of pizza joints under a banner saying "For a Good Time Call" then I'll call them so everyone can hear me lose it on the phone when I realize it's a pizza joint and not a hooker.

For the longest time I thought the Secretary of the State was the woman at the White House who was in charge of throwing parties, announcing birthdays, and administrating the lost and found.

When did kids become cancer? I was at a buddy's house and my other buddy was late and I said something like "KEITH is always late." And my buddy, let's call him Brian, goes "He has kids."
Like I just made fun of a cancer patient or something.
Look, you made a choice – you chose kids. That's not my problem. In fact, it should merit some recognition.
If you had a test and they gave you two options – beer and pretzels or 18 years of life threatening responsibility, and you chose the latter – YOU FAIL. You don't get to collect get out of late cards for the rest of your life.
My point here is Brian is an asshole.

This one time I was talking to my buddy about all the times I locked my keys in my car and then proceeded to lock my keys in my car. This totally goes against that stupid rule that if you have a problem you should talk about it.

In fact, I say go the other way with everything. If your fat, eat some donuts. Drinking problem – drink some whiskey. Cancer – smoke some cigarettes. There is no reason people should die "out of the blue" or "for no good reason". Death is a big fucking thing. No one on Earth right now has died. No one knows what happens. You lose everything. And people don't take it seriously. It should be treated as a sport. If you die for no good reason, you lose. When I die people will go "Well, I saw that a mile away." Or "He really gave his all for this death, we should really go overboard on the speeches." You suit up and show up to your death. Don't get hit by lightning or a drunk driver – own your death. Because if you don't, death will own you.
And that's why, honey, I'm smoking in this Chuck E Cheese.

A cool thing to do on Halloween is to go trick or treating, but when they come to the door with candy, just go "No thanks, I just want to pet your dog." If they don't have a dog, substitute "you" for "dog".

One thing I hate about sex is that women want to get a massage out of it. It's like you're sitting there, both of you are naked, it's totally "go time" and she'll say "Could you give me a back rub?"
I've literally just stared blankly at women after hearing this.
There is no way a back rub feels like an orgasm. Why are you ordering a diet Pepsi at a Baskin and Robbins, honey? Why order turkey when you can get bacon? And why order a back rub when you can get off? Pisses me off. That's why at the beginning of every relationship I will put my hands on the woman's shoulders and go "Let's get this out of the way now."

Tutta Bella Is Gone

2011-09-28T16:17:00.001-07:00

Did anyone else own Drakar? The cologne. Not that town in France.

Did anyone else believe that there was a town in France named Drakar? Because I made that up, but it totally sounds right. I could Google it, but I like not knowing for sure. It's a mystery. I love mysteries.

So, I heard they are taking the self checkouts out of grocery stores. Let me go on record – the Self Check Out is the best thing that has ever happened to mankind. Fuck the wheel, car, White Album – the Self Checkout let you – and listen carefully, because I'm whispering – buy things without having to deal with fucking people. Let me say it again – buy things without dealing with fucking people! I go out of my way to not deal with fucking people and every corporation in America gets in my way by putting people between me and my product. Then a genius…nay, SAINT comes up with a way to not fucking deal with people and they take it away. That's what's wrong with this world – the second someone gets rid of people for you they take it away and you're left with people. God. I'm dizzy now.

I've noticed that every time you start a new job you have no idea what you are doing and someone reassures you that you will figure it out and you do and you look back and you think "How did I learn how to do this?" It's just crazy. It just goes to show that anyone can do anything if you give them encouragement. But the flip side is that that means you could become President. You. Right there. Reading this. Think about it. You would really fuck up. I'm just going by the percentages. Six people clicked on this link yesterday. That means one person is crazy enough to be reading this and that person could be President if they got encouragement. Then the bombs start dropping and it's all over because someone encouraged this person. God. Encouragement is killing us.

I used to be a Democrat until I realized I like to smoke cigarettes, litter, and hate people.
It really blew me away, too. Cuz the whole time I'm getting mad at Exxon or Goldman Sachs I'm not recycling and buying Perrier to mix with my whiskey. I was ashamed of myself. But I'm lazy too, so instead of changing I just started voting Republican.

Republicans are a totally different breed of person. They will tell you one thing and when you prove without a shadow of a doubt they are wrong they will just answer "Well, that's just how I was raised" or "That's just how it is" or "Birth certificate". But on the other hand, you're the dumbass that started arguing with them in Kohl's for no reason because you were drunk and didn't like their shirt.

Have you ever thought about what you do for a living and realized that if you weren't doing it everything would stay the same? Like the job is just a front for spying on how long it will take you to realize it? Like kinda Matrix-y. But not really. They aren't robots. And they aren't performing an experiment if that's what you're thinking. No, they are just fucking with you. This one time I sprayed a guy on the street with a hose off a balcony and he goes "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?" or something and I just said "I'm just fucking with you." Like that made up for it. It'd be like that, but it'd be your whole life's work. Like you're an engineer at a Styrofoam company and you engineer Styrofoam, but you don't really need to be doing that. No one would be without Styrofoam without your advanced engineering skills. No, they are just fucking with you. Seeing what you do with your engineering money. See how you grow and learn. And then they just laugh at you. And it's so fucking mean, but damnit, that's life. It amazes me that people think conspiracy theories have to be about doing evil – they could just be jokes. Like "Hey, we'll assassinate this President and see how people will react when hold and investigation that says it was a lone shooter, even though a committee of law officials say it was a conspiracy of multiple people" and then they just laugh their asses off at how people accepted it. Like if I worked at a hamburger stand and gave everyone hotdogs when they ordered hamburgers. It'd be like that. I would think it was funny. I would not be trying to harm you. I would just be fucking with you. And what's wrong with that? Anyway, I think I was talking about work.

Remember when you were in high school and how every weekend you'd try to figure out how to get liquor and where you could go drink it? And then you grew up and you still do that – only now you can easily get it and find a safe place to drink it? That's why when someone says "Grow up" to me I take it as a nice thing, like "Have a good time". Then I give them a high five and they just seem pissed. It's stuff like that, just trying to make life better. That's me – just trying to make life better. Like if I get shorted at an ATM for 20 bucks – I think it's OK to be lazy and not call the bank because in 1987 I stole 20 bucks from my older sister for comic book money. It's stuff like that – making the world better for me. What's wrong with that? I also notice that I will have unbelievable optimism for being such a pessimist. Like I'll go to get mail and think maybe I will somehow get free money. For no reason. And sometimes it does happen. Like I got a dividend from my insurance company. I have no idea why. And I never asked. It was two years ago and I still don't know why. But if they overcharge me, boy howdy, I'll get to the bottom of it. But the main point is to make everything better for yourself. Trust me.

I remember I got put in a special education class as a kid. It was because my math teacher was teaching fractions and asked us a question and I raised my hand and answered "I wish I was a truck!" I have no idea why I did that, but it ruined my life. For then on I had to be in special education classes. And the older I got the more retarded I felt until when I dropped out of high school I could barely form the words to break the news to my parents. All because I wanted to be a truck. If you're crying right now, don't worry – I totally made that all up.

ARE YOU READY TO LAUGH????

2011-09-28T15:04:00.001-07:00

Well, too bad.

It'd be cool to have a really fast car and drive it really slow. Like on the freeway and all and get a ticket for going too slow. But in the end you're not funny, you're just crazy. That would be cool.

How many of you out there have a job? Aren't jobs weird? You wake up and go to this place for eight hours and then go home and then do the whole thing again. When you think about it, life is like that too. You get up and you live for 16 hours then you go back to bed. But you don't get paid. Oh, and you have herpes.

My favorite band is Nine Inch Nails. Which is an odd thing to say when you're a 35 year old fat guy. That angst and drugged out thing don't really work for ya. That's why I always lie and say Meatloaf. Even though I hate Meatloaf. I mean, I don't really hate him. I just don't like his music. Well, I liked him in Fight Club. But that wasn't about being a musician, that was about being an actor. Anyway, the point is I shouldn't really like Nine Inch Nails for my age and build.

Have you ever had a person talk to you and you really don't care about what they are saying and you just keep nodding like an idiot and you think to yourself "This person must think I'm an idiot for listening to him talk for so long." Then you think, if this is an idiot who thinks you're an idiot then you are REALLY an idiot. Then in the middle of thinking all that they ask you a question about what they were talking about and you just break into a full on run.

Another music I shouldn't like is electronica. Mainly, because I'm not on cocaine, but also because I don't own a Volvo. But I do like it. If you don't know what electronica is I'll tell you – it's music without all the words. So, you can listen to it and make up your own words. Like "La La La. Da Da Da. La La." Can you believe that I can actually drive a car?

What if we actually really cloned a dinosaur? I mean – Wow! That would really do it for everyone. Everyone would wake up and just be like HOLY CRAP WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! No one would think about anything except that dinosaur. For one day there'd be total peace on Earth as everyone would just be thinking HOLY FUCKING MOTHER OF PEARL – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You wouldn't even have to go to work. You would call your boss and say JESUS SAMMY DAVIS JUNIOR – WE FUCKING CLONED A DINOSAUR! I think about this, literally, all the time. My wife left me recently and that's how I made it through it all. I just kept pretending GOOD APE SHIT – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! Then anytime anything bad happened I would just think 80 ROSARIES FOR JUDAS – WE CLONED A FUCKING DINOSAUR! You should really try it.

Do you ever start to suspect that everyone has the same psychologist telling them that they need to think about "ME" (them) first? What kind of racket is that? You go in and someone in authority tells you that you are not thinking about yourself enough and that you are in the right 99% of the time? It just pisses me off. That's why I prefer to just stay at home and stay crazy. That way I'm not making my problem your problem. Well, except when I maul your dog. But at least I don't think I'm in the right. No, once my taste for dog flesh is vanquished I sit next to the body and think "Did I really need to do that?"

Has anyone ever said "I can't believe it's (some time) already?" to you and you answer them seriously and respond "Believe it" but you do it all solemn like you just told them someone died? I do that kind of thing all the time.

Stand Up

2011-09-28T14:16:00.001-07:00

Have you ever got that feeling that you're being watched? Like you're walking down the street and someone's just staring at you – and they're really bored. Like maybe they're hoping you're going to do something funny or cool, but you aren't cause you're you.
I get that all the time.

Did your parents ever say to you "I'm gonna shake some sense into you" and then grab you and start shaking the crap out of you. Have you ever shook something into something? I think it's impossible. For instance, if I took a phone and pour salt on it and started shaking it – well, I guess some of the salt would shake into the keyboard…god, now I want to shake the crap out of kid.

The best thing about the internet is that you can talk to people from all over the world. I like that. It's like another reason I don't have to travel. I had a friend come back from Brazil the other day and he explained how great the people were and I was like "I know." And he asked me how and I told him that I had talked to people from Brazil over the internet. He said that wasn't the same, and I agreed since I could openly masturbate while I was doing it.

My favorite TV show is that Top Chef thing. I don't know why. It might be that I'm fat and I like to pretend that they are all trying to impress me.

Have you ever had a dream where you were flying? You like take off from the ground and you're up in the air and your thinking – hey man, I'm flying! But then you start thinking about all the planes up there with you and how if you're not lucky you could get sucked into an engine and then you wake up and you wet the bed.

I have an absolute awe of people who enjoy small talk. I know it's cool and all to say that you hate small talk and that it's something simple people do – but what if this: maybe people who like small talk are so relaxed that it's fun. Like when you take a tab of Ecstasy and you enjoy talking to people…like I'm doing now.

I wonder if anyone's had a hangover so bad they committed suicide.

Suicide is a victimless crime once you think it all the way through. This is a thinking joke.

Everyone has dogs now a days. Am I wrong? Doesn't it seem like there's way too many dogs now? Like everyone has one. Like I'm a minority for not having a dog. It didn't used to be that way. Only like five people in America owned dogs. They were like unicorns. Wait – no, I'm thinking of unicorns. OK, but there seems to be a lot of dogs around.

You ever wonder if people are just sick of seeing you? I go in to the same mini mart to buy smokes everyday and there's this woman who works Wednesday through Saturday and I just feel like she's sick of me. She's always super polite, but there's just this feeling she's going "That fat guys gonna buy another pack of smokes." Every time. Like I'm this really bad rerun of MASH. So now I try to mix it up and buy a pack of smokes and another pack of smokes. It totally through her off I think. I'm working on more material – like burritos and fireworks.

I don't like seafood. People will ask me "How can you not like seafood?" and I'll shrug – because I DON'T HAVE AN ANSWER. There's nothing I could possibly say that would satisfy that question. "Because I don't" never works, it's like they want more. So now I just say that I was raped once while eating fish sticks.

Technology keeps changing. It bugs me. Once I learn one thing, I have to learn another. Then another. Then another. It gets to the point that I'm constantly learning and then I'm like "Hey, I didn't pay for this course." You get it???

How many of you out there like pizza? How many of you out there like rock n roll? How many of you out there like 9-11. Gotcha on that. But think about it – what if they were listening to rock n roll and eating pizza on those planes? It doesn't make it OK, but somehow it's not as horrific. I don't know why.

Have you ever been tempted to put on a pair of gloves and just go full blown OCD? Like pick it up as a hobby? I think about things like that. It might be fun. Unless you couldn't turn it off and had to go to the hospital and you couldn't get out because your lame excuse is you were just pretending.

DAVIS TODD - YOGA GUY

2011-09-28T13:41:00.001-07:00

"I will now bend my body into the shape of a banana." Davis leaned forward. "This is a banana. Juliette, come eat me."

"Today we'll be doing something different." Davis pulled a knife from behind his back. "I want you all to tell me who put this here in my back?"
The students looked around at each other.
"The answer is Davis Todd when he thought any of you cared about Yoga."

"Girls, and you one guy – I want you to perform like your life depended on it. Therefore, I'm going point this gun at you – don't worry it's not loaded – or is it?" Davis examined the gun. "OK, yeah, it was loaded."

"Today, class, I have a cough. I'm hoping it's not something serious, and I'm serious about that. I had something serious once and it scared me. It was a monkey and his name was ALCOHOL."

"I'm tired of doing the same positions. We're gonna try something new. Alice, get on top of Mary. OK, Juliette, get on top of Alice. Yes, that's right. OK, now Tim, stand on that pile of women. Be proud, Tim, this is an advanced class."

"OK, I got a little note from the complaint department. It seems that one of you princesses didn't like my use of the word ugly bitch – that's fine. For now on we're all going to live in Nazi times and no one can say anything. Alice – what time is it?"
"11."
"Um, Alice, we're in Nazi times."

"This is the Crouching Internet. You see how my hand is down my pants and my eyes are staring straight ahead and I'm holding up my phone to my face to take a picture?"

"OK, girls and Tim, which one of you wants to stare me straight in the eyes for the full hour while the rest of you look on in awe?"

"Yoga is not a fad. Yoga is not a way to lose weight. Yoga is not a way for you to fart in public and think it's OK. Tim, you need to stop farting."

"This is a move that I learned from Bill Cosby. Yes, the Bill Cosby. I bet you didn't think he did yoga. Probably because you think black people don't do yoga, because you all hate black people. OK, let's just do the move and forget that you are all racists with Miatas."

"I want to talk to you today about accepting yourself. You see, the body is tied up with your mind. When your mind feels crummy, your body will feel crummy. Now if your body feels crummy you won't be able to practice yoga. And why does your mind feel crummy? It's because you can't accept yourself. Alice, what's bothering you the most right now?"
"Well, I just broke up with my boyfriend."
"Alice, you need to accept that and move on."
"OK."
"Say it like you mean it!"
"OK!"
Davis then pulled out the gun "Like you mean it."

"This is a snake. He's my pet. His name is Henry and he likes to bite people that don't pay their dues on time. I’m going to just let go of him and see what he does."

"Tim, your farting is out of control. You have to leave."
"But I didn't fart."
"Yet – I see that look in your eye."

Fist Chaser and Friends

2011-09-28T12:29:00.001-07:00

"Fist Chaser! It is I, Nolan."
Fist Chaser raised himself from the mud coffin he had been hiding in. "Only you, Nolan could have seen through my disguise. How be thy?"
Nolan extended a hand from the costume of taped together trash bags and Fist Chaser shook it.
"I be well. I have just returned from the grocery merchant where I was able to release this package of potato chips from its steely imprisonment."
"They have been locking up the food now?" Fist Chaser asked incredulously.
"Yea. They are on to my plot. I shall share this bounty with you."
Nolan handed Fist Chaser the bag of chips. Fist Chaser made a movement to wipe his hands on his muddy costume, but then paused and realized his folly.
Nolan laughed. "Perhaps this bag of chips is meant for me only. Fist Chaser! Why so glum?"
"It has been years since I have had a real battle. Sure, freeing food and hard liquor from the corporate machine is top notch work for a super hero, but the lack of a real battle is making me fatigued – do you feel this way?"
"Fist Chaser, I do, too, feel this way. It has been six months since I found a worthy opponent to spar with." Nolan said as he dumped the rest of the chips into his mouth.
"Ah, yes. The Tommy Hilfiger'd boy from that club on Deleware."
"It was the most successful of encounters. He called me out."
"Yes, when lit that dollar bill on fire and dropped it in your lap."
"I met the challenge." Nolan raised his fist to emphasis.
Fist Chaser nodded "The look on that boys face when you hurled a piece of your own excrement at him must have made you feel glorious."
"Yea, but those days are done. It's too dangerous now. Those that would mock me now carry weapons I am not accustom to."
Fist Chaser nodded in agreement "Yes, my invisibility is no match for a gun."
"Hence the name."
"Right." Fist Chaser looked around awkwardly. "So, chips?"
"That is right."
"Where are you off to?"
"I am going to AA."
"The soul magicians?"
"Yes, I am conquering a new battle against the demons of the bottle."
"Those are strong demons, I too have fought them on many occasions. But they are small potatoes compared to the Crack Dragons."
Nolan put his arm over his eyes "Nay, do not speak of them!"
"I apologize. Are you well?"
"I could be do better. You wouldn't happen to have seen any dragons lately?"
"You need to be off to your magicians! You cannot let the dragons beat you!"
"Aye. I am off."
Fist Chaser lowered himself back into the mud. And Nolan trotted off.
It was another fine day in the park.

Chicago

2011-09-27T09:27:00.001-07:00

Highlights:

Golfed out on Lake Michigan. Beautiful. Except this one dude. We chat a bit with him before and he mentions that none of his friends should up to golf with him so he needed to golf with others. Well, after the game we find out why he has no friends. My aunt is nice enough to ask how he did golfing and he tells us that our golf cart was parked too near the green when we were golfing. And that that's bad ettiquette. So, then he has his golf cart parked in front of our so we can't return ours. So I wait for this a hole to get all his crap out of his cart and move it (he even starts talking on his phone). Finally he gets out of the cart and leaves and I go "Aren't you going to move your cart?" and he goes "I left the keys in the building" so I go "That's bad ettiquette."
That Playboy show that's on now: our friend upstairs does set dressing for it (it's filmed in Chicago) and his name is on a placad on the show. Also, this woman we saw at Second City is in it (bit part).
Plays: my aunt's best friend's son has a play he wrote that was playing downtown (Women are Crazy Because Men are A$$holes) and Second City (the place where Saturday Night Live farms for new talent). Women are Crazy was pretty good, but during the show there were all these Eastern Europeans in the audience (no idea why) and these two women were talking throughout the show and texting. So, the producer comes down and tells them to hush or leave. Well, Brad (my aunt's friend's son) is also in the play and he had to break character to tell them to shut up in the middle of the play. Second City was probably the funnier one I've seen.
Food: Thin crusted the pizza the whole time: Pat's was the best, but Bonjoro's, and this Italian restaurant in the Italian district were also really good. Got an awesome ham sandwich at a "New York" deli. My aunt saw a cop eating there and she told me that that's always the best way to figure out what's a good restaurant. I hotdoged the hell out of the trip too. My uncle took me to this hole in the wall place where it was grilled onions, Vienna, mustard, and cheese. Interesting. Tasted like a hotdog with onion rings on it. Then I got a "Chicago" hotdog at this Irish pub: Vienna beef, pickle, tomato, onion, mustard, celery salt, and hot peppers. Delicious. It was even delicious totally hung over. The last day my aunt got one with everything: mustard, LETTUCE, cucumber, pickle, tomato, onion, and celery salt. Had Mexican at this one place, but ruined it by gettting the hottest sauce on it (way too hot).
Drinking: as per usual Tequila was the drink of choice over there. Tuesday I got totally obliterated with my uncle on the boat and paid for it the next couple days with almost puking (had a bucket in the car on the way to pick up my sister) and hard core heart burn. Was so wasted I sprayed some poor dude with a house from my aunt's balcony. Friggin stupid.
Police: I have never seen a bigger police presence in my life in Wrigleyville. A friend (Kleiver) came down from the North and partied on the boat and we went to Wrigleyville. It was like a police state. Patrol cars, vans, paddy wagons. Really weird. My uncle seemed to think the reason is all the murders in Chicago lately (some woman was raped down the street at the DePaul campus while I was there) and terrorist attacks. I explained that there was no game that night, but my uncle still seemed to think police see it as a potential terrorist target as it is a large group of people (imagine Pioneer Square with ten times the people). Rahm is trying to clean up the city also.
Casino: really nice. Strange that you couldn't smoke in it. They had this creepy smokers lounge (if you've ever seen the old airport ones it looks like that). Won 60 bucks from this game where a buffalo huffs money at you - exotic.
Those are pretty much the highlights. I'm sure other stuff happened, but I was pretty wasted the whole time.
Also, I picked up my sister's cold that she got from my nephew and brought to Chicago.

The Dispatcher

2011-09-09T14:10:00.000-07:00

VICTOR

"I can't stress this enough – do not bring a loaded weapon."
"Got it. Don't load gun." Victor smiled at James.
"Not a joke. For one, you can say that you had no intention of killing anyone. For two, you won't kill anyone. Because that's what we want, right? Nice little bank job, nobody dies, you run out of there with money, so forth, so on."
"Got it. Don't kill. Run out with money." Victor slapped James on the knee.
"You're a funny guy."
"I am a funny guy."
Victor and James were inside James' shop in the back of his house. The shop was a hobby room for James who planned capers and sold drugs. James was a hobbyist.
"Now look, go for the drawers and leave. You don't need the safe, the deposit boxes or any of that shit. You just want the few grand lying around. You're gonna make your money on frequency, not quality of the job."
"I get it. But that just means I add up the risk ratio."
"Not really. In and out robbers always leave the bank. You will always leave a bank. You just have to worry about the aftermath. But since there isn't going to be an aftermath, you've got nothing to worry about." James knew little to nothing about what he was talking about. But if Victor was able to score the small amount of money James had in mind, James would be able to pay down some of his credit card debt, and that made sense to James who had no risk whatsoever involved in the current project he was discussing.
"I guess that makes sense." Victor was an idiot.
To be fair, Victor was a junky. And a junky will do anything for a fix.
"So, tomorrow around one, you enter the bank. Then what?"
"I pull out the gun and yell 'No one fucking move, this is a robbery!'"
"Just like in Pulp Fiction."
"Just like in Pulp Fiction. How much money exactly are we talking about?"
"Few thousand. You keep three, I keep two."
"Yeah, but you're not really doing anything." James winced to himself. He was fairly certain Victor was dumb enough to go along, but there were these little breaks in his personality that expelled some thought processes that James wasn't initially aware of.
"Victor – would you be doing this if it wasn't for me?"
"No."
"And was this my idea?"
"Yes."
"Alright then."
The two said goodbye and Victor walked through the yard and through the house.
James' wife was inside cooking.
"Something smells good."
"That's pot roast. We're having it for dinner – would you like to stay?"
"Can't. I have to get up early and rob a bank." Victor then walked out of the house and into his car and drove home.

"Why did Victor say he was going to rob a bank?" Joyce was in the shop with a carrot in one hand and a piece of celery pointed at James.
"He's just joking."
"Victor's too stupid to make jokes."
"He made a few just now."
"What kind of jokes?"
"What do you mean what kind of jokes?"
"I mean, WHAT kind of jokes?"
"Like, just like…he was joking."
"Are you robbing a bank?"
James winced. "No, no. Victor is robbing the bank."
"And you have nothing to do with it, besides knowing about it, which makes you an accomplice."
"Yes. I know about it. But the guy's gonna do what he's gonna do. He's a junky. Junky's do dumb things – am I responsible for him buying junk, just because I know he's going to buy junk?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm playing smart. By juxtaposing his junk buying with his bank robbering, I'm proving a point that I'm innocent of being an accomplice. That's playing smart."
"Then you're a dumb shit."
"I was smart enough not to rob the bank."
"And I'm smart enough not to try to call someone with this carrot. That don't make me smart."
"Not like in the biblical sense."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Yeah it does."
"No it doesn't."
James grabbed Joyce by the waist and pulled her to him. "Look, let's just go inside, have some sex and –"
"This ain't a movie!" Joyce slapped James across the face with the carrot. "You are going to" she continued to slap him with the carrot "call the police and tell them" the carrot flew out of her hand and then she started in with the celery "that your dumb shit friend, Victor, is going to rob a bank and you want no part of it!"
James was on the floor now, shielding his face from the celery. "OK. OK. I'm just – quit hitting me with the celery!"
"Fuck you, call the police."
"K, just stop it."
"Now!"

James called 911 as Joyce continued yelling at him.

POLICE: Hello, 911.
JAMES: I'd like to report
JOYCE: He'd like to report a fucking idiot
JAMES: Cool it, baby. I'd like to report a robbery.
POLICE: Are you at the scene of the robbery?
JAMES: No. It hasn't happened yet.
JOYCE: Why don’t you just tell him not to do it.
JAMES: Because you told me to call the police!
JOYCE: Well, you shoulda called Victor first, you dumb shit!
JAMES: What the – what do you –
POLICE: Sir, where is the robbery going to take place.
JAMES: Bank of America. Gilman. Issaquah. One tomorrow.
POLICE: Do you know the person who is robbing the bank?
JAMES: I don’t know now. Can I change my mind? Do you tape these calls? Do you track me?
JOYCE: You stupid fuck! Here I'm making
POLICE: Yes, sir. We are taping this conversation and we have you at 56th Street in Renton.
JAMES: Fuck.
JOYCE: You dumb fuck! Fucking making a roast for a dumb fuck!
POLICE: What is the full name of the person robbing the bank, sir?
JAMES: Look, if I tell you, I'm not going to be in any trouble am I?
POLICE: Sir, I can't answer that, I'm only a 911 dispatcher.
JAMES: You aren't the police?
DISPATCHER: No, sir.
JAMES: Can I talk to like a detective or something.
DISPATCHER: Sure, sir.
JAMES: Thank you.
DISPATCHER: Before I transfer you, I'd like know if I provided useful information and help during your time of emergency?
JAMES: Well, that's nice. You did a great job.
JOYCE: What the fuck are you talking about?
DISPATCHER: Thank you, sir. It's my job to help. I'm transferring you over to the Issaquah police station.
JAMES: Thanks.
POLICE (REALLY THIS TIME): Hello, police.
JAMES: You really just…I mean, "Hello, police" – that's nice.
POLICE: Can I help you, sir?
JAMES: Sure, I've never really talked to a police officer on the phone before.
POLICE: What's your problem, sir?
JAMES: Well, I have this friend.
POLICE: Legal.
JAMES: And he's a junky.
POLICE: Illegal.
JAMES: And he's going to rob a bank.
POLICE: Really illegal.
JAMES: Are you really the police?
POLICE: What did I say when I answered the phone, silly?
JAMES: You don't sound like the police?
POLICE: What? Am I supposed to be all gruff and like Hello, this is the police, we have guns.?
JAMES: No, you just sound…
POLICE: Gay?
JAMES: Well, you're putting words in my mouth now.
POLICE: I am gay. You have a problem with that?
JAMES: Police can be gay?
POLICE: Yea - us!
JAMES: But I thought there was that don't ask and snitch.
POLICE: Don’t ask, don't tell?
JAMES: Yes. I thought there was…that.
POLICE: That's the army, dummy.
JOYCE: Are you talking to a fag policeman?
JAMES: Cool it, Joyce.
POLICE: You better check that bitch.
JAMES: What?
POLICE: You heard me.
JAMES: You can't talk to me like that!
POLICE: Hello? I'm the police and I'm gay, I can do anything I want.
JAMES: What? What the fuck?
JOYCE: Tell that fag to fuck off!
POLICE: If you don’t tell your wife to cool out –
JAMES: Honey, cool off. Now look, is there someone else I can talk to?
POLICE: Nope, the buck stops at gay.
JAMES: OK, so this guy's gonna – this isn't a joke right? You are the police?

"He hung up on me." James scratched his head.
Joyce was trying to fit the pot roast in the microwave after several attempts at giving a fuck about it.
"Gay policeman. What's this world coming to?"
"Fuck that. What do I do now? I'm an accomplice. I reported the crime…but they don’t have my name. Do I call back?"
"You ain't calling that gay policeman back. Uh uh. No way. That's just bad luck right there."
"Gay police are bad luck?"
Joyce closed the door on the microwave, then used her shoulder to latch it. "You hear of a gay policeman before?"
"No."
"Then something's fishy. Someone's fucking with you. Call nine eleven again."
"Nine eleven. Never forget."
Both of them became silent and bowed their heads.
In unison: "Never forget."

DISPATCHER: 911, what's your emergency?
JAMES: Hi. I called back about ten minutes ago and I was reporting a robbery.
DISPATCHER: Yeah, I remember you.
JAMES: Oh, you're the same guy?
DISPATCHER: No, but we all listen to the calls when we're bored.
JAMES: Oh.
DISPATCHER: Yeah. So what seems to be your problem now? Didn't Issaquah help you out?
JAMES: Um…are you gay?
DISPATCHER: No.
JAMES: OK. Well, this gay guy answered at the police station and I think maybe you guys transferred to the wrong number or something, because I know there's no gay policemen.
DISPATCHER: There are plenty of gay policemen – haven't you seen the Village People?
JAMES: Is that a TV show?
DISPATCHER: No.
JAMES: Hmmm…doesn't ring a bell.
DISPATCHER: They were a group of gay men that dressed as laborers. One was an Indian.
JAMES: Don't they call them Native Americans now?
DISPATCHER: Are you black?
JAMES: What the fuck?
DISPATCHER: No. I'm just saying, do you call yourselves African Americans?
JAMES: Only in front of white people.
DISPATCHER: OK, well, I'm 1/18th Indian and we don't call ourselves Native Americans.
JAMES: 1/18th? You're barely Indian. I have more Indian in my…what's that one corn starch that –
DISPATCHER: Argo?
JAMES: I have more Indian in my Argo.
DISPATCHER: Nice one.
JAMES: I don’t even remember what we were talking about. Wait- so, that gay guy hung up on me.
DISPATCHER: Wonder why.
JAMES: Look, this isn't a joke. I want to report a crime, get put down as not an accomplice, and –
DISPATCHER: Are you making demands?
JAMES: No. I'm just…trying to call nine eleven.
DISPATCHER: Never forget.
JAMES: Never forget.
DISPATCHER: Well, I can put you through again, but I would imagine the same police officer will answer the phone.
JAMES: That's fine.
DISPATCHER: Maybe be nicer this time?
JAMES: K. Fine.

POLICE: Hello, police again.
JAMES: Fuck.
POLICE: It's me, cutey!
JAMES: Look, lets start over. I want to report a robbery that hasn't taken place yet.
POLICE: You're just all kinds of psycho.
JAMES: I'm not psycho. I'm just trying to report a robbery, so that I don’t get listed as an accomplice.
POLICE: Oh, you can still get in trouble.
JAMES: Really?
POLICE: Sure, if you plotted with the robber.
JAMES: What if I stop him?
POLICE: We'll still investigate.
JAMES: K. If I stop him from robbing the bank, is there anyway I can get into trouble?
POLICE: Are you black?
JAMES: The fuck?
POLICE: Just joking. No. If you stop him, then we can't prove that you ever really intended to rob the bank. Or something. I'm new here.
JAMES: Can someone just tell me what to do?
JOYCE: SIT DOWN AND EAT THIS ROAST!
JAMES: LORD!
POLICE: Calm down, sir. Just stop your friend from robbing the bank.
JAMES: OK. OK. Thank you.
POLICE: Stay sweet.
JAMES: Sure.

"He's not answering his phone." James was trying to eat the rubber roast his wife had just served him.
"Go over there." Joyce was trying to eat the roast too, but was trying harder as she had to act like it was delicious.
"This is good roast."
"Thank you, sweetheart." Joyce wondered if James had gone insane.
"OK. I'll go over there. Do you mind if I save the rest of this for tomorrow? I should probably get over there now."
Joyce lifted a brow. "You don't like the roast, do you?"
"I love the roast, I just need to stop Victor from robbing the bank, like the gay cop said."
"Don't they prefer homosexual?"
"I don't know. I'll be back soon." James got up from the table and grabbed his coat.
"I'll leave the roast in the oven for you."
"The real oven?"
"No, the microwave."
"You cooked this in the microwave?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
"No – yes, that's why it tastes so bad!"
"So, you didn't like it? Is that it? You talk to a gay dude on the phone and you decide that you are cultured now? Throwing on airs!?"
"What are you talking about? And why do you keep bringing up the gay – homosexual cop?"
"I didn't. You did." Joyce raised an eyebrow that would lead to all sorts of bad, like the fabled butterfly.
"Why'd you raise your eyebrow?"
"Nothing."
"You think I'm gay?"
"I'm just saying you didn't like the pot roast."
"That makes me gay?"
"No, that makes you a dumb shit! This pot roast is breathtaking." Joyce managed to swallow another wad of rubber.
"I didn't say I didn't like it. I just said…you cooked it in the microwave. It would have been a lot better if you cooked it in the oven."
"Then why aren't you finishing it?"
"Cuz I got to go stop Victor."
"Finish first."
"Fine!" James threw the coat on the floor, sat down and forked a large piece of meat into his mouth and began chewing. The meat was like silly putty.
And then in the total silence that followed came the eyebrow again. "So, you gonna call your little cop friend back?"
James rose from his chair, pointed a finger at Joyce and
Choked.

DISPATCHER: This is 911, what's your emergency?
JOYCE: My husband is choking!
DISPATCHER: Is this the African American man who called earlier about the homosexual policeman?
JOYCE: How'd you know all – he's turning blue!
DISPATCHER: OK, calm down – you need to Heimlich him.
JOYCE: Is that a gay thing?
DISPATCHER: No. You need to wrap your arms around him from behind –
JOYCE: That's a gay thing! You all is gay!
DISPATCHER: Mrs.! You need to wrap your arms around him, and then exert pressure on his sternum.
JOYCE: I ain't doing that!
DISPATCHER: Please, Mrs., this is not a gay thing.
JOYCE: Tell me again? Wait, he's not breathing. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: An ambulance is on the way.
JOYCE: Oh, God. He's not breathing!
DISPATCHER: Wrap your arms –
JOYCE: No more gay shit! This is for real!

And with that, James died.

The Cruise

2011-09-06T15:10:00.001-07:00

"This will be our last night on the cruise, I'd like to make it special for my wife."

"OK. Ice cream special or anal sex special?"

"What? Excuse me?"

"Look, I only work one day on the cruise. They pick me up in Anchorage and then I leave at Seattle."

"I'd like to speak to your manager."

"See, here's the thing – every year there's a new manager. No one remembers me. So, just answer the question."

"K. Look. My wife and I don't do that –"

"But…"

"Yes. In the butt."

"No, I meant you're going to continue with a reason that you might entertain the idea."

"No. I – well, what does the anal sex special include?"

"You get some KY and a buttplug."

"We're English – do you have any of the American adaptors for the wall socket?"

"For what?"

"The plug."

"It doesn't plug in to the socket. It plugs into your wife."

"Margaret?"

"Whoever, look, I'm not trying to sell it and I have other folks to harass tonight."

"OK, let's go with the buttplug."

"K. Do you have color preference?"

"Blue."

"We don't have blue."

"Oh, I thought you were asking me what my favorite color is."

"Why would I do that?"

"Simple curiosity?"

"I'm not the one being curious here."

"What colors are there?"

"White, black, and green."

"Do some men have green penises?"

"Gardeners maybe."

"Let's go with green."

"OK. Would you like the deluxe special package?"

"What does that entail?"

"I come up and punch you in the face and have sex with your wife."

"Do I get a color preference?"

"No."

"Can I think on that?"

"Sure. Anytime during the evening while you're having anal sex, call me and I'll be more than happy to come upstairs and fuck your wife and punch you in the face."

"You Americans sure do things differently."

"I'm sure everyone hires people to beat them up and fuck their wife – I don't think it's regional."

"Well, good day!"

"Sure, dickface."

"Who was that?"

"That was the concierge."

"Oh, are you doing something special?"

"Only if you call buttplugs special!"

"But where will we plug it in?"

"That's the novelty of it – it plugs into you!"

"Those Americans with their anal sex and weird outlets…"

"You know, they once fought a civil war – that's where they fight themselves."

"Like schizophrenics?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, I am so glad we are leaving here tomorrow. This Wild West atmosphere it too much!"

"There's someone at the door!"

"It could be the buttplug!"

"Greetings – here's your sundae!"

"Oh…we…"

"What is it, dear?"

"Thank you."

"It seems we got the ice cream special."

"Can that go in my bum?"

"No. You eat it."

"Well, this has turned out to be a let down."

"Let's just go to bed."

"We could try to put the ice cream in your bum."

Gerbil

2011-08-04T14:05:00.000-07:00

"There's no easy way to say this – you're a gerbil."

I liked a blunt doctor, he got to the point and didn't pussyfoot around with the tidbits of minutiae related to what was ailing me. He was a good man - the kind of guy who would sleep with your wife and call you half way through to cancel on golf, the kind of man who would take your dog for a walk without telling you; he was the kind of man you'd want to hear news like this from.

"What are my options?" I asked. I wanted Dr. Brimmel to know that I was fully 100% on board with my treatment. I wasn't going to sit on this and wait for sunshine to come out of my ass. Like that time I got diabetes and simply stopped putting cheese on my donuts in the morning.

"Well, you have several options." The doctor looked down at his tote board. "Wait, did I say several?"

"Yes, doctor."

"I meant more like one." The doctor lifted his eyebrow.

Then I lifted mine.

Then he lifted his again.

"OK, what is it? I want to be a part of my healing." I was actually getting excited about it. I was looking for something to do this weekend and this whole don't be a gerbil thing could be just what I was looking for.

"Well, for starters, you'll have to stop smoking." He lifted his eyebrow again.

"But…wait – I just. What are the cons of being a gerbil?" I wasn't going to stop smoking.

"Well, you'll have to eat grains and leaves."

"K."

"And you'll have to have sex with other gerbils."

I thought about telling him I already had, but then thought better of it. "K."

"And you won't be able to drive a car."

"But I drove here."

"Yes, but you didn't turn into a gerbil until you entered the office."

That made sense to me. I decided not to ask him about the specifics. "What are the pros?"

"You'll be able to cut down on your smoking as you will not be able to smoke a whole cigarette due to your reduced size. Also, you lost a lot of weight. I mean like 215 pounds. Let me think…oh, you don't have to work."

I thought this through. "But who will take care of me?"

"Well, you aren't married. Do you have family?"

I thought long and hard on this one. I couldn't remember if I had family or if I just didn't talk to them anymore. "I'm not sure."

"That's another con – you have 84% less brain function."

"That's gonna hurt."

"Indeed. I'm surprised you're able to talk right now."

"So, as far as gerbils go, I'm pretty remarkable."

"Quite so. Have you ever considered a career in the circus?"

"Never, tell me more."

The doctor examined some X Rays that had small labels like "Gerbilization of the forearm" or "Gerbilization of the head".

"Well, a circus is a group of people and animals that do things to entertain people."

"Tell me more."

"They have popcorn."

"Where do I sign up?"

"Not so fast. You need to get a pet license. Also, you need to see a vet now, because I know nothing about gerbils. Then, after those tasks are performed, you can apply for the circus."

"Do I need a resume?"

"Of course you do."

The Drifter

2011-08-02T22:01:00.000-07:00

It all started with a knocking at the door.

It was late, and I had been asleep. I closed my eyes, figuring it was just a dream, but then I heard another knock. This time much louder than before.

I got out of bed and purposely turned on no lights, as if it was something weird I would not answer the door, but just wait for the person to leave.

I moved towards the door and peered into the eye hole.

It was a man about six foot, dressed in denim, and had his hair pulled back in a pony tail.

I waited for him to leave.

Then there was another knock. I slowly moved to my closet and pulled out a bat and returned to the door.

I peered out the peek hole once again and he was still standing there, but now he was smoking a cigarette. This led me to believe he would not be leaving any time soon.

I opened the door with the bat behind it so he couldn’t see my suspicion.

“Can I help you?”

“Sure, friend. You see I’m lost. I’m looking for a town around here.” He smelled like oranges.

“What town?”

“I don’t know.” He smiled at me and I could see that he was missing most of his teeth.

“Look, it’s late and I was sleeping. What do you want?”

“I told you, I’m looking for a town.” He looked around and grinned as if there were other people listening.

“OK. I’m calling the cops.”

I closed the door on him and then waited a few seconds and peered back through. He was waving at me and smiling.

I thought about calling the cops, but the man had done nothing wrong yet. Not until I explicitly told him to leave. And, after all, it was an apartment complex – I didn’t own it.

I opened the door again. “Look, what town are you looking for? If you don’t know, I can’t help you.”

“But you do know. You’re standing in it.”

“Issaquah?”

“No. That’s the city. You’re in the town in the city, friend.” He grinned at me again. Then he turned around and looked into the woods. “Man, they say there’re lions out here.”

“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. There’s no lions anywhere.”

“No lions!” He grinned again and then shook his head. “You’re the mayor of this town and you don’t know there’s lions about?”

There was no winning. I had to call the cops. I closed the door and dialed 911. When I looked out the peek hole to describe the man to the operator he was gone. I mentioned this and then they explained that there was nothing they could really do.

I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

The following evening I didn’t sleep, but he didn’t come back.

The next evening, I opened the door to get the mail and he was standing outside admiring the small creek in front of my apartment.

“You said there’s no lions back here?”

“Fuck off.” I walked to the mailbox and it slowly dawned on me that I wouldn’t sleep for the entire week.

“That’s no way to talk, man.” His voice had changed into something close to a growl.

“Just fuck off.” I kept walking and when I turned he was gone and a lion was in his place.

“Jesus fuck!” I yelled. "Jesus fuck!"

The lion approached me and I stood frozen to the ground. I could no longer speak.

“Fucking A, man. Tell me where the town is!” It was him, but his voice was coming from somewhere else. The lion paused and turned to a tree and began licking it.

The tree began moving and a branch moved toward the lion and it was as if the tree was stroking it.

I looked at the tree and all at once it was the man. “You know where the town is. Just tell me, dude.”

“What town!” I screamed and then cringed as I realized I could be disturbing the lion.

“Downtown, brother! Downtown!” And as he said it, the lion and the man began to fade into black shadows and the shadow became a tall figure. Almost like a monolith, about eight feet tall and where their eyes had been, small globes appeared and joined to create a small orb to the left of the figure’s head.

There was a crackling and then from far away, but still from a moving void inside the figure’s mouth “Downtown, brother. Downtown. Don’t you want to get down?”

I began walking backward and tripped and looked up at the apparition. The orb was now spinning around the eight foot tall shadow man. “I’m not from around here, you see.” It sounded like it was talking from behind static on a television. “I’m not at all from around here.” The orb began spinning quicker around the giant. “Are you a trickster elf, boy?” The voice sounded like the thing was spinning along with the orb. I could make out the sentence only by every other syllable.

“Nah-no-ah.” I stuttered.

The voice that came out next sounded more like a droning hum “Then maybe you want to go downtown.”

And then I awoke to a sound of a knock at the door.

I didn’t bother to grab the bat.

An Interview

2011-08-02T13:27:00.000-07:00

"I have a feeling you are right for this position."

He was a fat man. Large in every way. You can be fat in some respects, and skinny in others, but he had the whole ballgame going on.

I didn't really want to do manual labor, but after losing my job and then applying for other jobs like it for nine months, I was down to soda crackers and butter for dinner and I really didn't want to lose the shithole apartment I lived in.

"I appreciate that."

"It says here that you have no expierence in mining, is that correct?"

"I don't know a thing about it. I know that it's a lot of work and I'll have to be trained on the job."

"That's correct, let me explain in more detail, though." He moved to grab a notebook from his desk and as he did his face, being pulled as he moved his head, suddenly popped.

It was just a small hole, like a zit, but it was black underneath. I thought it might be some rare skin disease or that weird filament disease that I saw on 20/20. I tried not to look at the small hole that was on his left cheek and just get the rest over with.

"Are you comfortable with travelling?"

I immediately forgot about the zit and suddenly felt as if this job might be more than manual labor. Perhaps they had looked at my resume and decided I was management material.

"You bet. But I didn't think this job required travel."

"Oh, yes." And then it happened. As he pronounced the "O" a small branch popped from the hole. It was black and furry and about the size of a short spaghetti noodle.

I looked down and he continued. "As a member of our team you'll be travelling a great distance to meet the needs of our continuingly expanding business - is something wrong?"

"No. I just didn't expect travel." I lied. I was absolutely horrified and wondered if a prank was being played on me. "Not that I don't want to travel." I looked back up at him and the branch moved.

I jumped.

"Will you excuse me." He said and got up and walked out of a door on the other side of the room from where I had entered.

I stared into the mirror across from me and I realized it was probably two-way. I made motions in my notebook like I was writing and thought about just running for it.

Then he entered the room again with a bandage over his cheek.

Not even mentioning the obvious he went back into the interview.

"We started our company - well, I wasn't there - but the company was started on Earth -"

"Earth?" I asked. I was positive I was being put on.

"Yes, Earth. The planet you're on now. Then, we ventured outward into the solar system and began work on Venus, then Mars, then we expanded to the asteroids and now we even have operations on Pluto."

"So, is this Jackass or something?"

"Excuse me?" And the branch popped out of the bandage, this time fluid accompanied it and ran down his cheek.

"Look, your face is falling off again. If this is a joke, I just want to be paid and then I want to leave. I seriously am unemployed and need work and don't have time for this.

He looked at me gravely and said "This is not a joke. I apologize for my face and if you're more comfortable, I'll have a human interview you."

"Sure. So, you're from?"

"Venus."

"I'm sure you are. I was under the impression that on Venus you could boil nickel - what's your story, champ?"

The other cheek erupted, but this time three small branches tore from his skin and more of the clear liquid ran down his face.

I pulled the chair back away from the table and said "Now it's just getting weird. That looks real."

"That is real. Would you like to see the rest."

The lights went up behind the mirror and I could make out several large insects peering at me. They all had the branches up and down the sides of their faces and they moved.

I turned for the door and the man explained "You don't leave here. You signed a confidentiality contract before interviewing and if I was to let you leave and spill the beans on what's outside this planet I would have to answer to the company."

"I'm getting the fuck out of here." I pulled on the door and it opened to the hallway I entered from, but where there were walls once before there were windows and it was night. I felt the building lurch and peered down to see the Earth below me.

"Do you see my point." His hand fell on my shoulder and I pulled it away and ran down the hall to the elevator.

"Where are you going?" He yelled after me. "This is the beginning of a great career path. I won't tell you that it will be easy leaving your home. It wasn't for me."

I looked back and he was undressing. I backed against the elevator and as his clothes came off I realized he had the body of a fat manequin with no discernable human characteristics underneath his wardrobe besides skin.

And then the skin came off and I was staring at a large bug on all sixes.

Around the mandible was a device that he spoke out of, I assume to make the correct noises humans use to form words.

"You're as ugly as I am to you." He said and moved closer.

"I want a human!" I yelled. "Can I talk with a human?"

"Sure, but you'll have to get used to this. It took me awhile too."

"Nothing can live on Venus!"

"When the company came to our world, we were told nothing could live on Earth."

"But...science!"

"Are you a scientist?"

Then I just began yelling "Help!" over and over and over again.

The Colony

2011-08-01T20:28:00.001-07:00

The Colony

As I entered slumber and felt the last remains of the day slip away I traveled to another part of the galaxy and awoke inside a man much like me on a planet much like ours.

Colonized thousands of year before my arrival, the colony resembled our planet in most every way.

But…there was simplicity to the society, a trust in fellow, and a beauty you would have to drive far to witness on our own great organic spaceship.

And yet, there were metropolitan holes, the number of which would compliment our own patches of rustic beauty.

All of this I sensed right away, like entering a movie and being able to distinguish the mood from the outset, if created by a superior director.

This colony had a superior director.

A group of men and women called, simply The Council ran the world and dictated the rules of society and the happy colony followed in step, as happy people not accustomed to unhappiness will do.

But I also sensed a great secret. Something of a dread that reflected the general happiness like an object and shadow.

As weeks went by I became accustomed to my new body and the world I lived, and yet the dread never left me.

As time went on, I learned of the rules of the society and some of them didn’t fit well with my own understanding of how a good society works.

For instance, there was a curfew at sundown that was strictly enforced. I say enforced only in a loose sense as no one dared to break it and, therefore, no one enforced it. And any chance to was quickly diminished by the prescribed dose of what I could feel to be large amounts of sedative.

And there were two other cracks in the façade: an absolute horror of touching the ground and a pilgrimage at the age of forty to some unknown other colony on another world.

Let me explain, the ground wasn’t verboten; it was only the natural ground. Inhabitants were made to walk, commute, and travel only by sidewalks, roads, bridges, etc.

The pilgrimage struck me as odd as the men and women leaving would leave behind all friends and family (strict breeding laws left all their children at the age of twenty) and this was all accepted as providence.

As time went on the dread and the longing for my own world and the next day to meet me drove me to break a law and I found what I had dreaded for so long.

As the sun went down, I left my wife and children sleeping and ventured out into the night.

Upon leaving the home, I heard the most awesome crackling noise and looked around to find the entire plain in front of home moving.

Thinking the sedative had worn off, I walked down the path and across a bridge.

Half way across the bridge the most terrible feeling of a stick running up and down my leg jarred me and had only a moment to look over the bridge and find a very large insect, the size of a hyena, trundling under the bridge.

I turned and broke into a sprint back to the home.

The moving around me began to get frenzied and realized in horror that the insects were everywhere.

I opened the unlocked door (no one locked their door) and lie awake inside my dream, inside the colony trying to find a way back to my home.

The next day I attended a ward meeting and explained what I had saw.

My story was accepted with large smiles and dismissal.

That night, the feeling of claustrophobia and horror left me as I took the strong sedative and dosed off.

The next morning I decided to take my wife’s pills. Then I ventured into the neighborhood and entered homes and explained that I was here by The Council to take their drugs too.

By the end of the day I had the majority of the neighborhood’s drugs, with not one complaint from the neighbors.

Then the sun down.

Terrific screams filled the neighborhood as people looked from their windows, in their insomnia, at the moving ground.

The bugs seemed to only come out at night.

Having been satisfied with my wholesale awakening of the neighborhood, I took a sedative, also giving one to my wife and went to bed.

“It got her.” It was my neighbor. It was early morning and I had awaken to the pounding on the door.

“What got who?” I asked groggily.

“A bug got my daughter.” She left the sidewalk and went on the…the…ground. She was digging when a black head came from inside the hole and…

The people began to add up at my door and their stories varied in degrees of god awful, and I soon began to loathe my decision to free them.

On the other hand, it explained the other rule and I fixed my mind in figuring out what the last rule of pilgrimage meant.

I gave the neighbors their drugs back, but some refused and every day after they would show up on my doorstep and preach to the others about the lies of the government and my sainthood for saving them.

With my ego stroked thoroughly, and a happy diversion from the guilt of being remarkably close to the mass homicide of the neighborhood, I vowed to my followers to get to the bottom of the pilgrimage.

By the end of the week we had banded together and followed a pilgrimage up a large hill and as the smiling 40 year olds were thrown into a pit of bugs for the rent on the land, I thought back to my own world and woke up sweating.

Sam Nunn, Pulled Out of Retirement Magician

2011-07-29T14:20:00.000-07:00

No. No. This will be different. I WON'T play Mary Had a Little Lamb at the Bris.

It's been awhile since I've been on stage. I had some magic in my own life recently - my wife disappeared with all my money! Ha, just joking. But really, I had an oxi problem and tried to kill myself.

I've opened for Doug Hennig, Gallagher, and that other - Copperfield. My wife also opened for Copperfield, but in a different way.

So, UHF show, how are you folks? Oh, sorry, UFC. Shit, I mean USO. Sorry cadets.

So, you kids don't think unicorns exist, huh? Well, check this out - it's OK, it's my horse and that's red glue, calm down Mr. Ferguson.

Look, Lady - Yes, I've been drinking, but no I did not pull a swtichblade on your son. It was a switchblade comb. A really, really, really sharp switchblade comb.

No. No. You said you wanted magic. I don't care if my website has Harry Potter on it and says that I am that kid from Harry Potter and that I'll stay for two hours - I'm Sam Nunn and I'm a magician and that's what you're gonna pay me 5000 dollars for.

Kids, your friends might tell you that magic isn't cool when you get older, but check this out! That's a fifty dollar bill for an hour of magic. You know what you can buy with fifty dollars? Of course you don't, but when you get older I'll tell you.

I will now pull a rabbit out this top hat. Watch. Ta da! And this rabbit! And this rabbit! And - why is there so many rabbits and blood?

I will now make this bottle of whiskey disappear!

I imagine you would like this balloon shaped like a BALLOON!

A magician never tells his secrets. But - once I picked a woman's nose while she was sleeping and ate it.

Gordon Dunne

2011-01-14T13:59:00.000-08:00

Gordon Dunne: Forest Management

"Let me introduce you to a friend of mine. His name is Matt the Match. You guys know what Matt the Match's specialty is?"
"No, what does he do?"
"He starts fires. And doesn't believe in Jesus Christ."

"A good rule of thumb is that if you can eat it - it's not poison. Like these mushrooms here. Taste pretty bad, but in a pinch, they'll get you through the day."
"Pretty sure none of that is true."
"Are you questioning a Forest Ranger?"
"Dude, we're in downtown Seattle."

"Well, there little fella, what are you doing out on your own in woods? Where are your parents."
(Dude, I'm a bear)

"Well, I imagine you could get high off of any of those mushrooms. But it's probably safer to know for sure. Let me ask that wood sprite over there."

"No. We do not carry guns. We carry bear mace and our own good wits. Bear mace, good wits, and charm. Bear mace, good wits, charm, and holy shti I shti my drawers - BEAR!"

"Now, if you see a cougar, you should act unafraid and approach it. This makes the cougar think you are superior. Now, with a bear, you want to try to trade with it. Like if you have some jewelry, ask the bear if he will trade some shrubs with you. This makes the bear and you equals. In bartering."

"Well, Jimmy, no Santa doesn't live here in the winter. I know what you're thinking - snow, elves, Santa."
"There's elves up here?"
"I AM GOD AND I WILL BRING THE MIGHTY STORM UPON YOU!"
"Dude's high."

"Folks, this is Wanda, the Park Helper Lady."
"Gordon, I'm a certified Parks Department Ranger."
"Park Helper Lady."

"Hello folks, while in the park, remember there is a 25 foot rule in regards to smoking. That means, if you get 25 feet from anything with a cigarette, you'll have to put it out. That includes the sidewalk."

"Folks, there's no "P" in bears. Let's keep it that way."
"Are you telling us not to pee on the bears?"
"For starters, yes."
"Are you insane?"
"DON'T PEE ON THE BEARS!"

John Hummus

2011-01-13T15:09:00.001-08:00

There's a few things I know about pets, and I think the most important thing is that they are all animals.

Nine out of ten times you buy a dog, it's not a dog at all. No, it's a cat that is bizarrely affectionate...and two ferrets tied to it...in a dog suit...with a milk bone in its mouth. This is all true.

You know what really gets under my skin? Scabies. And then, after that, scabies medication.

The best movie about animals is Lassie. The best TV show is Mr. Ed. And the best music is Pet Sounds. A lot of you might think Pet Sounds had nothing to do with animals, until you realize that animals were used as instruments on that entire album.

My first dog was named Benji. I named him after Ben Franklin, the man who invented the dog.

Back in the 1900s people used to live in the 80s. This has nothing to do with animals.

Nine out of ten times, when you are buying pet food you are just buying somebody's old pet.

Man, have you seen the stars? You know, in the sky? All of those stars could have planets and all of those planets could have Animal Planet networks. Then where would you be?

Some people believe a man named Noah saved all the animals of the world by putting them on a boat and forcing them to have sex with each other. I think they called it the Love Boat.

I have a friend who is vegan. He can't believe that I love animals and also eat them. So, I asked him, do you love p*ssy?

Sometimes I find myself petting things that aren't animals. Like the phone or the bank teller. I guess the bank teller is an animal, but it's not like a National Geographic animal. Like those guys with Safari hats and - what was I talking about?

Remember Dr. Doolittle? Not the one with Eddie Murphy, but the one with Marlon Brando and Cloris Leachman? Of course you don't, it hasn't been made - YET!

I think it would be neat to see a dolphin kill a tiger.

I was at the mall today. Just soaking up the beauty of my old pet shop. Frank asked that I leave, and I did. But not before I could open a small Orange Julius inside the shop.

It it had been a late night. I was working from home. After I had been fired, for all those parakeets I shoplifted, I started my own online business selling ants. To make a long story short, the ants succombed to a brutal brain disease that decimated their population and left them in little mounds all over the aquarium I had put them in that I bought from my brother Michael last year, before I was fired, for 60 $ - what a rip off. I will never do business with my brother again since he rips me off all the time and I have to...

The Last Post

2010-09-30T21:49:00.001-07:00

Episode IV: A New Hope

On Monday I had an ugly moment.
Hung over from a night of boobs and beer at Hooters, I walked passed the rag of polls called USATODAY and saw the ugly specter of Uncle Sam running across the United States with a headline that read "Bush up by 8 points." Or some such gibberish.
Immediately my heart sunk.
Why? Is a George Bush re-elect going to really screw up my life personally?
Probably.
But, more to the point, I don't watch sports. See, those with nothing but despair in their lives look towards the wins and gains of an awesome force of power to live vicariously through. And where your sportsfans of the world will tune in to watch the Seahawks lose miserably, I pay attention to politics. A win for Kerry will bring me out of the undertow that is my life for a brief five-day period after the election.
Now, a win for Bush will probably send me over the edge and I'll try to kill myself again using Ibuprofen and cooking Sherry.
So, when I saw the USATODAY I felt even more hungover and depressed.
But, then it occurred to me that USATODAY is basically like crack for Survivor junkies. Sure, it's a bunch of polls, news stories, and editorials based on real life; but, just like Survivor it's as far from real as Donald Trump's hair...or personality.
So, I immediately ran to my good friends at Zogby. CLICK ME
(P.S. I do the CLICK ME rather than put the link on the word Zogby because the hypertext is hard to point out in this stupid blog font.)
Zogby had the 96 race pinned by .1% and continues to be the IT pollster.
Numerous pieces of hope were found starting with Zogby. Zogby, currently, has Kerry and Bush in a dead heat in the popular polls, and Kerry with the win in the electoral college.
John Zogby has also made public his firm belief that Kerry will take this very, very close election.
But, what about USATODAY?
The poll, that they put on the front page like jackasses, was the sensational poll. It was the poll with the biggest gap.
They have all sorts of polls they run when finding out who is in the lead. The most popular are the registered voter and likely voter polls. Now, the likely voter poll is based on polls of people who voted in the last election.
I almost didn’t vote in the last election (Lieberman and Tipper Gore are Nazis).
But, that's not much of an argument. The real argument is that this poll doesn't take into account: cell phone only homes, the greatest registration of new voters since 1980, new to the polls 18 year olds, and all those so fractured out of the American dream that they're finally angry enough to vote.
This is the poll USATODAY put on the front page.
Now, in the same poll of registered voters, it was 48/46 (if I remember correctly) for Bush.
Again, keep in mind this has nothing to do with the Electoral Colleges.
But, again, when you look at the Zogby poll, you find that they are neck and neck, and a day later, Zogby even mentioned that the he's discounting large undecided portions that are leaning towards Kerry.
Also, in the Electoral Colleges, many of the states that were thought to be Bush's are within the margin of error. Where in the Kerry states, he's polling outside the MOE.
This is just a small snapshot, and obviously polls don't determine the presidency. But, I think it's a fair statement to say that Kerry has more than a good chance of turning out and upset for Bush this year.
Tony Danza once told me something that still sticks with me today "Keep hope alive!"
He was drunk and I ran into him in a strip club. It really has nothing to do with this blog, but I thought I'd mention it.
Peace.

Ask Me About Jesus

2010-09-30T21:48:00.003-07:00

Ask me About Jesus

So, I see this car out in the parking lot and it says "Ask me about Jesus." I thought to myself, "What is Jesus?"
So, when I finally got a hold of the woman I asked her about Jesus.
She said "Well, what would you like to know?"
I answered "Well, what is Jesus?"
She said "You don't know? You've never heard about Jesus?"
"No." I said.
She looked really taken aback. "Well, Jesus was the son of God."
I said "So, he's not anymore?"
"No, no, no. Yes, yes he is. He's the son of God and our Lord and Savior."
"So, God isn't the Lord anymore? Jesus is now?"
"No, they both are. It's really hard for me to explain right now, and I'm late for an appointment."
"Well, can we schedule something?"
"Um...sure, what's your number or email?"
"Do you have a pen?"
"Sure." She handed me a pen and I wrote my info down.
After about two weeks of waiting to find out about Jesus, I ran into her in the parking lot again.
"Jesus!" I said. "What the fuck? Where have you been?"
She got all freaked out and backed up. I was kinda pissed off that she snubbed me on the whole Jesus thing.
"Please don't hurt me." She was really freaked out.
"Jesus! I want to know about Jesus!" I yelled.
She started running and I made chase. I was obsessed with Jesus and what he could do for me.
"Help! Police!" She screamed. But, I didn't care. The way I looked at it was that if she knew something about the Lord of all of us, maybe I could get a sweet car or something.
"JESUS! I WANT TO LEARN MORE! PLEASE TELL ME WHERE TO FIND HIM!"
She kept running, and I ran out of breath and stopped for a smoke.
It's really a shame, too. Because I never got to find out about Jesus. So, I'm thinking maybe he's like Batman or Superman or something. Like, maybe he's super rich and gets all the women. Man, I wish I knew more about Jesus.

CODA

So, I saw this car and it said ASK ME ABOUT JESUS, so I asked the driver about Jesus and then I punched him in the face. And then I saw this other car and it said BUSH/CHENEY 2000, so I punched him in the face. Then this cop pulled me over and he was all like, "Hey, why are you-" and I punched him in the face. Then I sped off in my 1985 Prelude and went to Arby's and I ordered a Happy Meal and the guy's all like "Hey, this isn't-" and then I punched him in the face. Then I saw this woman walking a dog and I said "Hey, that's a nice dog." and she punched me in the face.

too friendly cafe

2010-09-30T21:48:00.001-07:00

and they both specialize in frosty milkshakes and have a plethora of flavors.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 2:15 PM
To: Josh MacDonald; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

because then you have to polish it off

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 2:07 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

finding a good burger joint is like finding a rare jewel.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:46 PM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

josh, it's like dick's. i can't find the address. i'll let you know.
this is important.

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:44 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

If you watch the original Star Wars movies the Death Star explodes in a big round cloud....in the "newer" versions of the originals it almost explodes in a ring...almost looks like a ring around Saturn when it blows up....

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:43 PM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

wtf?

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:42 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

The one before it exploded sideways?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:41 PM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

as the old, old death star

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:40 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

As a Jedi ghost?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:40 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

i heard nell carter makes a cameo

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:36 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

it should be better then the first two, it's supposed to be darker and chewier.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:29 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

i'll bet it will be better than the last two. perhaps better than empire.
the second one really wasn't bad in my opinion.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 1:26 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

the trailer for episode three debuts in thirteen days. the return of darth.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:55 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

try not, just do
so, i sorry the three star wars dvds. Let me just say Empire is the only one that holds up.
Worst moments: jabba scene in new hope, claymation or whatever in jabba's bar, and the installment of a new darth vader ghost in the end of jedi.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:52 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

I say we meet at RR or Cucina to start.
I'll try and get off early.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:49 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

the roadhouse. i know this guy - patrick swayze, he runs a tight joint.
try to get out early. i'm off at five.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:49 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

I'll cover you. where shall we meet?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:46 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

as long as you and scott pay, sure.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:45 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

no, but if you're interested in getting a drink somewhere on the eastside around 6 let me know.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 12:43 PM
To: Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

anything going on tonight?

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 11:51 AM
To: Scott McCarron; Matt Eckert; Shannon Lord; Ross Payne
Cc: Shanna Payne
Subject: RE: Issaquah Cafe?

what time?

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 22, 2004 11:40 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Shannon Lord; Josh MacDonald; Ross Payne
Cc: Shanna Payne
Subject: Issaquah Cafe?

Shanna and I are going to Issaquah Cafe for lunch if anyone is interested in going there......

Campaign Head and Quarters

2010-09-30T21:47:00.001-07:00

Extreme Election Advertising

John Kerry:

MY FELLOW AMERICANS, YOU WANT A PRESIDENT THAT RAWKS!!!! DO YOU WANNA KICK THOSE REPUBLICANS TO THE CURB? WELL, THEN VOTE KERRY THIS YEAR AND SHOW THOSE RADICAL RIGHTS THAT YOU'RE TIRED OF THEIR TRASH TALKIN'! YOU WANT HEALTH CARE? WE GOT IT. SOCIAL SECURITY – GOT. MEDICAIDE? YOU BET YOUR ASS! P DIDDY IS VOTING KERRY AND SO IS PEARL JAM!!!! PEARL JAM!!!!!!!! SO, WHEN YOU CAST YOUR VOTE THIS YEAR, THINK P DIDDY, PEARL JAM, AND HEALTH CARE!!! VOTE OR DIE, FOOL!!!!

George W. Bush:

BOO YEAH! WHO'S THE MAN WHO TAUGHT TERRORISTS HOW TO DIE? WHO PUT THE NUKE IN NUCLEAR! YOU KNOW WHAT I'M SAYING, G? IT'S W., YA'LL. IN THE HIZZIE MAKIN' THE TERRORISTS GO STRAIGHT KRIZZIE! YOU WANNA SEE TELIVISED EXECUTIONS UP IN YOUR MUG? WE GOT THAT. YOU WANNA PRAISE THE LORD WITH YOUR BABY'S MOMMA? WE GOT THAT. YOU WANNA SEE MORE SHIT EXPLODE WITH HEADS AND ARMS FLYING TO AND FRO? GUESS WHAT? WE GOT THAT! SO, THIS YEAR THINK BOO YEAH, KA BOODICA – W. BUSH YA'LL.

election 2004

2010-09-30T21:46:00.002-07:00

Pol Ads

Seems odd that you can't show a boob on TV, but you can scare the living shit out of Americans everywhere with complete bullshit about Democratic candidates.
In this spirit, I present...

The End of the World

It's election time and this may be the beginning of a series of events that will leave the Earth as desolate and useless as W.'s mouth.
So, let's look into IF GEORGE BUSH IS RE-ELECTED.....just in time for Halloween.

Well, on the domestic front, four Supreme Court justices will be replaced by conservative automatons that will strike down Roe vs. Wade and amend the constitution to prohibit gay marriage.
But, they won't stop there. Any woman who has ever had an abortion and anyone who has participated in gay sex will be hunted down by the Moral Enforcement Agency and will be beaten summarily without trial or conviction. The mere rumor that you once went down on your roommate in college will spell an end so brutal and tragic your parents will not be able to identify your body.
Because your body will used as fuel for spaceships to Mars.
That's right. Mr. Bush will continue onward with his plans to populate Mars with "Missionaries for a Stellar Christ." These missionaries will enslave the Martian race (later to be found) and use them to hunt down Jews.
That's right! The President will enact a law that all Jews are to be rounded up, imprisoned and shipped to Israel, which will be cordoned off as a prison state in the wait for Armageddon, when the Jews will be converted to Christ and any Muslim left will be shot straight into Hell!!!
That's right! Muslims will be hunted down and a reward will be given to any man who brings the U.S. government a Muslim heart. These hearts will also be used as fuel, but for the fuel to power......are you ready for this?..........DICK CHENEY!
That's right! Dick Cheney will live off the hearts of Muslims and will never grow old and will take on the Overlordship in 2008.
That's right! We will cease to have elections after 2004, instead we will anoint Dick Cheney uber Overlord to lord over the ongoing "Earth War."
That's right! The Earth will be plummeted into an ongoing World War to ensure the peace. The military/industrial complex will be powered by this Earth War, creating mindless jobs for the many sedated servants of the Cheney.
That's right! Dick Cheney will cease to be Dick Cheney, but, rather "the Cheney." A mechanical beast that lives on the hearts of dead Muslims and will greet Satan himself for.....
Dick Cheney is the AntiChrist. Fulfilling the Christian Right's ideas of Armageddon, the Cheney is actually perpetuating Satan's masterstroke of enslaving the world under his tyranny.
Jesus will then show up and projectile vomit on spot inspection of the Earth. He will then look upon the Earth and send anyone who voted Bush/Cheney to hell in a handbasket and then he will laugh on into the night!
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!

Ok, probably none of that will happen....Except the Dick Cheney parts....well, the part where he lives off humans and changes his name to "the Cheney."
But, let's face it: the ideas are plausible and that's pretty chilling.
Well, parts of them are. Like the Supreme Court part. Well, kinda.
OK, look, if you've seen any of the ads on TV lately, it's not like I have a bigger imagination.

P.S. I have a picture of George Nethercutt and Dave Reichert riding a tandem bike naked while eating the remains of dead Iraqis.

OK, I don't have that picture. But, you know....it's not like this is sponsored by anyone, so I can say what I want, right?

P.S. FIRE!!!!!!!! FIRE!!!!!!!! EVERONE FLEE!!!!!!!
P.S. Parental Advisory. This message contained explicit bullshit.

I'm Glad You Enjoyed My Bacon

2010-09-30T21:46:00.001-07:00

BREAKING NEWS: THE GUY WHO SITS BEHIND ME IS LEAVING THE DEPARTMENT

I’M GLAD YOU ENJOYED
My food I left in the fridge.
especially the bacon. I buy the "ready bacon" and leave it in
the fridge (with my name in big black letters) so I can have
something when I come in at 3:00 am.
But hey if you need it more........

- Post on the bulletin board at work

Could there be a light at the end of the tunnel? Could this last three years of complete waste be over? Maybe so...maybe so.
It began with the super neat apartment and it is continuing with the departure of the Guy Who Sits Behind Me.
You may or may not be familiar with my old site (monkeyspit which has taken down my archives and replaced my stuff with some hack - hey, hack, I believe I was the first to rip off the Onion badly) or the various others I have posted gibberish on. But, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me was a regular.
One of the reasons I do not write about the Guy Who Sits Behind Me anymore is that one of his attributes is looking over my shoulder to see what I'm doing.
So, therefore, it has been dangerous to write about the Guy Who Sits Behind Me.
Before, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me sat directly behind me. So, in order for him to eavesdrop on my business, as is his way, he would have to do a full 180 which would give me time to hide my typing.
But, no more. A year or two ago we moved and now he sits kinda next to me. But, he still sits behind me enough to let him keep his title.
Of course, that title is the Guy Who Sits Behind Me.
In fact, I'm really pushing my luck here. At any time he could decide to stare suspiciously at my screen, as is his way, to see what I got "going on."
In two weeks, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me will be no more. He will now be what he is to all the other drones in this building – That Creepy Guy.
I'll tell you, I could not be more overjoyed. For now, he will be a passing joke instead of a constant Bon Jovi song stuck in my head. He will be a turd sliding down the corporate window, rather than the popped zit that I stomach every morning. In fact, he will no longer have a legible personality for me to clobber.
It's amazing what shear distance can do to eliminate the ugliness in your life. Hell, I have an ex that I can't even imagine in another country.
Yes, my troubles are falling away. Things are coming up Eckert.
Or so it would seem....
So, no more stories about a man who falls in love with a girl who happened to be in the same shot as him at a Christmas party. No more stories about a guy who tells me what a great B.J. he got the other night after working with him for two days. No more psychopathic rants into the phone to his ex. No more "I'm such a modest guy" followed by convulsions of patting himself passive/aggressively on the back. No more long talks about what chords Bon Jovi used in "You Give Love a Bad Name." No more Air:
Guitar
Drum
Saxophone
Microphone
Bongos
Synthesizer
No more having him ask about my weekend and me going into a long story about hunting pink elephants with Arthur C. Clarke and having him respond "really?" No telling me everything I know about everything I see. No more sending me emails, then looking over my shoulder waiting for me to open them so he can see my reaction. No more bumming a pack of smokes a week from me. No more telling me he's "passionate" about hyphens. No more overenthusiastic speeches about the fettuccini sauce he makes. No more brave, courageous, patriotic speeches about how America should stomp the rest of the world. No more stinking socks, greasy hair, and thread worn clothing. No more combing his hair in the window. No more popping zits. No more preening eyebrows, facial hair, and pony tail.
It could go on and on. But, just thinking about it makes me annoyed to the point that I'd like to run a set of knives across a chalkboard just to get it out of my head.
So, basically, if you hear me bitch anymore in this blog about anything, please remind me that I got it easy compared to what I had. Like how he's now standing up right near me staring at his monitor like he's making some huge decision about the rest of the universe.
There are a lot of ugly things in this world, and I'm happy to say I'm not sitting next to them anymore.
If you believe in heeby jeeby election stuff I will say this: this could be an omen that Kerry will win. (EDITOR FROM FUTURE: KARMA WAS PAID)
But, on the other hand, I can honestly say I'd rather get rid of the Guy Who Sits Behind Me than Bush. (EFF: THAT IS STILL CORRECT)
Selfish? Maybe, but this is coming from a guy who just scheduled a "team building" event around the location of my apartment so that I would be able to get drunk.
Cheers,Matthew

2004 Halloween Episode

2010-09-30T21:45:00.000-07:00

sounds like a good movie....where is it playing at?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 9:31 AM
To: Scott McCarron; Chris Weisberg; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

a taught thriller

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 9:31 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Chris Weisberg; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

wtf is that?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 9:23 AM
To: Chris Weisberg; Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

anyone want to see the machinist this weekend?

-----Original Message-----
From: Chris Weisberg
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 9:19 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

I'll get the tickets tonight on-line. Is Josh in? I knew Scott was out. He has his daughter that weekend.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 9:14 AM
To: Chris Weisberg
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

you can, but i can't pay till friday.
josh, scott, you in?

-----Original Message-----
From: Chris Weisberg
Sent: Thursday, October 28, 2004 7:11 AM
To: Matt Eckert
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

Too busy. Soccer game, pizza party after soccer game and finishing up putting the f*cking house back together. Plus I'm tired of hearing Natalie's mouth about how our house looks since the flood. Do you want me to get those tickets today for next Friday's show?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Wednesday, October 27, 2004 5:05 PM
To: Chris Weisberg
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

OK, so, your busy sat?

-----Original Message-----
From: Chris Weisberg
Sent: Wednesday, October 27, 2004 3:14 PM
To: Matt Eckert
Subject: RE: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

Your Momma

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Wednesday, October 27, 2004 3:07 PM
To: Chris Weisberg; Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald; Shanna Payne; Ross Payne; Adam Kleiver (E-mail)
Cc: Rob Kleppen (E-mail); Adam Hawkins (E-mail)
Subject: what's up with those sneakers on your feet

i got the timber's on the toes....
what's up with helloween? is anyone doing anything? give me notice. if nothing is going on we can haunt the seatown like rabid children of the night.
who's in?

Some Authors

2010-09-30T21:44:00.002-07:00

Some Authors that Fuck and Suck

Ah, now then, how is your day going?

Two things – lemonade is definitely not an evening drink. Especially with tequila. Also, the Café Select coffee at 7-11 tastes like buttered ass.

Moving right along....AUTHORS THAT FUCK AND SUCK!

That's right, below you will find a list of authors you should know something about. Read or don't read their books – I have my commandments listed.

Let's start with overation. The following authors are extremely overrated and do everything in your power to avoid them.

OVERRATED AUTHORS

F. Scott Fitzgerald: It's mind blowing how much this man sucks. He died a diseased drunk and probably deserved it. His most famous, and maybe only, novel is The Great Gatsby. This book sucked. It sucked big time. If there was a way to suck harder than this book sucks, I'm sure Oasis is doing it right now. The Great Gatsby is pretty much the world's first soap opera. I was really surprised that Gatsby didn't come back from the grave pregnant and have some psychotic Santa Claus kill him. The book is about how this rich prick, Gatsby, gets by on all his marvelous friends that are about as boring as a Beaches reunion. Seriously, Fitzgerald sucks. Except it. Boats beaten back against dead badgers floating on flotsam. It sucked that bad.

Norman Mailer: K, this one is kind of unfair, but fuck it. I opened the Armies of the Night or whatever and read a chapter. I would have tried to read more but I was choking on my own bile. Mailer talks about himself in the third person throughout the book. The only author who can get away with talking about himself at all is Hunter S. Thompson (see The Best of the Best). Mailer not only doesn't pull this off, he doesn't pull it off in the third person. This guy is a total tool. He's one of those for shit hippies that took a good protest movement and made it look bad. He's like that guy in that horrible movie Forest Gump that thinks he's a big peace activist, but beats his girlfriend. Mailer sucks even worse than Fitzgerald, because Mailer thinks he's the shit. Mailer is the geek from high school who somehow found a niche and exploited it to get fame and poontang. This guy is a glory whore and should be shot. Hell, is he even alive? Who knows, but he sure does blow.

Frank Herbert: Specifically, Dune. Everyone loves to tell you that Dune is the best Sci Fi book ever written. This is extremely incorrect. It's not that Dune is bad; it's that Dune wasn't that great. It's way too involved with too much shit. Look, I know what you're thinking: "Well, you're a dumbass and you didn't understand it."

Wrong, fuckface. I understood it, it just wasn't that interesting. It was like reading a pot of stew made from Catholicism, Physics, and Soap Opera shit. And, whereas that would sound interesting to someone who is nuts, it just didn't float my boat like it should have. Again, I'm not saying this was a bad book, just overrated. The best part is how the main dude struggles with how power corrupts. The rest of the themes were vague or uninteresting. So, fuck you.

The Best of the Best

Here are my recommendations, kids. Please, do yourself a favor and purchase all of these books or authors. They are the crème de la crème or whatever. They rule. You rule.

Hunter S. Thompson: K, we have a caveat here that goes with Vonnegut as well: Don't buy anything after 1979. Thompson's drugs took far too much hold and his later books aren't as good. Not to mean they suck, they just aren't the best of the best. I recommend Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and any campaign book he's written. Also, his book on the Hell's Angel's was great or his collections of writings. These books make you want to write, act, and live like the author – as a good first person book should. I've based my whole life on his writings and find that I feel better about drinking and smoking as much as I do. If I've ever ripped off an author more in my life (badly) it is Thompson. His prose is genius and his disregard for authority is godlike. Run out and buy Fear and Loathing anything. This man is a god.

Kurt Vonnegut: Whereas with Thompson I said his later work is still good, with Vonnegut, I'll say blatantly ANYTHING AFTER '79 IS CRAP. Now then, maybe one of the best books ever written is Cat's Cradle. This is the story of Ice Nine and how an elderly calypso teacher gives God the bird. Buy this book now. Don't even stop for traffic lights. If you die trying to get this book, you will have lived a moral life. Also, God Bless You Mr. Rosewater is awesome as well. Hell, anything by Vonnegut before the eighties is great.

Arthur C. Clarke: Childhood's End. This is the best, bar none, Sci Fi book ever written. It is the story of Man's becoming and should be read inside a temple, smoking lotus leaves. If you want to read Sci Fi, this is the nut.

Bret Easton Ellis: American Psycho. Don't buy any of his other books. Well, maybe Less Than Zero, which is alright. But, the rest pale in comparison to Psycho. This book is the most grizzly, brutal piece of media ever made – and it works. And on so many levels. Mainly, the comedic. You're reading about the intricacies of washing your face correctly, wearing a tie correctly, ordering a dessert correctly, and then you're into a whole scene about a PVC pipe being rammed up a woman's cooch and having a rat feed on dog food that is placed at the end of it. I mean, I don't even like violence that much, but when it's juxtaposed with melon sherbet – it works. Buy this book or I'll kill you.

ISAAC ASIMOV: K, I'm gonna ruffle some feathers here: the Foundation series is way better than Lord of the Rings. There, I said it. Lord of the Rings, in fact, almost made my list of overrated books. Foundation has everything that Lord of the Rings lacks and more. These books take you from one set of puppet masters to the next, as you travel out from solar system to universe trying to find the grand master. These books rule and make Frodo's journey from the Shire look like my journey to 7-11 this morning. Buy this entire series, lock yourself in a closet with rations and read a month away. You deserve it.

Mark Haddon: The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. This book rules. It kicks so much ass. It's about this autistic boy who journeys to find out who killed the neighbor's dog. On his way he learns of his family's secrets, and the reader learns that in order to love this boy, you have to understand that he can't love - or at least like we do. Man, I don't know what I'm talking about. I should put more thought into this, but... It's written in the first person as the boy, so it's interesting to read. Don't be expecting any Dustin Hoffman hubris to overact its way into the autism here. You won't read Haddon counting toothpicks to show you what a barnyard oddity this kid is. This book will make you cum in your brain and in your heart. Man, that's stupid. Anyway...

J.D. Salinger: Nine Stories. It's that simple. Catcher in the Rye is also good, but Nine Stories is better. No wonder this guy died a recluse, he was entertainment enough. Imagine if you figured everything out – what point would there be in being around people?

And my number one, all time book: It's a tie between Nine Stories/Cat's Cradle/American Psycho.

Now, a word about Stephen King: He sucks for the most part. But, if you're at an age where you just want to read for fun, and emotions by Sesame Street are still entertaining, then what the hell? Go buy The Stand and The Gunslinger books. King has an amazing imagination, he just can't write a character worth a shit. So, if you're 15 or 16, go ahead and have fun. But, by 20 you'll realize King sucks. My English teacher was right. And I hated my English teacher. Well, not that bad. Look, if you wanna know the most pompous English teacher, it was this dude who wrote some crappy short story about taking a train to see his parents or some shit when he was four. Total shit. Man, I hated that guy. I hated that class. It was at Green River CC and I was taking Creative Writing. What a bastard. I'm going to go out and get some PVC pipe.

Now, I'm sure I forgot a lot of books here, but my hour lunch is up. So, buy the books I said to buy. Or don't. It doesn't matter. None of this matters.

Pleace,

Matt

MailE

2010-09-30T21:44:00.001-07:00

bravo. you truly are the chosen one.
the chosen janitor that needs to clean up aisle twelve.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:42 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

you have NO idea how big of a tool I was that day. it was so embarrassing. we showed the presentation in front of a bunch of people in the budget room and you could tell that no one had any clue how it related to leadership skills.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:34 PM
To: Josh MacDonald; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

oh, i'm laughing hard now. normally, scott is the butt of my ridicule, but you my friend are a true tool.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:33 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

we did this seinfeld thing where the presentation was about "nothing". seriously, it was the dumbest thing you've ever seen.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:23 PM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

so, what was your presentation about? i think an expose on beaver manure would have been breathtaking.

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:21 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

We all have our strong points

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:20 PM
To: Josh MacDonald; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

sounds like something scott would excel at: pointless behavior.

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:12 PM
To: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

it's the Costco U. leadership development class. You have to do a bunch of group projects with other people in the class. And then they make you do a group presentation at the end. It totally sucks.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:00 PM
To: Josh MacDonald; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

what's leadership class?

-----Original Message-----
From: Josh MacDonald
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:46 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron
Subject: RE: the machinist

I'll probably go if we see it on the eastside.
scott, did enjoy leadership class this morning?

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:18 AM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

i just want you to know.
what time/where are you seeing it tomorrow, ass.

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:17 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

I never denied that.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:16 AM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

you're still fat.

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:15 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

No, it's my way of saying I'm not going to Pacific Place.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:14 AM
To: Scott McCarron; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

is that your way of saying you don't want us to go with you.
that's cool.
just remember your fat and getting fatter and we hate you.

-----Original Message-----
From: Scott McCarron
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:13 AM
To: Matt Eckert; Josh MacDonald
Subject: RE: the machinist

I'll probably be going to see Saw tomorrow early afternoon on the eastside.

-----Original Message-----
From: Matt Eckert
Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 10:26 AM
To: Josh MacDonald
Cc: Scott McCarron
Subject: the machinist

is limited release. it's not playing yet.
saw is playing at 4.30 at pacific place.

Lmaie

2010-09-30T21:43:00.001-07:00

It's nice to see you haven't changed. Now let's not talk for another two
years.
Bye.

>From: Matt Eckert
>To: namewithheld
>Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 15:28:39 -0700
>
>no, i can't see her stealing. i can see you stealing, however.
>
>-----Original Message-----
>From: name withheld
>Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 3:28 PM
>To: Matt Eckert
>Subject: RE:
>
>
>She seriously said I stole from you. OH! Then you know it was her.
>
> >From: Matt Eckert
> >To: name withheld
> >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 15:24:19 -0700
> >
> >she's the one who said you did. i never mentioned it, but now you're like
> >not here, so....i feel it's easier to accuse you of things.
> >plus i'm wasted.
> >
> >-----Original Message-----
> >From: name withheld
> >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 3:22 PM
> >To: Matt Eckert
> >Subject: RE:
> >
> >
> >I seriously hope you don't think I stole from you.
> >Actually you probably do, I can just picture you and name withheld talking about
> >how I'm a thief.
> >
> > >From: Matt Eckert
> > >To: namewithheld
> > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 14:21:46 -0700
> > >
> > >dude, he is
> > >yes, you do. you probably steal from him. but, he's a tool, so he won't
> > >notice.
> > >whatev
> > >if my awesomeness was a terrorist alert it would be magenta
> > >
> > >-----Original Message-----
> > >From: namewithheld
> > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 2:00 PM
> > >To: Matt Eckert
> > >Subject: RE:
> > >
> > >
> > >He is not, I do not, I do not and I can too, oh and you are not.
> > >
> > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > >To: name withheld
> > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:57:39 -0700
> > > >
> > > >i'm not.. i'm just trying to prove my talking points:
> > > >a)your boyfriend is probably a tool.
> > > >b)you steal and owe me 40 bucks
> > > >c)you can't spell
> > > >d)i'm fookin' awesome and both radical and super cool.
> > > >
> > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > >From: name withheld
> > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:56 PM
> > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > >Subject: RE:
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >Why do you have to be so tecnicle
> > > >
> > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:54:09 -0700
> > > > >
> > > > >i hope you meant to spell fault wrong, there.
> > > > >
> > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:53 PM
> > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >I don't have spell check on, it's not my fautl
> > > > >
> > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:50:02 -0700
> > > > > >
> > > > > >you probably do if you don't have a job and can't spell forty.
> > > > > >
> > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:46 PM
> > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >That was my house and I don't need fourty bucks.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:43:09 -0700
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >i went to your boyfriends house or someone's house on a lake
>and
> > > >forty
> > > > > > >bucks
> > > > > > >went missing.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:37 PM
> > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >I don't steal from people who come over to my house, I go to
>your
> > > >house
> > > > > >and
> > > > > > >steal. Duh!
> > > > > > >Besides that weren't you with name withheld?
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:33:06 -0700
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >oh, yeah, what about that douche who worked here with his
>dad?
> > > > > > > >yeah. that was dope. i love it when poor people steal from
>poor
> > > > >people.
> > > > > > >it
> > > > > > > >makes so much sense.
> > > > > > > >and I WANT IT BACK!
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:31 PM
> > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >That is only one boyfriend. name withheld is the coolest one yet. No,
>it
> > >was
> > > > >42
> > > > > > > >dollars I stole.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:26:08 -0700
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >i met that one total toolshed when i went to your place
>with
> > > >name withheld
> > > > > > >when
> > > > > > > > >you
> > > > > > > > >stole 40 bucks out of my wallet.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:25 PM
> > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >You've never met any of my boyfriends
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 13:21:16 -0700
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >very funny.
> > > > > > > > > >no, most of your boyfriends are douchebags, so....
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 1:20 PM
> > > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >Funny.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 12:54:18 -0700
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >you haven't found the answer to that question yet?
> > > > > > > > > > >poor name withheld.
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:41 AM
> > > > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >Can name withheld come?
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 11:30:59 -0700
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >yeah, i really want to go over there.
> > > > > > > > > > > >no, i'd prefer you come out to my place.
> > > > > > > > > > > >BE THERE!
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:29 AM
> > > > > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >You can come over sometime. I'm a good cook, that's
> >why
> > > >I'm
> > > > >so
> > > > > > > >fat.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 11:26:46 -0700
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >make me dinner.
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:24 AM
> > > > > > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE:
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Went over to a friends house and made dinner for
> > > >everyone.
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >From: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >To: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: Date: Fri, 29 Oct 2004 11:19:32
>-0700
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >um...watched tv.
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >you?
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >-----Original Message-----
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >From: name withheld
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >Sent: Friday, October 29, 2004 11:19 AM
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >To: Matt Eckert
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject:
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >What did you do last night?
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > >

Saw was Shit via 2004

2010-09-30T21:42:00.002-07:00

"Saw" is the funniest shitty movie I have seen since "A.I."
The difference is, in "A.I." I was the only one laughing towards the end at how ridiculous the movie was. And it only got ridiculous towards the end.
"Saw" is a non-stop calvacade of laughs. Starting with the dumb puppet, continuing with the puppet on a tricycle, danny glover moaning like frankenstein, and ending with cary elwes moaning like the kid who played luke skywalker in my 7-year-old production of "star wars" in my back yard with the neighbors camcorder.
"Saw" WAS worth seeing just for the laughs. Half way through, i was at the edge of my seat waiting for the next amatuer shot at acting, puppet apperance or danny glover hunch back walk.
Unlike "A.I.", "Saw" had me in hysterics throughout the entire movie, and my friends and myself were not the only group of people laughing.
Josh said afterwards "you know, at first you were the only one laughing. But, then, after awhile, I think the rest of the audience saw your point."
Tremendous filmmaking.
I definitely recommend "Saw," but not for the genre it's labeled for.
peace, vote kerry

The Day After

2010-09-30T21:42:00.001-07:00

Sour Grapes

I feel like I've just been dumped. Last night I was up to nine beers before Ohio was called and ate a slice of pizza to try to bring on sleep. Hours later, I woke up at 2.30 in a full rage. I set the alarm for an hour later and managed to get back to sleep. What went through my mind during the interval of anger was just how ugly the winners were. Anyone who reads this regularly, I would assume, is informed enough to know the ugliness is manifold and there's no reason to even get into the talking points.
I remember, when I was a child, I saw a movie called "My Bodyguard." It was probably some cheap, after school special, but it really drove home the point of "life is unfair"; at least to a five-year-old. The basic premise was this kid who was getting picked on by this bully, and no one could help the kid out. So, he gets this bodyguard who kicks the other kid's ass, or something. Well, then the bad kid gets this other dude to kick the bodyguard's ass. And, you know how those movies go, he doesn't just kick his ass, he rubs his face in shit and so on.
I remember being so fucking angry and asking my mom why Superman (i'm not trying to be cute, this is just what i remember) couldn't come down and annihilate this punk degenerate. That's when my mom or dad (they were still together then) explained that life was not fair.
But, how the hell do these kind of thugs get away with this shit? Well, that's life.
Now, I'm not a black, disenfranchised coal worker in Pennsylvania, moonlighting at McDonald's to support my children and then being told my name looks a lot like a felon's so I can't vote. I'm also not a Middle Eastern man sitting in some shit hole prison indefinitely because I gave to one charity or the other. And, I'm not a candidate for president, who fought in an ungodly war, decorated for my service, had the Gibraltar-sized balls to question that service and then lose an election to a sneaky puppet, false prophet, death monger who dodged a good-for-nothing war, and then spat on those who wanted to go and find out just how good or bad it was – because they felt it was right.
So, basically, why the sour grapes? I'm not getting screwed here. Am I just a child watching others get screwed like a TV show and letting it get me angry for no reason? Maybe. Aside from barbs from Bushalikes at work, I'm really in no danger of losing a lot. Hell, if you read this blog, you know I don't have much.
But, if you have an once of empathy, and the basic common sense that you can't watch others die and not realize you will one day as well, you will know that today's loss will eventually hit home. There was some quote about a guy in Germany who was talking about how he did nothing when they came for his Jewish friend, and did nothing when they came for his Communist friend, and when they came for him, he had no friends left to help him.
That pretty much sums up what this nation is about to go through.
You may think it's all lies and hyperbole, but this is very real. Somehow the old specter of racism has turned into a new evil of "moral right" and it will fall and drape itself all over the United States. It's been happening for three years now, and no one will take it seriously. I really wonder if this was what it was like in the early years of Hitler.
And how long will we keep asking that before someone takes it seriously instead of writing it off.
And what about the vote? What does it prove? Well, if we assume that this election wasn't blanketed in fraud, it proves that the majority of Americans really believe in what's going on and support it.
I keep getting emails from people who are just dumbfounded that Kerry not only lost, but that the race was even close.
Well, my only answer is Britney Spears, Titanic, Survivor, etc.....
In a nation that continually buys and enjoys shitty music, movies, and television it's no wonder that they enjoy shitty government.
So, what now? Revolution? Ha. What a joke. Most of the revolutionaries wouldn't even feel comfortable with the idea of owning a gun.
No, I guess we just wait for Dean to rise from his drawing board in 2007 and try to pull off an election without being too real.
I could hope for a Bush impeachment, but with the government owned by the wagging tails of the collective GOP, I highly fucking doubt it.
If Bush pulled out a gun and shot Kerry dead last night, he wouldn't even go to trial. And this is the country you have inherited.
A note to the young people: in 1992 the big Bush senior misleader was how he said in '88 "Read my lips – no new taxes." And then proceeded to tax us. Now, if you buy his '04 son's promise of "No Draft," then I have an oil field in Iraq to sell you.
All in all, I should have seen this coming when Bon Jovi played the theme music to my campaign.
Damn.
Like the title, this is sour grapes, but damn, I think I deserve this.
Peace (yeah, right)
Matt

Illegal Pharm

2010-09-30T21:41:00.003-07:00

March of the Moral Majority

Good Lord. Who the hell anointed these people saints? If it was Jesus, he should be put on trial for war crimes when he rises from Care Bear land.
These people AREN'T moral. These people are not only amoral - they are fucking annoying. They are the idiots that cut you off in parking lots and bitch in movie lines that they didn't get the appropriate discount. You can see them asking you to ask them about Jesus as they pass you in a turn lane. These people only fight when the war is two inches in front of their faces.
Not only that, but their children are absolute hellions. They are the "biters" in the classroom and the tantrum throwers in the malls.
And they all breed like nobody's business. Without birth control or abortion, its no wonder these cretins are voting our conscience. Their numbers are manifold.
The two RELIGION WITHHELD that sit behind me have a new child every six months. Then, they bitch that they aren't getting enough benefits from work for the delivery.
Who do you think is paying for their fuckhappy ways?
Yours truly.
My co-pays go up because of this rampant breeding. And don't even let me get into how it affects everyone in taxes and overpopulation.
Not only that, we subsidize these degenerates' churches....so that they can molest children in peace.
Are these broad generalizations? Damn straight.
It's time to fight morons with bean curd. I don't know what that means, but the Moral Majority seems to have no problem lumping us into a homogenized clump of gay sex, flag burning, and baby killing – so why the fuck not lump them into what they are?
So, let's go on.
They smell bad, normally, as well.
Most of their Gods are con artists, magicians, and charlatans. Their Gods tell them to kill, kill, kill and to love, love, love. They believe in abstinence, but not masturbation. They own homes that smell of cabbage and Lysol. They like to crotchet crocheting needles. They think that superheroes live in the sky and will reward them for kissing their asses (superhero remark swiped). They eat Cheetos and then wipe their fingers on their neighbor. They have vast sensory organs that can smell free food miles away. They live on welfare, but give their Walmart income to corrupt churches. They wear more makeup than Tammy Faye Baker – and she's one of them! They shit out of their mouths and eat with their assholes. They come in five sets of twelve. They offer queen and Serta Perfect. They will rot your teeth. They come with a free prize if you scratch their heads off. They all own dogs named Barkley. They have sex using tubes and droppers. They eat a lot of Velveeta. They aren't even human. Their leader will come one day and demand Slurpies.
Ah, well, I'm exhausted. Just the thought of these twisted degenerates makes me sick.
What is true is that their dogmas support the ideas of a master and slave society and they will perpetuate their will through big business and oligarchic government.
The morons that voted for Bush (and they are morons), believe in lies. They see the world through faith lenses where everything stands as long as it is told to them by their selected mouthpiece.
If Bush told them the world was flat, they would believe. And there's no hyperbole here. WMD? Al Queda ties? We got that – even though it doesn't exist.
The real religious use faith as a way to interpret their beliefs. Most of them do not read the bible in the literal sense. They do not believe a horned dragon will pounce on Syria. But, they do believe the lessons these enormous pictures paint. In Revelations they speak a lot about the false prophet. The Moral Majority thinks this will be manifested in one man. The real religious know that false prophets come and go and that we've just elected one.

CLICK ME

God bless,
Randy "the Randinator" Eckert

Peace Up

2010-09-30T21:41:00.001-07:00

Fuckin' Friday

Fuckin' Friday. I ate too much sandwich. Man, my stomach hurts. I think I'm going to seriously blog today. FORREALZ.
So, I woke up, showered, went to 7-11 and got coffee, started my car for five minutes, finally got it moving, went to work, looked at the internet, did some work, then I ate a sandwich and now I feel sick.
Fuckin' sandwich. It was loaded with ham and swiss. Fuckin' ham looks brutal, doesn't it? It's all full of texture and shit. Yuck. Swiss cheese looks cool and clean. Ham is dirty looking. I think I'm going kosher for now on. That's right, no more mayonnaise.
I've got this blue-ass sweater on now. It's so fucking blue.
So, I started thinking: you know how there's like midget porn? Do you think Chewbacca has the equivalent in Ewok porn?

As you can tell, I'm more incoherent than usual. It's this fucking sandwich I ate. MONGALA! Just wanted to say MONGALA!
So, we get to leave an hour early today. This has pretty much made the day seem like its nine hours longer.
Really, nothing to report. Weisberg and I are going to a concert with all the non-famous members of Jane's addiction tonight. It's like that Simpson episode where Lisa is in concert with all the second fiddlers from Hall and Oates and.....well, you get the idea.
Did I mention that I'm never eating a sandwich again?
Kung Fu saves lives!
Man, my stomach feels all full and bloated. Man, I wish I didn't eat that fucking sandwich. I think I need to al roker my stomach.
Wouldn't it be fun for all if it turned out al roker was a serial killer. I mean, he has the look of it. He's all happy and stuff on the outside, but you know deep down inside he wants to tear flesh from bone with his teeth and prance around with his dick tucked in between his legs.
Well, that's just my observation.
Speaking of serial killers, I saw Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer last night. It was pretty violent. At this one point Henry visits this family from Patalooka, Texas and teaches them how to cook smart while relaying the weather to the rest of the country.
Oh SNAP!
That was al roker!
Wouldn’t it be awesome if they made a gum that really blew your mind? I mean, you remember that one gum where when you chewed it liquid would come out like you were chewing someone's kidney? Something like that. Maybe have the gum punch you in the face once you started chewing it??? That would be sooooo RAD!
Anyway, I'm sure these are all good ideas.
Peace up,mtta

Olderstuff

2010-09-30T21:40:00.001-07:00

Losers Keep Winning

Friday, as you may have read, I ate an ugly sandwich. Man, that didn't feel too good.
Later in the evening, I went to Red Robin for drinks with oddjobs from work. Nothing eventful there.
Even later, I headed back to Seattle and fought a good hour of traffic. Josh ditched out, but Chris was well on his way.
I think Chris is hitting a learning threshold as he didn't call me nine times on his way over.
Once home, Chris bitched about parking and we drank a beer or two.
Then, it was onto the Great Nabob for pool and drinks – or so we thought. The pool tables were taken over.
So, Chris ordered a sandwich and I, some beer. Chris' sandwich came with weeds and dressing and I made him eat every bite of it. Simply telling Chris that he can't digest anything but trans-fats will make him eat the most heinous of plant life. I cringed as I watched him devour endive, or whatever, soaked in vinegar.
After that, we left for the concert. The concert promised:
The drummer from Jane's Addiction
The guitarist from Porno for Pyros
The guy from Candlebox.
Surprisingly, it was a good concert.
We ran into some old school dope dealer from high school and chatted a bit. My drink was NOT on. By 11, I couldn't drink anything more without making vomiting faces.
After the concert, we went to Dick's.
Now, we cabbed it, like good drunks, and we had two distinct conversations with two different cab drivers.
The one on the way to the concert told us that many women invite them in to commit savage sexual acts on them. Also, some guy once gave a cabby 100 bucks to plug his wife. The surprise occurred when the voyeuristic man finished himself on the poor cabby's back.
So, if you are with a girl, it might be important to ask her what the chances are she'll ever screw a cabby just for the hell of it. I think this is important, because some guys might not like the idea that their girlfriend is tonsil deep on some cabby's cock.
On the way home, the second cab driver asked us about the concert. Chris told the man that we saw some Caribbean band and that they gave him a drum stick.
Now, the first part of that is a bald-faced lie. There was no Caribbean band. Chris was feebly trying to fuck with the cab operator.
Now, the drum stick part was kinda true. Stephen Perkins (jane's addiction) threw the drum stick at Chris. Now, if this was to give Chris a memento or if it was to injure Chris' fat-fuck face, I don't know. Later, Chris had it signed in my presence. So, that's three up close celebrity sightings: Stephen Perkins, John Curley, and Dave Reichert – in just three weeks!
Christ, I'm such a loser that my celebrity sightings suck.
Forward motion.
"Yeah, the lead singer (of the make-believe Caribbean band) was named Jack Meeeeeehoooff." Chris found this amusing. I, however, felt sorry for the cabby. Not because Chris was making fun of his lack of skepticism, but because he had to tolerate Chris thinking he had gotten one over on him.
It really sucks when the brain dead think they are making an ass out of you, but you know better, but are just too polite to say "Hey, fuck face, eat a bowl of dicks."
But, it doesn't matter.
None of this matters.
What does is that when the cabby dropped us off at Dick's for burgers, he said there was no need to write in a tip for my credit charge.
In my drunk stupor, I didn’t question this and just thought the cabby was trying to be nice.
Now, why I would think he'd be nice to me after Chris was acting like a three-year old, I don't know.
What I do know, now, is that I may have ended up letting the cabby tip himself hundreds of dollars.
So, Chris is an idiot and I'm probably broke.
At Dick's, Chris ordered burgers and I stood outside and smoked.
A security guard was posted at the Queen Anne Dick's to assure patrons that the restaurant was closed at 2.
This went on, the guard turning away would-be burger eaters, and suddenly the guard went into Stallone mode and jammed up the street.
It seemed a couple of women had gotten in a fight while exiting a nearby bar.
A couple to my right really lucked out with the fact that the guard took off. This is because, seconds after, the female component of the couple collapsed on a bench.
Now, I can only guess OD, considering that the male component had to carry her, ala Sleeping Beauty, to the lineup for cabs.
I offered assistance, that I probably wouldn't have been able to provide, but they shooed me away.
Chris emerged and we walked back to my place, passing a guy on the street (the boyfriend of the beat up girl) as he held his stomach and moaned. The girl was explaining to the security guard and other policemen that the other girl hit her and that she was just protecting herself. "It's not fair! It's not fair! Ask my boyfriend, he's right over there!" I followed the cop's glance to the boyfriend, who must have been hit as well. He was still on his knees, moaning incoherently. It seemed everyone lost that night.
I'm just waiting on my bank statement to tell me how much.
At home, I cracked a beer, chris went to bed and I turned on "I Love Lucy."
I thought about discharging the air from Chris' blow-up bed and give him a taste of my hard carpet, but it was late.
After the beer, I devoured a cold burger and fries that tasted like oh, so much ass.
So, let's tally it.

Victims of Friday:

Me
Anybody whose wife is being pole'd by a cabby right now
Cabby 2
Heroin addict
Pussy boyfriend
Incredulous girlfriend

Victors:
Chris
Cab drivers everywhere schtooping our wives
Super Security Guy

Once again, life is not fair and the losers are the heroes and vise versa.

P. Doodly

Introducing: Email

2010-09-30T21:39:00.004-07:00

Morons

Dick on the mind? Gross.

-----Original Message-----From: Scott McCarron Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:17 PMTo: Chris Weisberg; Matt Eckert;
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

That's pretty bad when I can't remember my own phrase.......

-----Original Message-----From: Chris Weisberg Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:16 PMTo: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron;
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

Yes. Scott started it and we used that phrase often.

-----Original Message-----From: Matt Eckert Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:13 PMTo: Chris Weisberg; Scott McCarron;
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

chris, you remember using that phrase, right?

-----Original Message-----From: Chris Weisberg Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:09 PMTo: Matt Eckert; Scott McCarron;
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

Fatty (Scott) used that phrase all the time. Now he uses JAGADICK. Nicely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

-----Original Message-----From: Matt Eckert Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:04 PMTo: Scott McCarron; 'Eckert, Caroline J.'Cc: Chris Weisberg
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

eat a bowl?
you don't remember that?

-----Original Message-----From: Scott McCarron Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:04 PMTo: 'Eckert, Caroline J.'Cc: Matt Eckert
Subject: RE: question for you Scott

I don't remember ever using that phrase........

-----Original Message-----From: Eckert, Caroline J.
Sent: Monday, November 08, 2004 2:00 PMTo: Scott McCarronCc: Matt Eckert
Subject: question for you Scott

Scott, true or false, back in the day (mid nineties according to Eckert) you and Matt and all your buddies used to use the expression “you can eat a bowl of dicks”?
HAR, this will annoy Matt. Egggggsssellent.

Liner Notes

2010-09-30T21:39:00.003-07:00

My Linear Notes

Thanks go to: Allah, Kevin Jordan, Jordache Jeans, Brian "Kendel" Kendel, Angela "that girl who asked me to fuck her in the ass" Ross, Daniel Stern, McDonald's, Hashbrowns, that beer I had at 10 am on June 13, 1995, Big Mike and the Ass Wreckin' Crew, this black guy I know, the Republic of Chechnya, Barbara Walters, Johnny "three note" Threenote, Brian "Brian Smith" Smith, Veronica Dungeness Crabs, Amtrack, Caroline, Eddy, Bean Boy and Bobsy, Silent Washer, Mr. Kleitch, the Jordanian Embassy, Roswell, Jordache Jeans again, that condom that didn't break when I nailed that large woman, tater tots, the color blue, vinyl flooring, elm trees everywhere, the Chinese language, Veronica Bedbottoms, phones, my eyeballs, Christ, Satan, Neil Armstrong, Linda Ronstandt, Gloria Vanderbilt, Lionel Ritchie, the Ritchie family, Pops Two Note, Argosy Cruises, Plexiglass, the Neil Diamond Orchestra, Sandy, Kendel, and the whole marching band of Totem Lake highschool, bowling shoes, the Wall Disc 1, Lou Dobbs, Senator Palpatine, Chewbacca, the entire cast of Casablanca, Emilio Estevez, Doug, Ron, Phillip, Arby's, beach towels, and the good people at Midas. Matt Eckert would like to send a special shot out to the entire moon of Titan.

Tacos

2010-09-30T21:39:00.001-07:00

There's no Reason to Eat Another Taco

Man. You remember Friday, when I ate that sandwich and felt all shitty?
Well, it happened again. This time it was with tacos. You see, my mom made tacos for Thanksgiving and...wait, I need to look at email....man, Shannon is beating up homeless people again.
Anyway, so my sister's are going to Chicago for Thanksgiving, so my mom had a special Thanksgiving on Sunday.
It doesn't explain why she made turkey, potatoes, salad, stuffing....and tacos.
But, anyway, so I took some taco meat home and made some tacos yesterday.
Well, I had one and it tasted oh, so good. So, I had another, then another and now I'm sick as all hell. There's no reason to eat another taco after you have had one. Man, what was I thinking?

You Feel Me? That's 100% solid emotion

2010-09-30T21:38:00.001-07:00

I just got into my cube and for ten minutes we were on the edge of calling facilities to find what could only be a decaying rat in the air ducts.

Low and behold, it was some dude who brought shrimp. Now, I would think that if people think that a rat has died when you open your meal of shrimp, that you would smell the fact that your shrimp is probably far beyond driven.

But, never mind that, how do you have the sheer ballage to open a can of stink like that and feel secure with the stink you produced? How fucking rude. You might as well take a dump at your desk. In fact, the dump would smell better.

What else? Well, after reposting old political stuff to this site I will try to promise no more. Looking back now, I realize how self-righteous I sounded, as well as boring.

Oh, but Bush is still an asshole.

Tsunami update: Well, it seems the world is coming together and donating like all hell to help those affected by the tsunami. Even celebrities. I think John Travolta just bought the island of Phucket. He was donating to the relief effort and in his haste he didn't realize he dropped enough to buy the island. In response he was quoted as saying "Phucket."

That was schweet.

Update on how I'm currently not getting laid: December was a good month. Sadly, a good month. For a normal man, it would be a bad month.

NAME WITHHELD1: Well, we started out with NAME WITHHELD1 who I was able to bed for three days before she broke it off with a text message. Recently, I found her friend's phone in my car and she was supposed to come by and pick it up. But, trying to be funny I texted "Feel free to cum by and go nowhere with me." This was in response to her saying that she didn't see us going anywhere together when she broke it off. My attempt at humor was probably sabotaged by spelling come with a "U."

NAME WITHHELD2: This is the woman who I talked to a lot and have gone out with twice in the course of almost a year. I don't think she considers either event as a date, so I'm not sure if this counts. But, it's good practice for when I actually do have a date. I went and saw a movie and had dinner and a beer. Magical.

NAME WITHHELD3: This would be my ex-girlfriend's friend who I made out with in front of some bar waiting for a taxi. Later, I would sleep in the same bed with her and my ex-girlfriend. Diagnosis: no way to score. I got her number though, and planned on doing something with her on the following Wednesday. Monday I texted her and she never texted back.

********EVERYTIME I USE ANY FORM OF THE WORD "TEXT" I FEEL LIKE A FIFTEEN YEAR OLD ON A IPOD COMMERCIAL************

Well, the next day I noticed that my texts to her were still in my Outbox. I'm no good with a phone, and decided that meant they weren't sent, like with Outlook. Well, they were. So, that was assface move number 1. Then, I decided to call her and I was cut off by a bad signal mid ring. So, I had to call her again and....well, let's just say I spent that Wednesday watching fly fishing on PBS.

NAMEWITHHELD 4: This would be the woman that I met at the great Nabob on New Years. Oh, everything was coming up Matt: she gave me her number, I kissed her, and she invited me to a party at her friend's loft. Later, I would realize I lost the napkin with all this vital information and would spend a good portion of the evening digging through a garbage can to no avail.

NAMEWITHHELD 5: This would be the drunk girl I met in my hallway. She was wasted and all I could manage was a brief make out. Later, I would open the door to my neighvor's place and find her on some dude. I would then feel like an ass for talking to her in the first place, have her come over and think that I was jealous or something, then have her say she was coming back and never see her again.

NAMEWITHHELD 6: This would be the porno movie Weisberg finally brought back that I wanked off to on Saturday and last night. I would totally go all the way with this movie and I see her being in my life for weeks to come.

All in all, as you can see, I'm a total pimp. Dolemite's got nothing on me.

BREAKING NEWS: SNOW IS GOING TO KILL EVERYONE IN WASHINGTON STATE

That's right. We're soon to be hit by what could be up to five inches of snow in Washington. That's F-I-V-E (5) inches of snow. It should settle in Thursday night and blister our greater Puget Sound area through the weekend. The stores are crowding up with the desperate, combing aisle after aisle for de-icer, bread, milk, cereal, alcohol, cold medication, cantaloupe, and herring. If you don't own a gun, go out and buy one, for swarms of thermal underwear'd mutations will be attacking your home in search of your herring and flashlights. Tell the kids to conserve their energy: no sledding this year – for this winter will not end and every quanta of energy is precious for the imminent hibernation. Woe to you, oh Washington. Woe.

Woah.

Pleace,

Matthew Cornwall Effervescent

Email

2010-09-30T21:37:00.001-07:00

Dude, I'm Totally Going to get in with the Flying Saucer Crowd

Or

Emails are Ripe Today

So, last night I saw a UFO. That's right! Don't try to debunk my shit either. Here is the story I sent via EMAIL to family:

UTR099 Help Topics menu (HELP)

and the help text for the following fields of UTR099:

CHRGRF
CLNPRT
CLSPRO
CNFGRF
CPNAME
PNVFAQ
RSTPRT
RSTPWD
VPEND
VWRKST

Wait, no, that's something else on my clip board. Let me find it. Here ya go:

So there i was - on jenny's back deck. i had heard that the northern lights
>might be out, so i ventured a long stare into the sky. immediately, i saw
>something that looked like a shooting star, but going a bit slower and
>looking much larger - but, that wasn't the ufo.
>i called into brad, but he was changing elijah. "brad, i saw a shooting
star
>or something!" i said.
>Brad said he'd be out.
>So, i continued to look for more, thinking it was a shower. i gazed up
>towards the north star and saw this one star moving. It looked just like a
>star, but it was moving. so, i figured it was a plane or satellite. But,
it

>was moving side to side, backward and around as well as straight - unlike
a

>plane or anything. it was weird. brad witnessed it too.

Shocking? Oh, yes.
But, that was not the only rare sighting of last night. According to EMAIL, Rachel (this one chick) saw Eddie Vedder at some Death Cab concert performing an encore. Eddie Vedder is a rarity in Seattle when he can find work.
Moving right along, my other EMAIL thread was from a coworker who explained that many of the wives here at work go out for "dessert" when their husbands are out of town.
As she explains it:
Yes they know somewhat....they do role playing with them but don't know that it really happens outside there so called marriage.
I guess it keeps the spark!

Shocking? Erotic? You bet. I guess most of the women out there actually perform there role playing parts in real life. Which means I have an ex-girlfriend who banged multiple plumbers, burglars and handimen when I wasn't home. As much as lesbian sex is erotic, I don't think I'd ever role play another woman. The sound of me trying to talk like a girl would totally turn me off.
Um...I think that's it for now.
KEEP WATCHING THE SKIES!
Also, if you're a Seattle – area resident and witnessed the UFO I witnessed, please drop a line.And for you, you aliens that I saw, if you're going to do an autopsy on me, please stay away from my pooper.

An Email

2010-09-30T21:35:00.000-07:00

You

>Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 13:44:17 -0800
>
>PROVE ME WRONG!
>
>Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
>
>
>You don't know that.
>
> >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 13:41:46 -0800
> >
> >no, i'm pretty sure i'd want to nail you.
> >
> >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> >
> >
> >You don't know that.
> >
> > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 13:36:44 -0800
> > >
> > >just because i would like to nail you, doesn't mean i love you.
> > >
> > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > >
> > >
> > >Because you love me
> > >
> > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 13:19:02 -0800
> > > >
> > > >why would i waste my time doing anything you suggested?
> > > >
> > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > >
> > > >
> > > >We're not going to the Necter, I was just asking if you've ever been
> > >there
> > > >since it was right by your house, kinda. It's my friends club, he
>just
> > > >opened it, you should go check it out.
> > > >
> > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 12:53:26 -0800
> > > > >
> > > > >so, have fun in lake necter or whatever.
> > > > >
> > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > >
> > > > >
> > > > >Yeah, so?
> > > > >
> > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 12:45:20 -0800
> > > > > >
> > > > > >wtf? it's nothing against him. i don't remember you ever going
>out
> >of
> > > > >your
> > > > > >way to do things with me and my girlfriends.
> > > > > >so, basically, in the friend dept., you are a suckier friend than
>i
> > >am.
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > >
> > > > > >
> > > > > >He'll be crushed.
> > > > > >
> > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 12:40:55 -0800
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >i have no interest in meeting your boyfriend/fiance.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > >That's sweet.
> > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 12:36:36 -0800
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >hey, that's right by me.
> > > > > > > >not interested.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >At the in-laws, Lake Union.
> > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 12:32:50 -0800
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >where?
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > >Parents, dinner.
> > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 10:38:22 -0800
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >with? for what?
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > >I'm going there tonight.
> > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 10:32:50 -0800
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >seatown, baby
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > >Where do you want to go?
> > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 10:26:38 -0800
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >whatev. regardless, i'm tired of always going where
>you
> > > >want
> > > > >to
> > > > > > >go.
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > >Well that's because you took forever to return my
> >e-mail
> > > >and
> > > > >I
> > > > > > > >forgot
> > > > > > > > > >to
> > > > > > > > > > > >bring my lap top
> > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Date: Wed, 10 Nov 2004 10:16:48 -0800
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >i was uninvited:(
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >That's sweet. I was at the joker last night, where
> > >were
> > > > >you?
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >Date: Tue, 9 Nov 2004 11:26:32 -0800
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >i just like sending you random pictures.
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >Subject: RE: 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >and....
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > >Date: Mon, 8 Nov 2004 10:53:07 -0800
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > <<232974357105_0_alb.jpg>>
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > > 232974357105_0_ALB.jpg
> > > > > > > > > > > > > > ><<>>
> > > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > > > > > > >
> > > > > > > >
> > >

Underwater Petting Zoo

2010-08-18T20:55:00.001-07:00

Underwater Petting Zoo Idea

So, I have this idea about this underwater petting zoo.
You take the kids down in a submarine and have all these gloves that are attached to the submarine that hang off the sides, but are accessible from the inside: like in a nuclear lab.
So, you take the kids down, underwater-likes, and they all put their hands in the gloves and get to pet any of the aquatic organisms that pass by.
Also, there'd be, like, some windows so the kids could see what they were petting.
But, it doesn't stop there.
You see, kids are stupid and no matter what kind of environment you're in, they're going to expect goats at a petting zoo.
Kids are idiots.
So, I'd hook a swarm of goats up to oxygen tanks and send them down with the sub on ropes and stuff. When the sub finally settles on the sea floor the goats would settle as well and fall slowly to the seabed.
On the seabed, they'd try to gallop or whatever, but they'd be all aquatic now, so they'd just look like retards. But, the kids are all stupid and would get a kick out of petting them anyway.
Then, I'd advertise a wild card event.
You see, sharks crave goat flesh, so, maybe a swarm of sharks would come by and devour the goats in a horror show the likes of which you haven't seen since Cambodia. The kids would be all freaked out, but it would teach them about ecosystems.

Man, my good ideas are so fucking awesome.

Homo shit

2010-08-18T20:54:00.003-07:00

Dead Animal Farm Idea

So, I have this other idea about animals.

This time it's about dead ones.

See, kids these days don't know anything about deadness. Deadness is all around us. It's in the plants, the oceans, and in convenient stores.

What kid's need to understand is that they, one day, will be dead too. But, even further, they need to know that when they die maggots will eat their flesh and they will smell even worse than they do now. Taking it another step further, kids need to know that their friends and family will also decompose and puss and look like bloody shit one day and there's nothing they can do about it.

That's why I have this idea about this dead animal farm.

On the dead animal farm, all the animals are dead and decomposing. So, the children walk in and immediately are hit with the tangiest death stank in the world and they're all like "mom, what's that smell?"

Mom will respond, that's what it's going to smell like when my bloated stomach explodes due to methane gases that need to escape mommy's body, as is God's plan.

The kid's will love it, once they get over the stench. If they don't – fuck em', they deserve little more.

So, I bet you're asking "Matt, how will we keep the animals in a constant state of decomposition?"

Simple, my ass knuckling friend – we'll continually replenish the dead animals.

See, the forest and streets of our lands are JAM PACKED with animals for the slaughter. Like, right now, I could get a raccoon, a deer, a possum, a cat, my neighbor's dog – all of them! Then, I break their necks and let nature do her work – in front of the wee children.

It's just that simple.You can get a hotdog and a coke and watch as "Terry" the cocker spaniel, gives birth to a swarm of maggots that eat her from the inside out. Your kids will love it – and learn!

What could be better?

Damn, I'm smart.

We Just...

2010-08-18T20:54:00.001-07:00

K, Dead Animals aren't Funny Hey, I know what you're thinking – how come I don't get an erection when I look at cantaloupe anymore. Hey, I hear you.

But, what I want to talk to you about is the previous article "Dead Animal Farm." I want to make sure my readers know that I find nothing funny or enjoyable about "breaking animal neck" or "beating young kittens senseless."

My aim in the previous story was to show my readers just how fragile life really is. Like when you're beating a hen savagely and its head pops off.

I really wanted to display a softer side of myself. I didn't want to nurture any deep seated feelings regarding the brutal final solution for all ox and ox-like animals.

Animals are fun meat puppets for us all to play with – not to beat or harm. Children should never witness the brutal realities of animal decomposition.

No, children should be sheltered and nurtured like small French fries that cannot be eaten because they are so small.

Look, hey, you can cast your barbs and angry letters at me – I can take it.

But, please don't take this out on the innocent dead animals that line my fence, rammed onto each fence post in a manner so offensive the FCC fined me.

Changes

2010-08-18T20:53:00.001-07:00

I've Changed my Mind – Dead Animals ARE Funny

Look, there's a lot of life lessons in...life, and one of them is that you'll change your mind now and again. Like, when you think that dead animals are no longer funny.
See, for me, it all came down to the "ha ha", if you will. Dead animals are not clever or ironic, no. But, they are "ha ha" funny. Like if you witness a horse run through traffic and just get annihilated by a dump truck. There's nothing clever there; it's just a cheap joke.
So, therefore, I retract my last statement and amend it to:

Horses Getting Hit by Dump Trucks are a Prescription for HA HA

There, I said it.
I do not, however, condone the wholesale slaughter of horses by dump trucks. That would not be funny. In order for a horse being hit by a dump truck to be funny, you must see it at random and only once.
Put it this way: imagine a horse being hit by a dump truck. JUST FUCKING DO IT!!!! OK, now, imagine that same thing once again.
I bet you didn't laugh the second time, did you?
Look, we are all made from the same primordial goop, except people from Texas, and we all find different things funny. I, myself, may find dead horses funny and you may not. But, damnit, we need to celebrate the differences! So what if I want to rob banks and dress up like Al Roker on Thanksgiving – are those crimes?
Nay, they are expressions of the human will to be....to be....to be....to just be. Now, you've gone and made me cry. I hope you are happy.

Corky

2010-08-18T20:52:00.001-07:00

Birch is the Shittiest of Trees

No lie. If you ever see a Birch tree, shake your head in disgust. These trees are rotten. They stand all tall and act like they're so great. Don't believe it. Birch trees are for shit. No one needs them. You sure don't. Tell the world! Shout it loud!
If you are French, climb the Eiffel Tower and yell "Birch sucks" in your own language.
If you are English, climb Big Ben and yell "Birch sucks" in your own language.
If you are Norwegian, go visit some popular attraction in Norway and yell "Birch sucks" in your own language.
How do you like them apples?
Fucking Birch trees never learn.
For instance: I'm at Burger King and I order this Whopper and onion ring meal and this Birch tree comes up, behind the register, and goes "May I take your order." This is after I had already ordered.

Or, this other time, I'm at the local grocery store and I'm looking at the expiration date on milk and this Birch tree comes up and says "Hey, you gonna buy that?" Like I'm some petty crook. Fucking obnoxious Birch trees.
Oh, and then I'm driving on the highway and this Birch tree pulls up right by me and guns his engines, like he's some hot shot.
Dude, Birch trees suck.
If you meet a Birch tree on the street, keep your money close; the Birch trees will totally rob you with no provocation.
Look, I think I made my point here. If you don't believe me, go into the forest some day (that's where they're from) and see if you can find one descent Birch tree.
I bet you can't.

Except for Morris the Birch tree. Morris is my main man. I love you Morris!

Peace,Corky

I'm a tire

2010-08-18T20:51:00.003-07:00

Gypsies!

They have ascended on my place of bidness.
Every year, my company holds a crafts fair. I guess it wouldn't bother me if it wasn't taking place in EVERY FUCKING HALLWAY IN MY BUILDING.
I went down to the cafeteria (some people call it a deli, I call it a cafeteria) and it took me a half hour to get down three flights of stairs.
On every corner there is a group of moppets and their parents selling plausibly useful crap. Like, pins, buttons, flags, quilts, wreaths, and homemade dogs.
It's enough to make me retch.
When I was a wee toddler, my mom got into this "craft" thing and I had to go to these craft sales; sometimes hosted by my own mother. She made Cabbage Patch clothes for dolls. Others made confections or wreaths.
So, walking the hallways brought back a lot of memories. Like the one where I worried that my mom might be poor and destitute enough to sell homemade clothing for dolls.
Another thing that bothers me is how overpriced this shit is. It's like you can get a wreath at Kmart for six bucks, but the same wreath made by Charlotte is now fifty. I'm not saying Chris' mom is ripping people off, no there are far more personal afflictions to her soul that surpass this. What I am saying is that when you break a wreath down, acorn by acorn, you find that making one yourself is FUCKING EXPENSIVE.

Sadly, I have been to Michael's and have seen some of the price tags on this shit. One acorn, to make to a nine acorn wreath probably runs a good two bucks. So, you're already in the red with just the fucking acorns.
The sad part is walking by the tables that aren't getting any bidness. There's this family hocking ski caps, or some shit, and they're twirling them around and no one's paying attention and they got their kids there and they just look like complete losers. It's fucking sad. I feel for them. But, I'm sure as shit not going to buy some shitty ski cap.
But, the basic reason this sucks is that all of this crap is completely useless. Who the fuck needs an American flag potholder? A joker ski cap that went out in 94? A pin with a duck taped to it? Salad tongs made out of a duck's rib cage?
Fucking garbage. I wouldn't regift this shit.
Oh, and I will tell you right now – if anyone gives me a wreath with nine acorns on it for Christmas I'm going to find a really warm place for it.
What the fuck is a wreath anyway? I mean, when you think about it, it's like nailing the shit from your gutters on your fucking door.
Christ, it's like a third world nation just collapsed inside my building.
Luckily I'm a straight male, and therefore, no one expects me to buy this shit.
No one needs to see children knitting what may pay for their only meal of the day. And even if they are learning a trade, it's not like people buy this rotten shit more than once a year – so they're fucked anyway.

Look, everyone agrees – craft fairs are abominations.

In the neck

2010-08-18T20:51:00.001-07:00

Free Burritos Anybody who's interested – free burritos in my cube!!! Come one, come all.But! You will have to get into my building – passed the flying dogs and the killer bees. No man has yet entered the building without a plausible badge.Notice I said "man?" That's right, once, a fortnight ago a woman of great virtue was able to wrastle the flying dogs to the ground and tame the killer bees. That was a glorious day to be Helen BonCarter, I can tell you that much my friend.She strode in and beat the security unmercifully and vanquished the lunch lady. She was a true artist in her deadly art and found her way to my cube where she scorched her tongue on free burritos.Quite a tale, huh?Quite. She had luscious legs that ran all the way up to her chin and a striking chest of huge milk jugs that bounced when sh –Oh, but I have become vulgar. Anyway, so basically, the moral of this story is that there was free burritos in my cube, but I think they are all gone now. There are, however, beverages left for those that have a fancy to be struck.Oh, plus this one dude stunk up the bathroom. Hmmmm......maybe it was from the burrito-ee goodness?Maybe so!

Eight is not enough

2010-08-18T20:50:00.004-07:00

Eight is NOT Enough

Dear Tom Bradford,

For fuck sakes, man! What the hell is this "eight is enough" shit? You think eight is enough? Buddy, I mean, I know your wife died and all, but you're back in the saddle, you got a new hoe and the whole bit.
So, Tom, what the fuck? Eight? No, Tom, you gotta keep FUCKING!
Look, Tom, good Christians know that birth control is the spawn of Satan – but, goddamn, Tom, you got to bone your wife some more!
I mean, the proof is in the pudding: Mary, David, Joanie, Nancy, Elizabeth, Tommy, and Nicholas. What more could you ask?
Another fucking eight!
Tom, take a good look at Abby. She's your second bitch up in there and she's just asking to be taken from behind. Tom, you need to get another eight Hitler Youth-esque drone children into the world.
Tom, take it from me: there is far too little feathered haired, blonde, Hitler Youth children in the world today. Hell, some of them are all mixed up into all sorts of weird colors.
Tom, we need you. You and your precious seed.
So, Tom, please, for the love of God – you need to give Abby a trouser full of beef and put some more little toeheads into the mix that is Mother Earth.

Thanks,
Dick

Win Big Money

2010-08-18T20:50:00.003-07:00

Keno tickets.
Soon, we were back at Battleship, where we summarily lost another twenty apiece.
It was looking grim, and we had only wasted an hour. Which sucks, cuz unless you want to blow another fifty, you're going to have to leave. And leaving after only an hour doesn't justify the trip out to Auburn.
So, I bit the bullet and pulled another forty bucks. I was on my third beer, and figured I had another two left in me before I would have to leave.
I decided it was time to start thinking strategically. What machine gives me the chance to pick my own way of losing?
And then, staring me in the face was a Keno ticket I had just lost on.
"Of course!" I shouted to my fellow patrons. "It was Keno all along!"
But, not the regular Keno, no, it was the slot machine version.
I quickly shoved twenty bucks into the machine, picked some numbers and awaited destiny.
With ten credits left out of forty, I began sinking further into the vinyl chair. I had smoked three cigarettes and the beer was tasting like bitter defeat.
I began rallying myself for the inevitable departure. I did not want to repeat the New Year's episode of 2001, where I lost a grand in some horrible carnival, circus-land casino at Baker.
No, I was ready to leave, 70 down. Josh came by and showed me the Sympathy card the Keno woman had handed him, the drunk next to me was eyeing my machine like a vulture, and the beer was almost drunk.
It was endgame.
I sighed, and bet another credit, just to get rid of them.
I just kept blindly smacking the "spin" button, hoping that this would soon be over.
Then, on credit seven, I hit.
$425.00!
I cashed out and I quickly gave Josh $50 (when you gamble, it's you against the casino. If you're with friends, it's both of you. You need to establish a system where one guy wins and you all win.) Then, I instructed him to order us two beers, and two ten-dollar tickets.
I won another fifty on that ticket and promptly left.
It was an amazing day, and I thank the lord for his providence.
Blessed art the machines that dispense gems and gold, for they are the machines that keep us occupied as we continue to lose.

But, not that day, my friend.

So, that's my heroic story of courage in the face of immense obstacles. Some would call me a survivor, a hero. But, you can just call me Matt.
Feel free to pass this story of inspiration on to others. For, the world is yours if you just learn to work for it.

God bless,Horace

Killing Machine

2010-08-18T20:50:00.001-07:00

We need not ever get up again. We need not wake up from dreams that hit you in the head like a shotgun.

Man, woke up to sarcasm and a cigarette. There's this plastic mask of rope and rectangles that I pull a string on and I'm looking at this landscape full of concrete and brick and metal and tremendous amusement.

Last night I listened to doors slam for hours on end and watched a documentary about the returning to earth of two organisms that used their vocal cords to make tradable ideas of product.

I became so absorbed in the door slamming that I poured myself a bathtub full of egg fu yun and sat and soaked in it's warmth.

My neighvors are degenerates and have no patience to let a door close slowly.

Slam!

And I'm awake again to the shotgun. Dreamt of big fire that explodes into us as we retreat into more wood.

I lay in bed and wonder if I should have laughed at Pauly Shore. Maybe, it was me that was wrong? I run to the kitchen and spread peanut butter all over my body and open and slam my door.

I'm back in bed and it's extremely hard to get back to sleep with all this peanut butter all over my body. I toss and roll and think about how I'm staining more and more fabric that's sewn together to make plausible patterns so that I know my bed from a hole in the ground.

I keep thinking about how I can't get to sleep and how there's no time to shower; or I might as well wake up.

I take out a small pipe and opium dreams fill my bed as the covers become a small tsunami and I'm rolling around in it, thinking about all the small packets of peanut butter protein I'm destroying.

Kill the body and the head will die. I'm chanting this as purple waves roll over me and break into brown smudges of peanut butter.

I'm on a roll.

I quickly discover the great sea ship Meteron. It's sailing over my chest and floating down my legs and once it hits the edge of the bed, it goes over a great waterfall and I'm suddenly on the ship.

The captain yells at me to get into the cabin, and I follow orders like a good pirate.

Once in the cabin I realize the captain is smuggling white slaves to work on sex farms in my bread cupboard.

"Have a go at em', my boy." He gestures to twelve beautiful 18 year old blondes who cringe at the captain, whom I slowly realize is Yosemite Sam.

The women become giddy and begin undressing, but before I can do anything about it, the captain pulls out his revolvers and begins shooting out the window at the coming rocks at the bottom of the waterfall.

Another shotgun blast and the ship explodes in splinters of wood and I'm staring up at my ceiling, smelling a lit cigarette burn my couch.

I take a drag off the cigarette and look out the glass that's being held together by brick and plaster.

Outside, the opium dream is over and I'm looking at strips of black that run up blocks of metal, concrete, brick, and timber.

They feed a large giant that is metropolis and with every black wire there is an appliance: Amana, Whirlpool, Phillips, Hitachi....we go on and on like this forever, following wires into these shiny toys that make food hot, clothes clean, and women scream in orgasm.

Oh, wires, wires everywhere to be found.

Oh, wires, wires we are forever bound.

I smell another cigarette cooking my couch and another shotgun door slam and I look up and see a shiny figure entering my studio apartment that's made of plaster and brick and glass.

It says "I am Mothra, king of the wirelands. Join me in my quest for nubile virgins and dollar bills the size of marmots."

I laugh and go back to bed and think to myself "Mothra is no machine."

Pleace,

Jonathon Robert Smith-Barney

Google

2010-08-18T20:49:00.005-07:00

How About a Night of Sparkling Romance, Bitch?

You know, you have beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?
I was looking at you from afar and I found my heart breaking all over again, seeing someone as lovely as Maryln Monroe – I must be with you, if only for one night!
Listen to me, you fawn, you spirit of love: I want to take you out tonight.
How does Canlis sound? Good? I will buy you the most delicious meal available, and shower you in Champagne. The appetizers will be succulent truffles, and the dessert, a fine Baked Alaska or Cherries Jubilee. The main course, however, is a surprise.
After dinner, I will take you to the most eloquent dance club in town and we'll dance to the Big Band and drink the most expensive of wines.
Then, maybe, we'll just travel around the city in my Lincoln Towncar and see what the night brings.

Later that evening....

You fucking bitch! What do you mean you want to go home? What the fuck? It's ten, for Christ's Sakes? You think that meal was free? You could at least accompany me to the fucking club!
Christ, I don't believe this shit. I mean, I didn't think you'd put out or anything, I wasn't expecting that; but, I didn't expect nothing. I mean, at least a kiss, but now you're leaving after just dinner?
I bet you do this to all the guy's: get a free meal, get liquored up and then go fuck your ex-boyfriend and laugh about what a tool I am! Huh!
Fucking bitch!
I don't fucking believe this. Fine, fine, I'll take you home, your majesty. Shit. What a fucking joke.

Obama

2010-08-18T20:49:00.003-07:00

I Completely Screwed up my Lunch

Man, what a crappy start to the middle of my day.
So, it all started with the first big mistake: following what the Guy Who Sits Behind Me did.
See, the Guy Who Sits Behind Me ordered a burger and fries. Well, I thought, fries seem like a good idea – I'll go get some fries. So, I go over to the other cafeteria (some people call it a deli, I call it a cafeteria) and I decide to get a burger with my fries. Well, the douche (and I knew he was going to be a douche just by how inanely friendly he was) forgets to take my burger out of the cheese melter. Then, they throw another on, and I realize that they are burgers that they made beforehand and just warm up. Then, I get the burger and the fries are nasty looking – they have that frozen-too-long look of Burger King fries. THEN, I'm dumb enough to put relish on my burger, not realizing that it's hot dog relish, not burger relish.
There is a difference.
So, this meal of garbage cost me 4.10. Then, I get back to my building and find that some meeting had a bunch of pizza leftovers. So, I coulda eaten for free.
See, just when I try to be reasonable and think that everything the Guy Who Sits Behind Me does isn't all annoying, I get fucked again.
Damn him!
Oh, here's a top ten list of phrases the Guy Who Sits Behind Me uses that make me want to rip his lungs out:

10. It's all good
9. Outstanding
8. How does that grab you?
7. No, thank you.
6. Check this out.
5. I caught a bug! (computer bug. But it's normally just a typo in a program)
4. I'm passionate about...food, hyphens, bon jovi, etc.)
3. Presumably
2. I'm a huge fag and I like to eat other men's buttholes (not really, but I'm sure he thinks that a lot)
1. Sorry (with a Canadian accent. He's not Canadian. He's just an asshole)

Well, that's it for now.

Apple

2010-08-18T20:49:00.001-07:00

Jacking for Blogs

Hello, again. It's about time we delve into the minds of bloggers world round and see what's afoot.
This is from a woman in Ohio:

We have heard it mentioned as a paradigm shift, Youth Ministers partnering with Christian parents. Walk into your local Christian bookstore and you will see books, magazine articles and video series devoted to this very topic. Youth Ministers have become all too aware: if the Christian parent is not behind their child's spiritual development, the Youth Minister is in for an uphill battle.

It's amazing to me, still, even after the election, how many people are into organized religion. It's mind blowing that anyone would have a full weekend to themselves and blow a good three hours having someone else tell them what to do. Are you so unstable that you need a constant moral and social reminder of what not to do? Has the S and M spirit of corporations and government left a hole in your life that you need to fill with another whip? I have a feeling God is going to be annoyed when these people end up in heaven and keep asking "What do I do now? What do I do now?"
Nuts.

K, I just found the following. It's just a profile, but maybe I'm wrong about people not needing additional direction in their lives:

My name is NAME WITHHELD. I'm 19 and I've lived in Manhattan my whole life. I just got back from Germany and Amsterdam. I'm taking a year off from school cause I had bad depression and almost OD'd on speed. My girlfriend's a DJ and I'm bi-sexual. My parents got divorced when I was 9 and my Dad just bought me a Saab. I live in a town house my parents bought me on Fifth Avenue right by the park. My brother died of AIDS when I was 16. I'm a writer and I work out and do a lot of cocaine. This is my story.

Good lord! If there was a reason for Jesus, that could be it. Or maybe not. Let's keep looking.

Welcome to Da' Lounge. This is a team effort by a group of physicians who spend time in the surgeon's lounge of a major medical center. We discuss everything from the best western ever made to religion to politics. There are no rules of PC in da' lounge. The only rule is civility. Here in da' lounge, if you get too full of yourself, someone will put you in your place every time.The members range from Fundamental Christian to Conservative Atheist to Prairie Liberal and everything in between. We get along. You should too.

Hmmm....a bunch of conservatives disagreeing about when a woman goes from "loose" to "a slut." Another ding against Jesus. Here's another:

PUBLIC NOTICE. I find it interesting that anyone may anonymously register a domain name (i.e. BELIZEA .COM) and continue to lie to investors, but if someone wishes to create a BLOG and/or respond, they are required to identify themselves. It is unfortunate that the cowardly vermin who are behind WSF/BELIZEA do not have the courage or integrity to stop this SCAM even after the courts have concluded that it is not a legitimate business. And, it is unlikely that Gerhart Walch “CEO” will do so since he obviously is not prepared to accept the responsibility and the consequences of his actions, should he do so. The fact is he is an unmitigated liar. Not a single statement made in the WSF.COM (no long an active URL -see below) or the BELIZEA.COM website is true. There is no doubt that he and the major shareholders are unscrupulous cowards with greedy motivations.

Well, nothing to yay or nay the big man in this one. In fact, it's rather boring. But, I guess I won't use the Belize branch of my credit union. Let's continue to hunt:

Voici l'emplacement de tous les articles, chroniques, brèves et dossiers du Populaire.Ici, vous trouverez toute l'oeuvre du Populaire au travers de sujets comme l'antisémitisme, le national-socialisme, la dékoulakisation en URSS, la collaboration des communistes français avec l'union soviétique, etc.Tenez-vous prêts camarades, ce tiroir va bientôt être inauguré !

No fucking clue. I think it has something to do with socialism or communism. Still no Jesus. Let's move on:

This term you have two homework tasks1- The whole school task of designing a Christmas Card.2- A project on Pilgrimage.Your project should be about the city of Jerusalem in Israel.You must explain why the city is an important pilgrimage site to 3 major world religions.Which sites would Muslims, Jews & Christians visit and why?Find photos or pictures of the sites if you can.(use the internet & travel agents or the library)Explain something about the history of the city and the struggle for control of it from the 3 different religious groups.Try to find out how much it would cost to visit Jerusalem.This project must be handed in during the second week of December 2004.

K, here's a point against Jesus: making kids do homework and shit. (Stilted clapping) Way to go, Jesus. Also, the reminder of the schism between Muslims, Jews, and Christians is another mark against him. Let's do one more:

Areaserver - Dedicated Server
... Choose your server. Build your Dedicated Server, 99 euro/month, VAT not included, All Areaserver Dedicated Servers include basic functionality below: ...

Well, I guess if everyone were a Christian and such, computers and all this server crap wouldn't have been invented, as they are practical science. So, I'll give this point to Jesus.
So, Jesus loses by a point.
Man, Jesus is going to pissed off at me.

Tia Tequila

2010-08-18T20:48:00.001-07:00

Let's Check out Some More Bloggs

Today is a drwosy and rainy day for me. It is cold and rainy. I am kinda upset because it is raining outside and I just washed my hair. I missed my nine o'clock class today and I shouldn't have because this is the third time I have missed it. I cannot miss it any more because I need to pull off a C in that class and I do not know how easy that is going to be for me to do. Other than that my day has been good. I did not have any hard work in my 2:00 or 3:30. We pretty much discussed notes and past assignments. So...I am logging off now to finish my day! Good-Bye.

Ah..that brings back memories of skipping classes. I would verbally abuse this woman for throwing away an education that other's don't even have the chance of...but, I pretty much skipped a whole quarter at UW and only showed up to get a descent meal in the U district a couple of times. Man, UW was a waste of time. I hate that place. Man, just thinking about it pisses me off. Oh well. Here's another:

It rained all weekend, which is good for the garden and not so good for the humans. I spent the weekend working on my nanowrimo novel which I have entitled The Novel About Absolutely Nothing With Annotated Recipes- I anticipate that if I ever edit the novel, the recipes, which will include cooking ,dyeing, printing, and whatever requires a recipe, will make up the bulk of the book!As I wandered around my garden this morning all the pinks struck me. Normally I do not like pink as a colour to work with, but just about every flower in my garden is pink or red. This morning the droplets of rain sat like crystal treasures on the leaves and petals of the flowers, but I am ready for some warmer weather so I can work outside!

More Rain. Well, she has a good idea with the book title. But, it would be cool if it was a fiction novel and for no reason she inserted recipes. Like, when the main character finds a dead body in his bathroom, she inserts a recipe for brownies or enchiladas. That would be awesome. Think of your favorite book, then think about inserting recipes for shit in it. That would be so fucking awesome. Maybe, I'll do it. Here's another:

K, the next blog, I can't display cuz it was dirty and I'm at work. The title of the first entry was "Anal Sex Tips." Now, I can't imagine having a whole post about anal sex. All you need to know about anal sex is this: lube, lube, and more lube. Ask your mom, she'll tell ya. Burn. One last one.

finally feeling "girl power" at thirty(cough)something; mom to two awesome girls who already know how to flex their "girl power" muscles; aunt to the sweetest, most beautiful boy in the world; wife to the only man in the world I want to be married to; sister; friend; daughter; creative writing instructor; scrapbooker; writer... not necessarily in this order - it fluctuates!

K, I hate this chick, just by her profile. Well, I'm gonna go have a cigarette.

All that is needed with this homemade enchilada casserole recipes is some refried beans, and perhaps a bowl of salad.

Ingredients:

1 pound ground beef
16 ounce can diced tomatoes
6 ounce can tomato paste
1/2 cup water
1/2 cup chopped onion
1 tablespoon chili powder
salt and pepper to taste
8 ounce package soft tortillas
8 ounces shredded cheddar cheese
Oil

Method:
Brown and drain meat. Add tomatoes, tomato paste, water, onion, and seasonings and simmer for 10 minutes. Fry tortillas in hot oil just until softened, and drain.
Place rounded tablespoon-full of meat sauce and cheese on each tortilla and roll up. Place seam side down in pan.
Top with remaining sauce and cheese. Cover with foil and bake at 375 degrees for 25 minutes.

Vibrant

2010-08-18T20:47:00.002-07:00

One Theory

Why don't you speak English?
I am speaking English.
No, you are not. Where are you from?
Belgrade.
Where are you from?
New Hampshire.
Why did you lie?
I didn't lie. I'm from New Hampshire, Belgrade.
There is no such place.
There is here.
Where is here?
We're here.
No, we're not.
Where did we meet?
We haven't yet met.
Why are we conversing?
Because we're trying to figure out where is here.
Where is here?
Belgrade, New Hampshire.
Are we alone?
No, we are not.
Who is here?
No one, but ourselves, but we are not alone.
Will anyone else come?
I don't know. Can you see anything?
No, I'm blind or this place is blank.
It's blank.
How do you know?
Because I don't feel anything.
How do you know you have senses?
I can talk to you.
But, how are we talking.
Let's hope civilly.
I don't like this.
I don't either.
Is there a way out.
There's always a way out.
Where?
I'm not sure.
Here?
Here is where we want to leave.
I'm scared.
So am I.
I want to see light.
There's only a void.
Where is the light.
It may be the void.
I'm scared.
So am I.

Corine

2010-08-18T20:47:00.001-07:00

Corine

The rain comes down slowly and I look up at another customer. He's upset about the conditioner he bought for his hair and I'm having trouble concentrating on what he's saying.
Something about how he's late to work and how this is the third time something has happened. My nose starts bleeding and I'm now...I'm floating away.
I'm in college and I need a C average to graduate. I start playing this video game and I lose track of time, but I miss my test.
It's 2.30, and I'm coming to. I'm in the break room and I say "what a good day," because I'm happy to not be missing my test from the dream.
I'm discussing what happened now with my boss and he seems concerned.
"You just logged off." He says.
"Good bye." I say back and I feel it come on again.
It's raining in my dream and I'm gardening out in this English green house. I begin thinking about a recipe I once had to make in high school. It was something with mustard and my boyfriend at the time kept calling me Ms. Mustard.
I stop gardening and pause to read a book, but none of the letters make any sense, like I'm dyslexic.
"You can't work with pink roses!" I'm shouting as I wake up.
The rain is still dropping outside, but I'm in a car. There's a sticker on the back window that says "Girl Power."
"Are you OK?" Someone asks me. I think I'm OK.
We pass by my dead brother. He's standing in the middle of the street and I wave.
"What is Tom doing in the middle of the road?"
"Whose Tom?" I realize now that it's Patty from Bakery.
"It's in a dream, I think." My nose starts bleeding again, but I don't pass out.
"What's in a dream?"
"I think we're in a dream."
"Honey, I'm taking you to the hospital."
"Not until I finish my book!" I can't seem to understand what I need to tell Patty, but it keeps coming out all wrong. I'm passing out again and I don't think I'm going to wake up.

RIP ODB

2010-08-18T20:46:00.004-07:00

ODB – We Hardly Knew Ya As many of you may know, ODB has died. Old Dirty Bastard, we'll miss you.

To be quite honest, I'm not even sure what songs he's sung or rapped. In fact, it was news to me that he was in the Wu Tang Clan.

But, one thing I'm convinced of is this: he had a great name. Dana Carvey once made fun of Sting for naming himself "Sting." And Dana was right. But, naming yourself Old Dirty Bastard is different. I'm not even sure he named himself, but if he did, I'm sure some thought went into it. Whereas Sting wore some yellow suit and was dubbed "Sting," imagine what ODB did to deserve that name. I bet it would make for an interesting story.

So, I started wondering – how did the name come about? Was he shower-phobic? Was his favorite Peanuts character Pig Pen? Did he keep a messy house? Or was he dirty in that other way – the Rick James way? Which then lead me to speculate, it's not just the good that die young, no it's the dirty as well.

I guess James wasn't all that young, but he died before he could collect social security. And you know that was a big theme in his music – social security. With ODB, on the other hand – he was young. Very young. 35, in fact. Imagine all the nasty things he packed into those 35 years....and then think of all that could have been.

I bet if ODB is up in heaven, right now, he's treating himself to some REALLY ROTTEN sex. Like stuff that involves peeing and pooping on people. That's just the way ODB would want it, though. Would you disagree?

Is this seat taken?

2010-08-18T20:46:00.003-07:00

Have I Mentioned

Is this seat taken?
No.
Oh, no I don't smoke.
Excuse me?
Have I mentioned to you before that I'm an avid diver?
Excuse me? Have we met?
No, not until now – on this bus. Look, I just want to make certain that you know that I'm an avid diver.
Uh, yes. Of course. Look, I'm just trying to read this newspaper, so if you could –
Diving is a lot of fun if you have the right equipment. Did you know that if you pack a large amount of pecans with you, your chances of survival are greatly increased?
No. No, I didn't know that. Why would that be?
I don't know, it's just what I read in the People magazine. Look, do you want to talk about fly-fishing or not?
I thought you wanted to talk about diving?
No, I distinctly remember telling you that I wanted to – oh, wait, no, you're right. I just remembered now – it was diving. Well, anyway, now that that's behind us, why don't we talk about fly-fishing? I'm an avid fly-fisherman.
Excuse me; I don't want to be rude, but I really would prefer it if you just left me alone.
Yeah, fly-fishing is more of a sport to me, than it is a hobby. I remember my grandfather telling me when I was young that if I could fly fish good enough I could turn pro. Of course, there is no pro league for fly-fishing, but just the same, he had a lot of heart.
Your grandfather?
Yes. Oh, and he was a helluva drunk, too. Man, I remember one time, we went out fly-fishing and he was so drunk he tried to bait his hook with my ear. I can still feel my ear sting when someone mentions it.
Mentions what? Fly-fishing?
Ow. That hurt. What are you trying to do to me over here?
Listen, please –
It's all right, I'm used to it now. Fly-fishing is an often-tossed around term.
Wait – how come it doesn't hurt your ear when you say it?
Say what?
Fly-fishing?
Ow! Damn! Will you knock it off? Geesh. Look, mister, if you want to go giving me an ear ache, why don't you save yourself some time and just punch my clock.
Punch your wha – what are you talking about?
Ha, that was a good one. See, I knew you wouldn't punch me. We're good like that, aren't we, Al?
My name is Leonard.
Well, Al, let's not jump to conclusions.
About my name? I think I know my own name.
I wouldn't be so sure. There's a lot of hypotheses in this crazy world and a lot of them haven't been proven. Like the one about milking owls.
What? Who the hell milks owls?
Wouldn't you like to know?
No, no, I don't think I would.
Well, you should try it sometime.
What? Milking owls?
No, that's crazy talk, you can't milk an owl.
But, you just said –
Hey, buddy, I told you not to jump to conclusions.

Smoking is the coolest

2010-08-18T20:46:00.001-07:00

Smoking is the Coolest

So, I'm not sure if I've mentioned it before, but I've been waiting on $100 from Rent.com for weeks now. You see, and this is a good tip if you're moving, Rent.com will give you $100 for telling your new residency that you heard about them on Rent.com.
Now, whether Rent.com is fucked or my mailman is a criminal, I don't know. Mail has been a large problem at the Sevi and because of a recent robbery, we're going to have a new security guard or some shit. Look, bottom line is: I haven't received my Rent.com reward.
But, in the meantime, I have received a bunch of other rewards that I didn't expect: a refund from Puget Sound Energy, another refund from Puget Sound energy, a refund from the Department of Licensing, and last night: a reward card from Marlboro.
Yes, the good folks at Marlboro know that I'm risking lung, heart, dick, throat, tongue, colon, etc. cancer just to keep them in business and they know how to pay a bruther – $10.
That's right, not only that, but if I smoke 25 packs of cigarettes – another $25 is added to my card.
Isn't that SUPER!
But, this is only the most recent boon in my smoking career.
Listen:
I'm pretty sure they do this in bars across the nation, but I know they do in Seattle.
If you're smoking a cigarette, a Marlboro rep will come up to you and ask you a bunch of smoking-related questions and give you a free Zippo. In return, you give them your marketing info. It's a sweet deal and so far I have received:
Cookbooks
Lighters
$1 off coupons
Ashtrays
Keychains
More lighters

Sweatshirts

Binoculars

Other shit I don't remember off the top of my head.
But, there is a scary part to it: once Marlboro found out I was moving weeks before I moved. All of a sudden I received a "So, we hear you're moving" card in the mail. I thought, "Great Christ! They know my every move now." And they probably do. But, in a world where the tobacco companies pay for the most annoying anti-smoking commercials and help you to quit smoking, while encouraging you to as well – well, that's godlike.

Well, we can start with Subway

2010-08-18T20:45:00.003-07:00

Well, we can Start with Subway

So, I'm at Subway, eating a sandwich. And, yes, my stomach hurts again. Well, I overhear the following:

"No, no tomato, no lettuce; I can't eat anything fresh."

What the fuck? What disorder requires you to avoid all fresh food?
Then, she chimes in with:

"Oh, well, maybe a little cheese."

So, basically, meat is the only thing that was OK on the non-fresh diet? I guess it would make sense if it were jerked meat or something really not fresh. Maybe pepperoni would count. I think it's cured or something.

And now for a new item...

What would I do if I were a Republican.

So, I'm at Subway and one of the staff runs out to his car to do something.

Now, if I were a Republican I would have told the manager that
1) he parked his car in customer parking.
2) that he walked off the job during his working hours.

Man, that was fun.

Yes, these are the things I think of when I'm eating a sandwich.

So, I've decided that salt and pepper Kettle Chips taste like pure canola oil. It's fucking sick. I bought these damn things for a party and I can't get rid of them. I have them at my desk and force myself to have two or three a day in the hopes they'll finally go away. Something in me says I can't just toss them. Wait – yes I can. I'm going to toss them right now.
Holy shit! I just tossed them, along with the sunflower seeds I never wanted to eat. Hell, that was liberating. I think I'm going to go home and toss a bunch of other shit food I have. Like:
That medley of crackers I bought for that damn party.
That plate of fries that I took home from work, cuz I couldn't finish.
That awful sandwich I made with 234 grain bread.
That bread that sits in my fridge, but won't mold so that I can throw it out.
Oh, it's going to be a garbage to-do tonight! I can't wait!

Tits and Treats

2010-08-18T20:45:00.001-07:00

More Tips on Writing a Suicide Note

1. Write for a reason: If you're not REALLY going to off yourself, don't waste your time writing a suicide note. Sure, it might be therapeutic, but there's no way you can get into the mindset of a person bent on downing Clorox through feeling sorry for yourself. You're better off writing a self help book.

2. Always make a rough draft: time and time again I see lousy suicide notes that all have one thing in common – no rough or working draft. Think about it – this is your last transmission before you leave this world; don't you think some thought should be put into it? Sketch out your outline and follow with a rough draft. In many cases, good suicide note authors will then devour the rough draft and let their bitter stomach acids devour it poetically.

3. Keep it concise: look, you don't need to recount your life's story. Every one knows why you lost the game of life – we don't need the primer. Look, stick to the three Fs: failure, f-bombs, fragility, and fault. You're not going to find a successful suicide note that starts: Thirty years ago, in Wisconsin I was born to Doug and Mandy Kleppen.

4. Research, research, research! Look, Hemmingway didn't write about bullfighting from just watching Wild Kingdom; if you want to write a descent suicide note, do the research. Visit people that are in pain: the homeless, a children's hospital, or your local DNC branch. Most of the time, it will probably make it so you don't feel you have it that bad. And if that happens, think about the fact that you failed to commit suicide and I'm sure it will get you back into the swing of things. Also, do a Google launch on suicide, rock stars, poets, authors, alcoholics, Kurt Cobain, and so on. You'll find a good amount of info.
Alright, in researching that last tip, I just found that someone else has done this bit. It shouldn't surprise me, but GODDAMN! OK, I'm done.

The Goat Man

2010-08-18T20:44:00.001-07:00

The Goat Man

Let's go back in time, to a day before the Gingrich revolution, a day when the Downward Spiral was brand new, a day when I was a senior at Kentridge highschool.
It was 1994 and I was passing Steve Galassi's locker when he grabbed me and told me to "Look at this!" while snickering.
Steve and Chris Weisberg shared a locker and in it they would post stories from the Police Blotter section of the South King County Journal. That day, the story was about a man and a goat.
It seems a man in Auburn (or one of the SoCo towns) had been serially raping a farmer's goat. Well, the farmer had been fed up and he stayed up late, to catch the rapists who would be dubbed the Goat Man.
Well, sure enough, the Goat Man arrived at the farm and proceeded to dip his throbbing tool into the farmer's goat meat. Well, the farmer had a twelve gauge (I really don't know the gauge, but 12 sounds cool) shotgun and blasted buckshot into the Goat Man.
The Goat Man screeched in agony and beat his chest at the moon and....just joking, the article wasn't that in-depth.
Well, we got a good laugh at the article and that was that.
Or was it.
A year and a few months later, I decided to get the ninth job I had had in two years at a recycling plant. A friend (dead to me after she made the mistake of sending me inspirational pro-Bush emails) had gotten her uncle (could be a mafia guy; I've never been sure) to get us a job at this recycling plant he owned along with his trucking business (yeah, probably in the mafia).
Well, the first morning, as she's driving me in with her, we hear on the radio that the Goat Man case will soon be heard.
It seems that brutal night turned into a bit of a legal battle, as the Goat Man countered that the farmer had shot him. And, of course the original legal action was the rape of a goat and trespassing.
So, it was a big to-do, and my friend and I had a good laugh as I recounted the story of Steve's locker to her.
Well, let me preface by saying that the recycling job was the worst one I had ever had. We arrived and learned that our job would be to pick out cans and cardboard from trash that came by on a conveyer belt.
Not a hard job, if it wasn't for the fact that it stunk and some sort of creosote funk would get in your mouth and stay with you all day. Oh, and did I mention we were basically picking through trash like hobos? Also, as an added bonus, we would be working alongside work-release prisoners from the local prison.
One of the prisoners, I remember taking a conscience to. He was scruffier than the rest, and his clothes looked to be something that fell off a set from Grapes of Wrath. He was on crutches and I remembered thinking "Man, not only is this guy poor, he's ugly as sin, in jail, and maimed." I'm sure my naïve 19-year-old self put it more PC, but I felt for this guy.
Well, it got worse. There was a rule that you could keep anything you find on the belt. Well, a whole lot of, believe it or not, porn would come by. Well, the work-release boys just ate that up. And as a token of friendship or premeditated rape, they were kind enough to open a centerfold up, direct it at my female friend, and send it down the belt for her to see.
Now if that isn't code for "I would rape you if I could," I don't know what is.
It was around that time (and we're talking about the first two hours) that the guy I had sympathy for took a box of Hot Pockets off the conveyer belt.
Now, let me remind you that this was a garbage plant. Also, let me say that it was one of the hottest days of the year and those Hot Pockets had been sitting in trash for, at least, a week. Sympathy boy had retrieved them and decided that they would make a good meal.
My sympathy turned to disgust and I asked this friend of my friend's, who also worked there, "What the fuck?"
She answered "I've seen him take a piece of cheese off that belt and eat it."
"Good lord!" I was about to vomit.
"Don't you know who that guy is?"
"No." I certainly didn't put the radio broadcast, Steve's locker and this guy into any sort of mix.
"That's the Goat Man."
"Goat Man?" I still didn't get it.
The woman then told me that the Goat Man was the Goat Man from the newspaper, from the radio broadcast.
I was working with a man who ate cheese out of garbage cans and raped goats.
The next morning, my friend and I decided to quit before college started. Then, by the first break, we decided we'd quit at the end of the month. At lunch we quit. My friend feigned a soccer injury and I told the boss that she was my ride.
So, there you are, that's the Goat Man story.
It makes you think doesn't it? I mean...wait, no, it doesn't make you think. There's nothing to learn from this story.
Well, wait – yes! Don't feel sympathy for anyone. Because, no matter how down-trodden they are, they could be raping goat flesh.
Peaze,Tracy

No pain, no gain

2010-08-18T20:43:00.000-07:00

My DUI

I remember thinking "It had to happen sometime."
Just joking. I was way too canned to have a clear thought I could remember now.
It was 1997, the weekend Princess Di and Mother Theresa died; and for some reason the Princess Di story got more coverage and sympathy.
So, basically, it was a bad weekend for cars and drunks.
Not that Mother Theresa was a drunk.
You see, I was to meet a friend (no longer a friend, he drove his flag waving, G.W. pickup passed my mom's Kerry-adorned house the other month and failed to ever call me again.) in Ellensburg.
He was a dropout from Central University (joke on its own) and spent his college years taking bowling and engine repair courses (I'm not joking).
I hate Ellensburg. I hated it before the DUI, and I hate it now. It's a dump of a town and is probably one of many Eastern Washington towns that should form their own state and get the hell out of my beautiful Washington.
The air in Ellensburg is permanently polluted with the smell of a rendering plant. The town, itself, is thick with horseshoe and stirrup casting shops and leather emporiums for the cowboys that come to Ellensburg from the sticks in the Seattle-area.
Picture your high school. Now, picture all those rich kids that dressed up like cowboys and listened to Garth Brooks with their souped-up Chevy LUVs. Those douchebags who would put MOPAR stickers on their rides and blast Clint Black from Rockford Fossgate speakers and amps they bought to play DJ Magic Mike when they were going through their rap phase.
These toolsheds are the soul populace of Central University in such a great number that they have driven any real Earth and Land cowboys out into the hills.
Yes, the real locals are smart enough to live up in the brush where they can't be seen. Then, at night, during college parties, they come down and rape your 16-year-old little sister that came to visit from Renton and got so drunk on Everclear that she vomitted Taco Bell out of her nose and into her lap.
The town is also home to the longest fence in the world and the bleakest view of nothing you will find this side of the Mojave.
With this in mind, let me explain to you why I was so drunk.
Wait, I think I just did.
Well, let's explain why I went up.
You see, life for me at that time was rather boring. I was living in Seattle and all my friends still lived in Kent. I was enrolled at UW, where I successfully skipped every last credit I took.
I had just turned 21 and needed to be turned loose. But, where?
My friends were all older than me and had tired of the bar scene. They wanted to settle down into shitty relationships with sluts in the spins of pregnancy and abortion cycles.
Am I bitter? Yes. It was a shitty time to be yours truly.
I lived in this run down studio in Northgate that my father was paying for and spent most of my weekends down in Kent.
Now, if your life is so lame that you need to drive to Kent for a good time – you have problems.
So, I decided to take my friend (socalled) up on his offer to meet him in Ellensburg.
Now, I don't remember much from the weekend, but when I arrived the hicks up there were drinking whiskey and vodka straight out of the bottle in the looking forwards to of the Rodeo the following day.
These were serious drinkers, and who wouldn't be when you live in a town as close to hell as Ellensburg. They were drinking to forget that they not only flunked out of a shitty college, but they stayed in the town working in rendering plants so that they could keep alive their legacy of bowling, riding bulls for two seconds, and drinking their weight in Ranier Ice.
Hell, in a way, I can't blame them for wanting to spend their lives porking 18-year-olds that are drunk enough to think Taco Bell is a date.
So, when I arrived, I followed suit, like the ass that I am.
I'm a stranger to hard alcohol. I never really liked it and I don't now. So, when I tried to fit in, I had no idea what was too much and proceeded to get wasted beyond all belief. Most of the night was a black out.
Then, at some point in time, this whore I fucked for a week or two showed up and I got it in my mind that I was going to drive back to Kent, just so I wouldn't have to be reminded of the genital fungus I might have contracted from sleeping with her.
As you can see, I don't take rejection well. It wasn't that I ever had a big thing for this chick, but she dumped me – and therefore, I was the loser.
I don't lose well. Look at my life.
So, she shows up and I get in my car and decide that it's wise to take a two-hour drive across the mountains to Seattle at 3 in the morning, liquored beyond all belief.
The next thing I remember, a cop is behind me. He pulls me over and comes up to the driver's window.
He does the regular cop routine (license, registration) and then asks me to take a field sobriety test.
"Don't even bother, I'm wasted." I shit you not, those were my words.
He made me take it anyway.
Of course I flunked, in what I can only imagine was the world's worst recitation of the ABCs and vaudeville stumbling.
He then breathalyzed me: 2.2. That's REALLY, REALLY, REALLY drunk.
In the cop car I learned that you
a) can't smoke
b) can't have the officer loosen cuffs that are biting flesh
c) are free to have the officer change the radio channel to something you like
So, he drives me to some underground jail and I'm stripped and searched.
The next thing I remember, I'm in an empty holding cell. These cells are as big as a cubicle and have a toilet and a concrete bed. I pass out and wake to the worst hangover ever and an incredible need for a smoke.
I learn more:
a) you can't smoke in jail
b) you can have as many collect phone calls in jail as you like if you're in the holding cell
c) some dude flushed his food down the toilet and I find that I can summon the strength to fish out the nastiest shit in the world in order to poop.
Foul? Yes. But, this was a foul offense and I deserved every bit.
Soon, I learned my options:
a) stay in the holding cell until 24 hours are up at which time I would be forced into -
b) go up in to "population" (meaning where all the other criminals were)
I chose "A."
I was then told how I may leave the jail:
a) wait until the following Tuesday (this was Labor Day weekend Saturday) for my arraignment and see how that goes
b) call someone for bail (I couldn't reach anyone in town and these ass holes weren't breaking their backs to find me. Just thinking about that makes me want to use the fucker's name – Matt Oien. Total prick. Didn't even lift a finger to figure out if I was dead or not. Fucking mutt. I hate that tool.)
c) get a bail bondsmen
So, I opted for "C." Which meant that I had to call my mother, have her drive to Tacoma to pay the bondsman company and then wait for the bondsman.
16 hours in jail later, the bondsmen showed up. He looked exactly like the bondsmen in Jackie Brown. He was sleazy as hell and wore jewelry.
As I left the cops were polite enough to let me know "Those bondsmen don't work like us. If you leave the state, they won't hesitate to put you down."
So, basically, if I decided to go to Oregon for shopping or something, one of these fuckers could kill me.
Let the good times begin.
At the time, Drinking and Driving carried a maximum penalty of a year in jail and all sorts of fines. Of course, no one ever gets the year (I'm sure there are some circumstances). But, of course, over the time between getting busted and the time of my trial (five months), I was positive that I would do a year.
I couldn't sleep, I damn sure wasn't going to drink and I had bailsmen money to work off at this Sign Company that I worked at.
I had to ditch the apartment and school, as I couldn't afford either and any money from my parents would go to help with the fines.
Soon, the sentence came down: deferred prosecution. This meant all sorts of things.
First, a fine of 5 grand, then two years of drunk classes, two years of AA, two years of probation, and a victims panel thingy.
Drunk classes: you pay a man 150 a month to cure you of the alcoholism you admitted to in order to get out of jail. These classes are 3 two-hour sessions a week for three months, then it goes down to once a week for three months, then it goes down to every other week, then once a month. They get to test you for drugs, force you to go to AA. If you blow any of this, you're back in court.
AA: You get to listen to the biggest "poor me" bastards in the world slapping themselves on the back for not drinking in two months and finally getting their GED. If they're not doing that, they're coming close to punching each other in sugar/caffeine rages.
Probation: You have to call a P.O. every two weeks and check in.
Victim's Panel: This is where they show you a bunch of videos of DUI accidents. Then, they have survivors, victim's families and such tell you what a piece of shit you are because you could, theoretically, have killed. The main speaker, I shit you not, was drunk. He was talking about how his son was killed by drinking and driving. He was smashed out of his mind, as he shouted at us for being drunks. Then, he went into a litany about how the Budweiser Frogs were responsible.
Take it from me, drinking and driving is not worth it.
Unless you're trying to impress your friends. Then, it's cool.
CLICK ME

Dead Like Me

2010-08-17T21:06:00.001-07:00

Excuse Me Ms. – Is this your Douchebag?

Excuse me! Excuse me! Ms.!
Please, wait! I'm sorry. Oh, lord, let me catch my breath.
All right. Whoooo...OK. All better.
Madame, I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm afraid you may have left an item on the subway.
I was sitting across from you and I noticed that you are a woman of refined taste. A woman who shops and eats at all the best establishments, a woman of pure blood. Now, I understand that it must be reproachful to talk to a lowly proletariat, like myself, but it's with urgent haste that I bring you this item I believe you left on the subway.
You see, as you left, I noticed the item on the ground, where you had been sitting. And, it occurred to me that it may be yours. Now, far from a sleuth, am I, but I put two and two together and –
Madame! Is this your douchebag!?
Here, I hold it up before you like a prized pig, as I know the bodily fluids mixed with the appropriate cleaners is but nectar in my hand.
Please, don't run from me, for I need to return your precious douchebag.
Madame, thank you. Now then, I will now hand the douchebag over to you and be done with it. It's not my place to make a woman accept such an item, but seeing as you have not denied the ownership, please, let me return this beautiful sack of womanliness to you.
What's that? It's not yours? Oh, heaven for fed! Then, who's douche bag is it?
You don't know?

The plot thickens!
Young lady, would you be so kind as to help me track down the owner? We've all lost douchebags in our day, but this has to be the most magnificent douchebag I have set my eyes on. Look at the golden trim on it! The effervescent aura of womanly bubbles! The silver piping! This, my dear lady, is an extraordinary douchebag!
Errands? You have errands to run? Well, young lady, what errand could be more important than finding the owner of this douchebag?!
I see. Well, I guess I'll be off. Just me and this douchebag. I'm sure someone will claim it. Well, thank you for your efforts on my grand errand.
Dear lady, I shall not forget you.
Onward!

Born Again

2010-08-17T21:05:00.001-07:00

Born Again Fat Ass

So, this fat ass in my cube is losing weight.
Congratulations. Being a fat ass, myself, I really admire the work she had done to increase the metabolic breakdown of foodstuffs, while reducing the foodstuffs she plants in her fat fuck face.
Look, it's not easy to lose weight. I've never tried, but from what I've seen people go through, it looks like a bitch.
The thought of not eating pizza everyday or walking further than to my car makes me shudder.
With all that said, there's still no reason I need to hear about what a guru she is.
Look, you lost weight, babe, but you're still the size of Titan.
And, although my coworker is not a moon in our solar system, it would still take a rocket to get from her navel to her face in our lifetime.
That really has nothing to do with any of this, but I might as well say it.
No, she's still fat.
So, therefore, I don't need to hear about how she has "done it." Most of these diets work for a month or two and then bounce on the walrus like a rubber band. In two months she's not going to just weigh her old 300 LBS, no, she will most likely tack on another 50.
Oh well.
So, it's with great annoyance that I have to hear about how she's moderating fats and proteins and carbs and shit like a Maury Povich in a McDonalds.
Why the hell is it that when someone does something "good" for themselves, they think they are the expert.
This on the heels of hearing the Guy Who Sits Behind Me say that he has to take it "one day at a time" with his recent capitulation concerning smoking.
Or, they try to run the "it takes a lot of work" shit on you. Like, you should feel guilty for even suggesting that they did a good thing.
"Hey, looking good. Great job with the weight loss."
"Well, it wasn't easy."
Shit, I didn't say "Hey, way to rip those calories off your diet, maybe I'll give it a shot over the weekend."
Fucking dumbasses. Why must everyone act like Jesus when they do something good?
So, now my coworker is preaching her diet and wearing clothes that still don't fit her. It's an uneasy feeling to see a 250 pound ham hock in a school girl outfit.
The fat hangs out the sides and becomes a liquid that isn't quit fluid enough to drop, rather it hangs in tear drops off the sides of the big game.
The downfall is when they attempt to fit into spandex and the fat becomes a gas and most of their kidneys, stomach and intestines evaporate like civil liberties in 2002.
I'm tired of hearing about other's healing. If you want to be interesting, you talk about pain. Like, what it's like to have to wipe you ass on a scratching post because you can't reach behind yourself.
I'm tired of hearing about ergonomical correctitude and how it's helping your phantom joints. I have a coworker who thinks she has joints in the pores of her skin. Something is always aching.
The other day she got real serious with us and said she needed to have a group discussion. So, we all hunker in and she begins telling us how she's starting to take insulin shots and that if she acts like a fruit loop, that's the reason.
What the fuck? You're either a fruit loop or not. If you're all fucked up in the first place and need some sort of medication, then you were FUCKED UP IN THE FIRST PLACE. Don't blame your hissy fits on the shit that's supposed to make you better.
Oh, hey everybody, I'm fucking certifiable, so I'm going to be taking some anti-psychotic drugs for awhile. So, if I shoot one of you mother fuckers or rape your ear canal – hey, it's just the drugs that are helping me along.
Lord, Jesus. This is from the same woman who said "I can't believe Pop Tarts are so bad for you." This is after taking the holiday to read the caloric values. "They're a breakfast food." She says.
So, apparently, in the world of insulin hallucinations, all breakfast foods are macro nutritional breakthroughs of science.
"So, doc, I've been trying to lose some weight – what's a good diet?"
"Bacon – and lots of it. Try sprinkling it with Golden Grahams, they're breakfast foods after all."
This is the same woman who goes on a diet and says she's cheating when she eats some fatty food. The problem is, I hear "I'm cheating" three times a day at every meal.
Fuck, I could say I'm on a diet and eat nothing but Dick's Deluxes and tell people I'm "cheating." But, when I blow out into a 300 pound celulitic abscess, I guess it will be hard to carry on the facade.
Once again, my coworkers suck ass.

Ohio Recount

2010-08-17T21:04:00.002-07:00

Ohio Recount

There has been tremendous speculation in the underground news recently that vast numbers of votes were either over counted or undercounted. Some say it's voter fraud, others feel the E-voting was rigged by Republican company Diebold, still others feel that the machines and systems are just plain faulty.
In a democracy that relies on elections to preserve said democracy, it's important that we have a fair and balanced recount.
That's why I've started my own grassroots recount.
Here it is. I took a sample of the population and I plan on basing my statistics off them. I have taken a plumber, a CEO, a hairdresser, and a retired teacher.
Let's look at the results.

Arnold Plumber, Plumber
Arnold recounts: "It was raining and very cold most of the day, and I had just left the Denny's. I had a Swiss and olive omelet. It was delicious. I think I had coffee or coke with it. After that, I left and drove to the polls. On the way I shotgunned a beer and honked at these kids that were skateboarding in the street. I remember thinking the kids looked like real bastards. Anyway, so I got to the polling place and stood in line. I drank two more beers while standing there. I think they were Olympias. I'm not sure. I wasn't smashed or anything. Then, an hour later, I voted."

Blaine Davey, CEO of big company
Blaine recounts: "I had left the office early. I was extremely pissed off that I had to go to a polling place in the first place. I had lost my absentee ballot, and I was very passionate about the election. Although, I almost didn't go at all. I heard about the lines and all and the thought of standing around like a homeless person wasn't very appealing. In line, there was this terrible man drinking beer. He kept raving about some kids on skateboards or some such drivel. I shot him a look, but he wouldn't shut up. I think he might have been a plumber, seeing as he had a plunger strapped to his back and this sweatshirt that said 'I'm a plumber and I vote.'"

Linda Evans, hairdresser
Linda recounts: "Well, I had just gotten off work. I was giving this total lame-o a haircut and dye, when I remembered that our pastor had encouraged us to vote. I'm a very religious woman and I try to abide by the lord's word. So, I got off work and drove down to the polling place. When I got there, there was this man drinking beer and I remember asking him for one, when this guy in a suit shot me this mean look. I think he was a CEO of some big company, because he was on a cell phone. Anyway, so, the beer guy gave me a beer and we talked about how much we loved drinking beer. Well, long story short, me and Arnold are now dating! I'm so excited!"

Gary Indiana, retired teacher
Gary recounts: "Well, it was sunny as hell out. Man, that was a hot day. I had just gotten done sniffing model glue. I do that now that there's nothing left for me to do in life. You see, the old lady left me and the teaching is all over since I molested that skank in my 5th period. Lord, was I ripped that day – the voting day, not the day I banged that 17-year-old. So, I got in my car and tried to kill myself, but the car wouldn't start, so I went back in the house and started doing line after line of meth. Well, the TV was on and I saw that it was voting day or whatever. So, I killed the rest of the Smirnoff in the liquor cabinet and got on my bike to go vote. I don't know why, really. I'm not big into politics or anything...I guess I'm just lonely. So, I bike down to the polls and there's these skateboarders and for no reason at all, I tackle one of them and began beating him unmercifully. So, his friends pull me off and I bite one on the neck hard enough to break skin and he's all bleeding all over me. So, I run down the street yelling like a banshee 'Lordy! Lordy!' Well, this cop sees me and I run a little faster. By the time I get to the polling place I'm out of my mind hungry and I ask this woman if she has any tick tacs. She doesn't, but she gives me the rest of her beer. I down it in one slug and find it hard to wait in line. I'm totally antsy. So, I shove my way to the front of the line and before I know it, I'm voting G.W! G.W.! That's right, Gordon Wright, the best parole officer a man has ever had. Fuck, I was wasted that day."

Gay Sex with a Stem Cell

2010-08-17T21:04:00.001-07:00

Gay Sex with a Stem Cell

Hey, I saw you over there in your test tube. I thought you looked pretty cute.
You know, I was thinking, maybe you and me could go into the men's room and...well, you know....
OH YEAH! YEAH! URRRRRRR!!!!! Do it to me stem cell! Do it to me!!!!!!

Feat

2010-08-17T21:02:00.000-07:00

Insomnia

So, I'm on two hours of sleep. I couldn't get to sleep last night. Ugliness.
It all started Saturday, when I went to go watch the Apple Cup at Galassi's.
During my night, I drank beer, whiskey, beer, martinis, beer on an empty stomach....Weisberg ended up throwing up all day – I simply laid in bed till 2, catatonic.
So, when it was time to fall asleep last night, I failed miserably.
It was that ugly insomnia, when the thought of when you have to wake up for work actually wakes you up. It's like you'll get really close to falling asleep and then "k, I got four hours till" and then you're back awake.
I tried to form stories and thoughts that might be dreamlike in order to fall over into the other side of wakefulness.
I conjured up an inverse tower that juts down into the Earth. Then, I tried to figure out what it would be used for. This bored me. So, I thought about this one dream I had where I visited a mining complex on the planet Mercury. This bored me too. Finally, I settled on giant spiders that were mistakenly brought to Earth on alien ships, whose eggs were attached to the hull of said ships.
Then I thought, maybe these spiders attack people and stuff, but their venom gave you supernatural powers in the right doses and......I fell asleep around 5.
I got in bed at eleven.
Man.
So, then I wake up and go out for a cup of coffee and there's this bum sitting in the middle of the 7-11 parking lot, screeching like a banshee.
The clerk at 7-11 goes "I mop up the floor, and some guy spills a coke on it seconds later, now I gotta deal with this."
As I left, he shouted "Get out of here!" to the man.
He could've been screaming about the meal of Chinese I presume he ate, because it was all over the sidewalk. This was eight in the morning, and I'm sure spicy food didn't agree with him.
At work I debated whether to try to leave early. After realizing I pulled that only two weeks ago, I decided not to pursue it.
So, I'm stuck here...at work. Three hours to go!
Oh, and I got free pizza from a meeting down the hall. It furthered my tiredness. It was a bad move, man, a bad move.
NIN.COM has detailed info on the deluxe edition of The Downward Spiral, with additional artwork, sound bites, the whole magill. It comes out tomorrow, along with the Nirvana box set and the Seinfeld seasons one thru three.
I'm supposed to go with my father and sister and stepmother to dinner tonight. I want to just pass out, but I'm obliged, because my father thinks the world revolves around him.
I received two angry phone calls today, where my father learned that I don't get off until six, and since this doesn't fit his agenda, he decided to angrily tell me that I should get off early.
My dad is an asshole if you want to know the truth. Sure, I love the guy, but this losing his mind when things don't go his way if for the birds.
And, yes, I meant to sound Catcherintheryeish.
I finally got my 100 dollar reward from Rent.com, three months later. Man, I blew that quick. Never give a drunk a substantial amount of money on a weekend. Hell, don't ever give it to him.
Of course, I had to pick up the reward with the rest of my mail at the post office because my apartment mailboxes were burgled.
Yeah, so we get this letter from the Mgr. stating what happened and he writes "...and I was appalled to see that some of you hadn't picked up your mail from the day before..."
WTF?
Dude, the guy seemed cool, but I'm getting the suspicion that he's a toolshed.
Oh well.
So, I better get back to looking up burt bacharach in google.
I love you all, so much,
Mattgret

Tips On Writing a Suicide Note

2010-08-09T22:17:00.001-07:00

Tips on Writing a Good Suicide Note

1. Think about your audience. What do they want to hear? Now, write the exact opposite in a way that implicates them all.

2. An outline is a sure fire way to make sure your message comes across. Between shots of bourbon and Alice in Chains records, make sure that you have something like this:

I. My pain

a) Drug addiction

b) Ex-girlfriend

c) Phantom sexual abuse

II. Who's at fault

a) Drug dealer

b) Ex-girlfriend

c) Clown from 3rd grade birthday party

3. Write about what you know. There's no reason to make up a bunch of silly problems or conspiracies if you don't know what you're talking about. A writer from Cleveland Ohio sent me the following note before jumping off a bridge:

Everything is just too much to handle. Maria left me, the Paperworks is laying off another 25% of our workforce, and I think I have AIDS.

See, here the writer misrepresented the layoffs, which were actually more like 12% and he stated that he thought he might have AIDS – even though he has been monogamous and isn't an intravenous drug user. It's just poor writing and it leaves the reader questioning the truth and beauty behind the "tragic" suicide itself.

4. If you're going to blame yourself, don't passively/aggressively blame others. Time and time again you see the suicide letter that starts off with "It's all my fault...blah, blah, blah." But, then, midway through it jumps into a tantrum about how it's actually other people's faults. This is misleading, irresponsible, and just bad writing. If you want to put a plot twist in the letter, use the old standbys: mysterious bank numbers, names, and governmental implications.

5. Always keep them hanging. It's important to leave a line or two in about what could have been. For example "If Maria would have just accepted me instead of rejecting me, maybe I would have been able to go on." This leaves the reader on the very edge of their seats, wondering if they could have prevented your death. All the true geniuses of the suicide note left an abyss of confused, chaotic emotions behind. And the VERY best sparked additional suicides among loved ones. Look, your suicide note is not going to write itself – you have to make it work for you! I'll be back with more tips later in the week.

Smell My Can of Coke

2010-08-09T22:16:00.001-07:00

There's Nothing Special about Thanksgiving

Boy, I hate this holiday. I've never, ever, ever had a good Thanksgiving.
Family gatherings are only fun when they're impromptu. The second anyone plans anything, my mother has a week-long hissy fit and my older sister decides to take out all of her issues and put them on the dinner table.
My little sister is usually depressed about something, and my brother-in-law and nephew know to keep their mouths shut. I, on the other hand, try to intervene in whatever stupid argument erupts and end up taking the wrath from all involved. My cousin, who is mentally disabled, usually bugs the living crap out of my mom for acting like a person who is mentally disabled.
In recent years, my older sister, brother-in-law, and nephew have been taking off to see my aunt in Chicago. This is a wise move, and I applaud it.
This year, my younger sister is going as well. So, basically, I'm stuck with my mom's poor-me-shit and my cousin asking my mom for more "caffeine free" that will usually send my mom into a rage for no reason.
So, I was smart this year: I made sure and planned to have breakfast with ma and Glenna, instead of dinner. Why? You give my mom a good enough amount of time and she'll find someone who's fucking her over for every minute.
Don't get me wrong, I love my family and understand they're all fucked up just like everyone else, but you have to be realistic about them.
If it's pizza and beer on a Sunday in the middle of September, chances are they're going to be the funnest people to be around in the world. Now, if it's Mother's Day, Christmas, Halloween, President's Day, etc...they're going to be nuttier than a can of....well, nuts.
Another reason I hate Thanksgiving is the food. Not that I don't normally drink my dinner anyway. But, man, fucking turkey is just plain nasty looking. You put out this large, dead animal and you stuff it full of shit it would probably eat while alive and then you put it in an oven and bake it (or whatever) in its own juices. Soon, it's out on the table and some savage takes out a small chain saw and cuts it into smaller bits of flesh so that it can be easily devoured with mayo on rye the next day.
Mashed potatoes are good, but not with gravy. Thanks, I'll skip the dead animal runoff. And, what's the deal with the black box? Why don't they make the whole plane out of....
I hate Thanksgiving. But, this year could be different.
Just joking, it's going to suck, whether I get there at 10 or five. My mom will be in the kitchen cooking quiche for breakfast, then something along the lines of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, salad, donuts, candied apples, pizza, tacos, ice cream cake, regular cake, bread, etc...
She'll try to "prepare" all of her angst away in what will amount to nine weeks of food for my cousin to eat.
This is why her freezer will erupt in an avalanche of food when you open it. For every pork roast or turkey/chick 3/11, there's some sort of bastard who has helped to ruin her life.
I remember my brother-in-law was hit with turkey/chick 3/11 one year and he responded "3/11? But, what year?! What year?!"
Yeah, he can be funny sometimes.
So, it'll be me drinking coffee and asking if she's heard from the girls. I'll ask Glenna what she had for breakfast, if she had been coloring in her coloring books, and whether she's excited for Christmas.
At some point in time, my mom will lose it on my cousin.
Now, my mom is not a demon. When she "loses it" on my mentally handicapped cousin, it's in the form of scrunching her face up until her eyebrows make a "V" while her eyes pop out of her head. This will be accompanied by a sigh or an under-the-breath utterance.
I completely understand it to. My cousin is great in small doses, but the three-year-old nature of her condition can be a bit of a burden. Like, when she fakes coughing, falls on her knees, or goes batshit for no other reason than the fact that we haven't been paying attention to her for more than two minutes.
This is the kind of thing that I understand, but if I had to live with it everyday, I think I'd take to stuffing my freezer full of my problems as well.
I'm just hoping my mom doesn't go into some crying jag that I'm forced to try to talk her out of (never works) or starts blaming me for ruining her life. These are rarities, but without anyone around, you never know.
Look, it could be worse: I could be having Thanksgiving with my dad, who has been known to throw a temper tantrum when my little sister and I start laughing at something.
I remember one year the old man tried to make something with beets and it tasted like crayon. Trust me, I know what a crayon tastes like.
He fucking lost it and we had to sit through a speechless dinner after he went batshit and started telling us what rotten kids we were.
Yeah, the good times begin and end in my family.
Again, don't get me wrong, all of these people are awesome, but being awesome makes for sappy writing. So, let me continue to rip them apart.
Back in the day, my dad would take us to the Keg for Thanksgiving. It was lame as shit, cuz I was too young to drink and the only thing I wanted to eat was salad. Going out there was so depressing as well. When you're a kid, no kids go out on Thanksgiving and "play." So, you only have TV to rely on, and by the time I would get back there'd be a Hallmark Family Sapathon on every channel. Some shit about a white family that's kind enough to condescend to give a poor black dude some food for a night. I think every channel had the same black guy on it and he may have really been homeless. Just going from set to set, playing broke and taking Ivy league douchebags for all they're worth.
That would be an awesome Thanksgiving special "generic homeless person sticks it to the man in this special edition of Hallmark Portrait of a Family."
It writes itself.
At the Keg, my father would act like a jackass because of the fact that he knew most of the wait staff from the bar. He would know them all, and he'd introduce us and I couldn't help but wonder if they thought he was a complete jackass, putz, or asshole.
You could never tell, and this was before I knew that my dad didn't go to the Keg and have just one beer. For some reason, it never occurred to me that my dad would go to a bar to drink. I don't know why. It wasn't denial either, because, I don't think I would've really cared.
Well, that's my story about Thanksgiving and how it sucks ass. If you actually like Thanksgiving, well, by all means, celebrate.
But, if not, drop me a comment about a silly Thanksgiving you had and maybe, if you're lucky, I'll give you a free membership in my fan club. It comes with a promotional CD ROM for three months free internet. Also, a carrot will be shipped to some homeless black dude in your name.
Bless you all on this shitty fucking holiday.
Marjorie Simpson

I'll Tell You About My Father

2010-08-09T22:15:00.003-07:00

An Evening with my Father

Yesterday, I had plans to see my father. I was to meet him, his wife, my stepsister, and my sister somewhere in the Seattle area.
They were vague plans, but he did let me know that he'd appreciate it if I got off early.
Well, because of a night of insomnia, I didn't get in early, and knew I wouldn't be getting off early.
For a normal father, this would be no big deal. But..
I received two, separate phone calls, on separate phones informing me that he had heard from my little sister that I would be late – and he was pissed.
It's not like it would be that big of a deal. It's not like I wouldn't be able to meet them at a restaurant only a half hour later. Well, I called him back and let his wife know that I would be late.
Well, because of traffic being a breeze, I was able to get home around 6.15. This would have been only 15 minutes late. No big deal.
Well, they weren't ready anyway, so his angry phone calls were for shit.

Like I said, I didn't get any sleep the night before, so I wasn't really in the mood for anything, much less my dad.
I did some round about cleaning and got a six-pack for anyone (my dad) who would want a beer.
A knock on the door later, and enter my dad – in rare form.
It's not that he was hamskied, it was more a case of some sort of chemical imbalance that lets loose when he has a beer. Trust me I'm blood; I know the feeling. But, I don't want to be the helpless, innocent around it.
The first thing to consider in this situation is that the old man tends to act plain, straight up batshit. Everything is an exclamation. "Son! How the hell are ya!"
Good lord, I thought.
Soon, he was remarking about nearly everything in the apartment and making a general ass out of himself. I feel for my friends - that they have to see me act this way, when I get like this.
It's like watching Jack Nicholson overact – it's entertaining, but if you're related to it, it's fucking obnoxious.
After making sure that every fixture, wall, painting, tabletop, etc. was sufficiently made fun of, we decided to go across the street for a beer.
This is after a long bit of me explaining that the food is not great across the street. See, my sister, stepmother and stepsister were hungry and wanted to get food, so I explained that the food was small fare and not very good.
This is at the Great Nabob, where everything is cooked on a Foreman grill. It's not that the place sucks; it's actually one of the coolest bars around. But, the food consists of:
Quesadillas – Not terrible, but like eating old tortillas with cheese. Like you could make yourself.
Edemane – I probably didn't even spell it right, but it's like soybeans or something. I've never tried it, but a soybean is a soybean, is a....
Hummus – I'm not fucking joking – I love hummus, but the stuff here tastes like chlorine. I have no idea how you could make hummus taste like chlorine without mixing in chlorine, but...
Pannini – Much like the quesadilla, it's descent, but tastes like it was made in five minutes at someone's home after smoking a bunch of dope and not having anything but cheese and bread around.
The other bad factors about the Nabob are that there's no smoking and no Budweiser. Yes, I'm a loser who drinks domestic. It goes down smooth, and gets you where you want to go. The other choices are all the nine-dollar brews, then Pabst, Miller Lite, and Miller High Life.
I always settle with the Pabst. Miller tastes like wine.
And, last of all – no smizoking. Dizamn.
But, the place is super-trendy-cool inside and there's free pool.
Now, as far as my dad going in there, it simply came down to this: I go there quite a bit. I mean, it's across the street for Christsakes. So, knowing the bartenders a bit, I didn't want my dad to go in there and make it law that I couldn't return if their business depended on it.
Now, being as stupid as I wanna be, I decided the best way to defuse this situation would be to tell the truth: "Well, I don't know, the food over there isn't really that good. I know everyone wants to eat."
Now, this was stupid for two reasons:

1. If I tell my dad I don't want to do something, he'll then REALLY want to do it.
2. Now, I've got the very good chance that my dad will go there and mention to the bartenders that I think their food sucks.

So, I fucked myself over.
Now, dad's all over me to go to that bar. "C'mon, I want to go over there! Why don't you want to go! Is there a reason you don't want me to go over there?!"
I explain that the reason is the food and the fact that he'll probably embarrass me at a neighborhood bar.
"No, what's the reason? Why don't you want me to go over there?"
See, this brings up something I've suspected for awhile:

1. I think my dad thinks I'm gay.
2. I think my dad thinks I'm a heavy drug user.

Now, neither statements are true, regardless of fictitious drug use in this blog, and same sex sex with a stem cell in one of the previous posts. But, it's been awhile since I've had a steady girlfriend and I'm pretty fucking deranged to begin with...well, I guess I did go through a year of drug experimentation, but that was...two years ago....

So, now I'm just irritated.
I explain to dad that I have no problem going over there, and reiterate that the food sucks and he better not make an ass of me.
Then he brings up the time that he yelled, upon entering my apartment complex, after I had signed an anti-discrimination policy, "It smells like fags in here!"
My dad isn't a racist or homophobe. Just take my word on this.
What my dad is is simply this: a jackass.
He doesn't hate or look down on homosexuals. No, my dad just likes to say whatever is the most shocking an asinine in the most awkward of moments.
So, now my dad brings up "Why? You think I'm going to embarrass you in front of the village people?" So, now, it's not that I'm hiding something, it's that I'm a jerk and I just assume he's going to act like a jackass.
Basically, the whole thing is fucked. I finish my beer and say "Let's go."

Outside, I ask if we're going to take a car – therefore, flanking dad out of walking across the street.
"No, no, we're going across the street for a beer!"
"Bob, he says the food's bad, let's just go where he wants." This is my stepmother, who, god bless her, I don't know how she puts up with this day-to-day.
So, we end up in the bar and I'm waiting for my dad to:

1. Tell the bartender I think the food sucks.
2. Use the word fag, and defend himself with "free speech"
3. Get into a fight for reasons I can't even fathom.

Luckily, the bar scene goes smoothly. Well, except the part where he would zone out anytime anyone else was talking or cut them off into his own story, question, postulation.
Soon, he's talking about buying a condo out here for the "neighborhood atmosphere" and I'm imagining picking his drunk and bloodied body out of some bar fight at the Five Point.

After a beer, we take off without incident. Everyone is ignoring the old man, as he's only prone to converse about random observations that aren't for anything but attention.
Now, with a drinker, you have to understand, and especially the drinker who craves attention, if they don't get the attention they want, they turn angry.
So, now I'm talking to my dad about god knows what to ease his self esteem and wondering what will be next.
Well, next was the very audible "Isn't that the Lesbian bar?"
This is a bar that he swears his friends saw more than one lesbian couple in, so now it's a lesbian bar.
It's fucking McMennimans.
I try to tell him that gay bars are rarely chain Irish pubs, but he begs to differ.
All of this in earshot of anyone passing by.
I think what brings this on is his thinking that Seattle, and especially certain parts, are lifestyle freedom type places...i don't know how else to put it: gay towns.
Pretty much any part of the city that looks clean and descent is probably gay to him.
Now, with this in mind, he feels that that's what will be the running joke: whatever is different about it.
If we were in Leavenworth, I'm sure he'd be making Nazi jokes left and right: anything that's totally inappropriate and guaranteed to bring attention.
We make it to Jabu's (and I hold my breathe waiting for the name of the bar to result in an ethnic slur of a different color) and everything is fine.
Except the music.
Apparently, the music is too loud for the old man.
It's loud, but nothing you wouldn't expect in a sports bar. The waitress takes our orders and dad orders "A pitcher of Bud Light and turn the music down, damn!"
Everyone at the table scolds the old bastard, but he keeps it up as she's walking away. Joke after joke about the music comes peeling out of the old man's face.
His last one is when she takes the dinner order and he orders "A double cheeseburger and a side of the music down."
If it wasn't for how apologetic the rest of us looked, I'm positive the waitress would have 86'd him or told him to fuck off.
Well, that's it. Not really as eventful as it felt. Maybe that's a sign of bad writing. But, it's hard for me to put into words the annoyance of a man who acts like your normal gang of immature friends, but he happens to be your father.
But, it's not just that. With the old man, it's he acts that way, and at the same time you know if you really call him on it, and you're not joking around, he'll lose his tits and tear you a new one.
Look, it would suck to have most of my friend's fathers: starched bags of shit who sit in front of TVs and wear Haggar slacks and buy time shares and give pens as gift and talk about everything vaguely and...you get me.
Pleace,
Aarron Neville

Go with Your Gut

2010-08-09T22:15:00.001-07:00

I'm Huge in Finland and Sweden

Like the Onanist that I am, I frequent my stat site.
This is where I can see how many visitors have been to my site, what country they live in, and how they found my site.
Well, all those from the United States I can't really distinguish from people I'm friends with, and therefore aren't really "fans" in the sense that I'm known outside my small pocket of drunks that I hang out with.
And before I reach stardom for short stories about Ozzie Smith and dinosaurs that rape, I must gather an international audience.
So, it was kind of odd to find that a number of my visitors are from Sweden and Finland (2), and that they didn't just come across the site, they bookmarked it.
What does this mean? Well, considering I hate myself and want to die, I would guess that it's web spiders.
My understanding of web spiders is that they are these science fictionesque Internet arachnids that digitally "crawl" through the pipes of the worldwide webbing and find all the different sites, so that search engines, like Google, can find information for users.
So, when you type in "man eats Jackie Chan's fecal matter" my site will pop up as relevant.
Otherwise, this means that the Finish and Swedes find this site amusing.
I doubt it, but with my limited knowledge of any piece of land barring Kent, Washington, I have this idea that it's pretty cold and dark in both Finland and Sweden.
And I guess having sex with a stem cell, milking Lionel Ritchie, and sending swarms of drunk drivers to Afghanistan to win the war over there is pretty cold and dark.
So, if it's true, that these are not web crawlers and actually "fans" or passerbyers at a car wreck (this site is strewn with the dead and decapitated arms and legs of terrible writing), then WELCOME, SALUTATIONS, GOOD EVENING!
I too live in a dark and cold climate – Seattle.
Facts about Seattle:

We have a festival every October where we burn effigies of Kurt Cobain and Jimi Hendrix and sacrifice a computer to our Rock god in the sky. It's called The Milking of Magnesia.

Nine out of ten Seattleites have to spell check Seattleites.

We have the largest bust of Rick James in the nation.

We boast the infamous Organic Egyptian Crossing Bird. A piece of poultry from the 19th century that was made into a chicken sandwich and then whipped and deep fried in avocado and served in microscopic portions. So far, we've eaten 3/4ths of it since its discovery in 1828.

Our primary source of income is apples. We trade them for other foodstuffs with the modest men and women of Tacoma. Tacoma specializes in gang rape and assisted suicide.

There are nine ways to alternate dimensions outside my doorstep and I've been too depressed to ever be excited enough about them to walk through. This is common in this city.

Our Mayor is a goat named Earl and he will soon have to commit sodomy with Francis Farmer's dead corpse in order to run for another term.

We sell seashells on the seashore and play riddle games with trees.

The average IQ is somewhere between 90 and 250.

Our official seal is a Whopper and a Big Mac with a boxing glove in the background. No one knows why.

Well, I hope this has been helpful. And if you are a digital web crawler, I offer you this: hey, don't enslave me and make me a part of a large matrix-like video game, because you know, I've never treated an Atari badly. Sure, there was that time I enslaved my Nintendo and forced it to have ritual sex with my ex-girlfriend, but that was just a sex thing; it wasn't a slavery thing.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving, or national equivalent.
Roasting in a two by four box of Otter Pops,
Dis Elle Xick

Neural Interference

2010-08-09T22:14:00.001-07:00

The New Nirvana Box Set Totally Reminded me of Wanting to Kill Myself in High School

God, this new box set is really great. I totally didn't think it would be this good. Seriously. I'm not one to really get into live stuff or demo crud – but, this rawked the house, ya'll.
I bought it yesterday at Costco. I shop there a lot now. I'm 28, a technical writer, and rent a pretty nice studio in Seattle. Most of my day consists of writing technical documents for computers and "thinking out of the box" and having group meetings where we discuss standards for our documents and how best to apply them. I enjoy visiting my sister and brother-in-law and their son, my nephew. I spend a great deal of time reading about politics and have been reading more and more about philosophy. Lately, I listen to a lot of rave or dance music – nothing with lyrics. A good day for me is when I can complete a document or two, send updates to programmers, and make it home in time to make dinner, do laundry, take a shower and watch the news.
So, it was with great amazement to find that I wanted to kill myself yesterday.
You see, I'm not really in the angst ridden time of my life anymore where the idea of cutting my jugular and hoping my middle finger will rigor into one last "fuck you" to each and everyone is an idea that sounds pretty cool.
But, after the second listen to the second disc in the new Nirvana box set, I totally reverted to my age 18 id and found myself reading old love notes from girlfriends, staring at their pictures, and even thinking about calling them, one last time to say "goodbye."
I knew what was going on – all the old angst and depression of the Nirvana catalogue totally rekindled how cool it was to be 18, depressed and suicidal.
I get kinda misty-eyed just thinking about.
Like the time I listened to "Milk It" over and over and drank five beers in the attempt to become a cool drug-addled misfit.
Of course beer isn't really a hard drug, but in 1994, in Kent, Washington, that's all we had around.
I did, however, weigh 130 pounds at 6 ft – so, I resembled a heroin addict. So, that was cool.
I remember most of the time I couldn't eat because I was still in love with this girl who broke up with me in 1993.
Man, I totally remember all that now. The pain, the anger, the depression – man, what ever happened to those days?
Well, they're still there. I just needed the right key.
Last night, after listening to disc 3 a few times, I called my ex-girlfriend and hung up. Then, I wrote a love poem to her and burned it immediately – just to crush all the beauty that was left in my life.
It's really weird, cuz a couple of days ago that would've seem really childish, lame, and pathetic. Not to mention the whole ego trip thing that goes along with anyone who wants to be an artist and has no talent.
Geesh, life's funny like that.
So, I've either got to start listening to more rave music, or I better start getting used to taking long walks on Piers at 2 in the morning full of wine and ugly poetry.
Man, this really is a good box set, though.
Christ, I wish I were dead.

Whenever,
Georgia O' Kweef

Rubber Marker Mistake Pen

2010-08-09T22:13:00.003-07:00

Did Someone Say "Funny?"

Look, it's with great pleasure that I have received your many (4) comments about how "hilarious" and how "highly amusing" I am.

That's why I'm writing today in very good spirits, as this will be my funniest entry to date.

I promise:

Laughs

Tears

Giggles

Snickers

Loss of bowel control

In fact, you might as well email this article to a friend right now.

Seriously, do it. You'll thank yourself later.

So, without further ado:

Migrant Owls

The migrant owl swoops down to catch her prey.

This is a good day for her, as she has caught a wild marmot. The marmots don't usually come out at night and this migrant owl will not see this phenomenon for many years.

Watch as she borrows in to the tree to eat her kill for the night.

The migrant owl's breathtaking coat of amber and orange is a result of millions of years of evolution. It shields her from such predators as the bald eagle and the many human invaders that hunt her for sport.

The migrant owl has been on the endangered species list for nine years, and nothing has changed.

Even more so now, the migrant owl needs protection from hunters, poachers, and the wholesale logging of the Brazilian rain forest.

Without the help from donors such as the Sierra Club and the Natural Resources Institute, the migrant owl may be seeing her last days.

It's daybreak. The migrant owl cleans and preens herself before the day's sleep.

Like a good soldier, she sleeps standing up, shedding the evening's light and falling quietly into the day.

For more information on migrant owls, visit our website at www.LLMO.com.

From all of us here at Levi Larrington, have a good night.

A portion of the proceeds donated to the Levi Larrington website go the consumer group for the Connelly watershed.

Good lord. I can't stop laughing. I hope you enjoyed THE FUNNIEST LEVI LARRINGTON ARTICLE EVER.

Pleace,

Snow White

Chair-Thrower

2010-08-09T22:13:00.001-07:00

Dude, it Must Suck to be the Chair Thrower Right About Now
CLICK ME

Hey, I really didn't think it was that big of a deal – the whole brawl up in there. I mean, if they gave this much attention to the high school brawls back in my day, they wouldn't have the webspace to fit anything about Iraq.
But, man. Can you imagine how the Chair Thrower feels right about now?
He's probably been checking CNN and every other news site for any pictures or info on him. Now, finally, his story comes out and I'm sure he's seen it. He's probably wondering if his friends know it's him, or if they went with him to the game, are they going to tell?
Hell, I wouldn't trust my friends not to blab their mouths. And these are basketball fans, not chess club people, so they're probably bar dwellers and such – so you know they'll talk.
So, the Chair Thrower can either give himself up now, which he's probably doing, or wait for that ugly flashlight knock on the door.
But, he could flee. Now THAT would be a good made-for-TV movie: Chair Thrower: Portrait of a Chair Thrower. That would be dope.
He could make it to Mexico, get lost in the holiday traffic and live off oranges.
Poor son-of-a-bitch.
Oh, well. Here's to you, Chair Thrower!
Pleace,
Johnvandonivan

Automated Lumberyard

2010-08-09T22:12:00.003-07:00

Automatic Lumberyard

"Did you get your fucking bargain?" reads the sign outside.
It's the automatic lumberyard. God, I've been waiting on this my whole life.
I woke up early, and drove to Taco Bell for food. But, Taco Bell was closed, so I ate at Dick's.
I got so sick that I swore to Billy Idol that I would never eat at Dick's again, no matter what Sir Mix-A-Lot says.
My sickness ran into a headache and I had to drive clutching my head. I wanted to peel it open and rip out the sickness, but I kept driving to the automatic lumberyard instead.
Lumber is very important to me. I've been collecting it since I was 27. I'm 28 now, and my collection has grown by leaps and bounds. I have a 2-by-4 from Italy that's worth .29$. I have it on my mantle, above my fireplace; my wife thinks that's dangerous, but I told her the kids always play nice with the lumber.
My kids love the lumber. My son Roger made a small fort out of it up in our Birch tree. The fort has fallen under his weight about nine times, but he keeps rebuilding it. He's a real scout. I just wish that last fall didn't make him retarded.
Did I mention I've had every item on the Taco Bell menu?
Good, cause I'd be lying. I've only eaten at Taco Bell twice and it was for the kid's birthdays. Yeah, they get all excited when we take them someplace nice for dinner. We get all dressed up and drink a bunch of milk beforehand, so that nobody can eat too much.
But, back to the lumber: my collection of "Choose Your Own Adventure Books" is now 45 books deep. I've chosen more adventures than Buzz Aldren. Like the one about where I flew a plane into the Andes and died. I really thought I was dead for a while, until my wife told me that it was just a book, and not real. Even though it was my choice to fly into the Andes.
My wife is a real sport. She plays Golden-T and Pong most of the day and has lost none pounds.
God, I wanna get really fat one day and buy lumber.
So, I get to the Automatic Lumberyard and there's this sign that says "Did you get a fucking bargain today, or what?" I think that sign answers its own question.
I drove in up the gravelliness of the ingrade that was retrograde to the car's balance and fucking forgot what I was doing and ended up in this other dimension before I could adjust my sandtree and jesus this is some wild turkey.
The automaticlumberyard was created in 1986 and was first used to make the second hand on Swatches.
Here's how it works:

Root around in the clutter of bottles and boxes under your kitchen sink and you'll realize that, in most houses, storage for household items gets much less attention than storage for clothes. You wouldn't be willing to crawl around on all fours to get to your favorite sweater, yet most of us do this all the time to get to Mr. Clean. It's a rare architect that provides handy space for such items.

And it's been doing things their way since 1926. So, to follow up:
I have shingles and it hurts to bleed.
My wife and I have bought stock in the automaticlumberyard and one day we're going to buy the "Toys R Us" at the mall and then we will live like Kings. Which reminds me to tape my favorite show "King of Queens."
It's this show about ants.
So, when I got to the lumberyard the manager is all like "Hey, what kind of lumber do you want to buy?"
So, I tell him that it's important that I get my hands on some dowels. You see, my children have never heard of dowels, so I thought they'd make a good stocking stuffer.
So, he goes "Well, my friend, you just push that dowel button and you'll be in dowel heaven."
So, I push this button that says "Chipper" and it kills me and I die and go to dowel heaven and I get these dowels for my kids and then on Christmas I ram my head through the chimney and give my kids these dowels and then I go back to dowel heaven.
Which really doesn't explain why I'm in Ballard, Washington right now, but, I am. I'm at Denny's and all I can say is: Hey, life's like that.

Thanksgiving

2010-08-09T22:12:00.001-07:00

Thanksgiving is all Around Depressing

So, once again, Thanksgiving was downright depressing.
I think it's just the change of seasons coming on, but man, I just don't feel right.
It's actually not that bad. It's something new, even if it's all hollow and cold feeling.
Wednesday I went over to Josh's and watched some entertainment magazine show, got bored, went to Shooters, got bored, went back to Josh's and watched Dawn of the Dead.
Not an entirely bad movie. Ving Rahmes pulls off the first shitty acting job I've seen him do. Other than that, it's a lot of cabin fever and killing.
What is the world's fascination with the dead walking the Earth? Is it from the Bible stuff? If so, when did we decide they eat human flesh?
After the movie, I drove through neighborhoods back to my mom's and crashed there.
Thanksgiving, I woke up, wondered why I was in my older sister's old bedroom and then went for coffee.
In the morning, we had quiche and my mom tried to cook hash browns that came out tasting like pure Crisco. I stuck around and watched the Seinfeld box set, then left around 12.
Traffic was amazing. I've driven back to Seattle on a few Thanksgivings, but I've never seen traffic like this. It took me an hour and a half to get from Kent to Seattle.
On the way, pretty much half the cars were from out of state. I found this odd, as you don't usually travel on the day of Thanksgiving, especially if you're from Missouri or Florida. You'd think they'd already be where they wanted to go. Also, where the fuck was everyone going? B.C.? It's not like there was a buttload going on downtown Seattle that day....
The rest of the day I watched Seinfeld and read. I'm reading this "Portable Nietzsche." I don't understand one red lick of it. I hate it. But, somehow I got 400 pages into it and now I feel like I have to finish it. Luckily, I bought a couple of books to spike it: "The Informers" by Brett Easton Ellis and "The Left Hand of Darkness" by Ursula LeGuin.
The Informers is typical drugged-out, sexaploid, soap opera fare that Ellis usually cums up with. He shoulda stopped at "Less than Zero." Every other book, barring "American Psycho," are pretty much "Less than Zero" parts 1 – 3. Now, "American Psycho" is a whole other animal and a better book than the acclaimed "Zero." In fact, I highly recommend "Psycho," but fair warning: it's the most violent piece of art I have ever seen. On the other hand, the "Zero" books are good on deadpan, deadend, drugged out dialogue. And "Zero" should be picked up.
The LeGuin book was billed as one of the top ten Sci Fi books, but isn't really holding up to that notion. There's a lot of sociology and not much story. It's not boring the pants off me, but I expected a lot better.
Friday I went out for drinx at the Joker with Scott and Ross. This woman with fake boobs was there. It was entertaining, but the entire dialogue of the evening centered on her tits. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with talking a good tit, but once you've run out of jokes and you're among three grown men just salivating at a woman's chest, it becomes pathetic.
Later, we saw this very E'd out chick come in and start hugging everyone.
I left after four beers, went home, watched Seinfeld and went to bed.
Saturday I met up with Scott, Shanna and Ross over at Jillians. We drank, Shanna and Scott left, and Ross and I went to Hooters.
Ross got the dead eyes staring at ass after ass and I got Hootersblind and, again, actually thought I had a chance with this one girl.
I hate that place – it's like Neverland.
Sunday, ugly news found me. My nephew was in the hospital, in Chicago – my sister went to visit my aunt, for pneumonia.
He's fine now, but it was scary and I don't want to write about it anymore.
Today, I woke up, showered, got coffee and some juice, went to work, read email, scanned the internet, went to a meeting, and now I'm here.
The new Nirvana box set is pretty much the soundtrack of my life right now. I haven't stopped listening to it since I got it.
I'm really surprised. I really thought it would be crap, but it's the best Nirvana purchase I've ever made. I can't get enough of it. I didn't even like that Wishkah thing, but this is...well, Nirvana.
Pleace,
Jeremy O'Davidleeroth

Chocolate Milk

2010-08-09T22:11:00.003-07:00

I Hate Grown Ups who Drink Chocolate Milk

Yeah, I guess I'm prejudice, I guess I generalize, but I really think this should be a rule of thumb.
Every time I see someone drinking chocolate milk, and they're over 18, I think to myself I hate them.
Is that wrong?
I make this judgment by using five people I dislike as proof, and they all drink chocolate milk.
They're usually religious, too. It's like this thing where they don't drink or smoke, but they allow themselves the indulgence of chocolate milk.
No soft drinks – chocolate milk.
And you know how chocolate milk is all curdly and makes the breath smell like anus.
C'mon, give in to your hatred – you hate adults who drink chocolate milk.
I know every morning you come in, and every morning there is that one guy (it's always a guy, never a girl) who is drinking chocolate milk.
No coffee, god forbid – chocolate milk.
Dude, if you're drinking chocolate milk right now, and you're old enough to vote – shoot yourself. Seriously. Commit suicide, I grant you a pardon.
OK, OK, don't kill yourself, but stop drinking chocolate milk. But, beat yourself with your keyboard first.
I don't like you chocolate milk people.

Pleace,
Jonathon Larry

Tidal

2010-08-09T22:11:00.001-07:00

Hate People who Take the Elevator Down or Take it up Only One or Two Floors

Immediate execution! Seriously. If I was head-king of America, I would call for the genitalia of these cretins and I would hang it on my huge diamond encrusted castle.
K, so here's the story:
I work in a P, 1, 2, 3 building.
The only time it should be acceptable to take the elevator is if you are going from P to 3, up. Or, if you are handicapped, but you have to be really handicapped, none of this pussy neck injury or bad knee shit.
Otherwise: you should walk your ass up the two floors up max, or three floors down max.
But, its not just this – it's the people.
Like adults who drink chocolate milk, you can generalize these fuckers too.
They're normally fat.
Now, being fat is no big deal, but these people are the kind of fat that flaunt it. The kind that not only take an elevator up one floor, they rub their laziness in. They'll get on the elevator at 1, and the damn thing will nearly plummet under their weight, but at the same time, they'll have all this fucking food and a mug the size of a midget full of Pepsi.
If they're really annoying, they'll have something like a burrito, pizza, and a ham sandwich, fries, chips, and then a Diet Coke.
Fucking Diet Coke? Why the fuck? I mean, all you have to do is take the damn chips out of the program and you could have the regular coke and it'd be the same caloric value.
But, no, you need to make that statement that you're doing something to change things...LIKE TAKING THE FUCKING ELEVATOR UP ONE FUCKING FLOOR!
Look, I'm not a monster. But, when I'm on that elevator, I make sure that I'm riding the entire building up, or I don't take it.
So, when I'm going up P, 1, 2, 3 I normally have to stop at each and every floor, because some dirigible with a frosty mug full of milk shake and a tub of fries needs to avoid the one flight of stairs it takes them to get where they're going.
I think the only time I really can feel my brain bleed is when these fucks will take it DOWN one floor. Like the physical exertion of walking DOWN a flight of steps is going to kill you.
But, even worse than this is the dumb fucker who doesn't know where they're going. It's a P – 3 building and these fuckers will push every floor, just in case they get lost again.
"Oopps, wrong floor, lucky I pushed all four buttons, including the one I came up on."
Fucking dirtbags. I want to remove their skulls from their mouth holes.
But, the worst, the fucking worst is the fuckers that will hold the door for their friends.
"Oh, Chantel, how you doing, girl? Don't worry, I'll hold the door for you!"
GODDAMNIT! FUCK YOU! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE OUTSIDE OF THIS FUCKING ELEVATOR!
I've then got to sit and wait for some troglodyte white-trash, fatchick to hobble to the elevator at some subatomic level of time/distance measurement that I can't calculate without a OUJI board and Carl Sagan's scrotum.
Then, I have to listen to these conversations that last a floor, but seem forever:
"Oh, girl, how was the movie?"
"Well, I brought Brody, James, Lasandra, Earl, Little May, the triplets, and my mother and we went to that Country Buffet beforehand. Ummmm, girl!"
"Oh, looks like this is our floor."
LIKE THERE'S MORE THAN FOUR FLOORS THAT IT COULD BE!!!!! WE'RE NOT IN THE FUCKING SEARS TOWER YOU DUMB, WHITE TRASH, HAIRY CUNT BITCH!!!
See, my brain is bleeding.
God I hate elevator people.

Pleace,
George Walter Sabbath

My Tractor is Big

2010-08-09T22:10:00.003-07:00

maybe I can get my chopsticks around the placenta.

Subject: RE: the machinist

dude, they can fry up the cord for you and you'd gain the nutrional equivalent of godzilla sperm.
Subject: RE: the machinist

cool, I might witness a live birth while eating fried rice

Subject: RE: the machinist

Her due date is 12/11, so she could go any time now.....

Subject: RE: the machinist

Is she due to blow anytime?

Subject: RE: the machinist

Yes, Shanna and I are still planning on meeting up for dinner. Assuming she doesn't have the baby by then.

Subject: RE: the machinist

Cool. We'll plan something.
Scott, you still planning on meeting Monica and I for dinner at Benihana's on Sat night? Dinner is at 7pm. Address is 1200 Fifth Ave.
Matt, you still planning on meeting up with us after dinner?

Subject: the machinist

starts friday at the theater up the street from me. i think it's only playing in seattle, but you can check and see if it's elsewhere

Dropping Neatly Into My Boxers

2010-08-09T22:10:00.001-07:00

Another Morning

It's like 6. I wake up from this dream where I'm with my coworkers and we're staring out the window and watching around ten nuclear missiles drop to the Earth.
At first I just see this object spinning around the moon, making its way down towards the Earth. Then, I look and there's all these penile-looking objects with red Christmas lights around them, falling to the ground.
I'm watching this and not believing it, thinking its got to be something else. I don't mention to my coworkers what they might be. I figure they haven't got a clue that they're about to be incinerated and I don't want to be the one to bring it to their attention. But, at the same time I'm thinking I should hug someone or something.
One of them explodes in the mountain outside our office and then I wake up.
I take a whiz, return to bed and wake up again at 7.45 to the bleating of my cell phone. I always think it's a phone call for about 30 seconds, and then realize it's just the alarm.
I return to the bathroom, turn on the radio, take a pill, and rinse with Plax.
I just realized yesterday that you're supposed to rinse before you brush. The news came sharp and hard and I felt I had been failing my teeth for years.
I just read an article where poor dental hygiene can lead to death because the bacteria from your teeth can migrate down into the lungs and choke you to death on tiny green microbes that grow and grow and grow until your lungs explode like nuclear bombs.
After rinsing, I brush and then shower.
After dressing, I walk down my hallway passed a woman and her dog.
I could swear the dog barks "You're bleeding" and I look up at the woman and say "What?"
She just stares at me and fixes the hood around her jacket.
I walk into the stairway and check my body for blood, but find none.
Outside there's a homeless man in the parking lot of the 7-11 next door to my apartments. He's moaning as loud as I think he can. There's Chinese food all over the place and I begin grinding my teeth.
His pitch takes off and he's bleating incoherently. "EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHH!"
I move past him and he turns to me and whispers "You're dying, pal."
I walk into the 7-11.
I always load the bottom of my coffee cup up with ice, because the coffee is usually too hot to drink as is.
I put four sugars and a half and half in and grab an apple juice out of the cooler. When I let the door swing back, it swings through the racks of juices and disappears. I peer in and the door is gone. The juice is gone and I'm staring into a landscape full of volcanoes and there's this larger volcano erupting in the distance, but all that comes out is confetti and I'm thinking about New Year's last year when I saw a man being beaten by children on the side of the street and how he bled out of the side of his mouth and moaned for help and no one was helping him and then the
CLERK: Can I help you sir?
ME: I'm sorry, I was just...I thought the door was broken.
CLERK: The door isn't broken.
ME: But, I just thought that it was.
CLERK: The door is fine. The juice is fine.
ME: I know, I just thought that the door was broken.
CLERK: Your coffee is spilling.
ME: I'm sorry, I just want to – I'll just take this up front and I'll take off.
CLERK: Is that your friend outside yelling?
ME: Who?
CLERK: The man in the parking lot.
ME: Who?
CLERK: Can't you hear him?
ME: Oh, yeah, yeah. No, no I don't know him. I think he's nuts.
CLERK: First a man spills Coke on my floor after I mop and now I got him out there. Well, I'm going to do something about him.
ME: Like, what are you going to do? I mean, to the man?
CLERK: Fucking throw him in a fucking volcano.
ME: What?
CLERK: That volcano, back in the cooler, I'm going to throw him in there. I can do it. I can scale that volcano, just to throw him in. I'm going to throw him in the volcano. There's nothing you can do about it. He's gonna burn.
ME: What? But it's full of confetti.
CLERK: Call the cops. I'm gonna call the cops.
ME: The cops.
CLERK: Yeah, on the guy out there. What're you on drugs?
ME: Drugs?
CLERK: Yeah, pills. You on pills?
ME: Pills?
CLERK: You gonna buy the coffee and the juice?
ME: What pills?
CLERK: Get out.
ME: No, wait, yeah, I'll buy the coffee and the juice.
CLERK: K.
ME: K.
And I do.
I'm outside, walking passed the homeless man and he's still screaming. The clerk follows me out and screams "You go now! Get out of the parking lot, I called the cops!"
I think he's screaming at the homeless guy, but he could be screaming at me.
I'm outside and I can't figure out if any of this is happening while I write it or before I wrote it.
I look up at the coffee shop across the street, at the Space Needle to my left, and then down at my keyboard in Issaquah, 15 miles away.
I keep writing as I walk and I'm walking by the dentist's office below my apartment and there's these pixilated people in the dentist's chairs. There's two chairs and one is just waiting on the dentist, while the other is being worked on by the dentist.
The dentist is crouched over the one, and he stutters between being pixilated and being Kodak quality real. He's older, has a comb over and is holding a pick axe.
He brings the pix axe over the patient's head and brings it down, sending bits of information about the pixilated man all over the office.
It gets on the other patient, who absently wipes it off himself and the dentists walks past a partition and crouches down to comfort the other patient. He's holding a rosary and saying a prayer with the man. He adjusts his combover, becomes pixilated and I keep walking.
In Issaquah, the sun is too bright through the window and my coworker pulls the shade.
I'm walking again, up the street to my car in Seattle.
I walk passed a woman who is mouthing the words "Why am I here?" as flies swarm from her mouth. She follows me to my car and I tell her that I'm going to work and that flies are coming out of her mouth and she doesn't respond.
I get in my car, release the emergency break, start the car and drive away.
I'm back in Issaquah and I'm writing. As soon as I pulled out, away from the woman, Seattle is in the past and I'm here remembering how I drove past Roy street and people were fleeing a Tower records and clawing at their faces. And I remember my face got all tingly and I pulled over on Mercer and turned on my radio and how Howard Stern was talking about Anna Nicole Smith as I watched in my rearview mirror as dozens of people were falling to their knees scratching blood out of their faces in some sort of horrific last grab at a cure for whatever was eating their faces away.
I look up and a coworker tells me that he's done with some program and that I can get into it. I don't respond. I keep typing. I'm typing now as he waits for a reply.
I stopped and told him that I was fine and that I would purchase the coffee and the apple juice once I figured out what was wrong with the volcano.
He's leaving now.
I'm back in Seattle, driving and watching these nuclear bombs drop down to