Everybody

everybody vomits
everybody shits
everybody sneezes
everybody farts
everybody lies
everybody makes mistakes

we're all just people. until we own up to our faults and calm the fuck down we will never be special. we will be a bunch of assholes who waste time talking about how special we are.

people who are so afraid of actually taking chances that we never do anything but agree, and, therefore never really learn anything.

fuck that noise...

Bite Me

you know those people?
the ones that can't really like something if you love it?
they say things like
well
that's something that you're into
like your fanship has somehow ruined it?
the same people that get really hurt
and then pissed off if you don't like something that they love?
like it's some personal attack or something?
like your love of the book 'blue movie' is pointless
and
if you were really cool
you'd be reading books written at a high school level
like 'illusions'
or something like that?
and
since their boyfriend
or sister
or best friend from college feels the same way
it's further proof that you're a loser?

like:
when i first got an on line journal i told everyone how great it is but nobody wanted one and now, since i think that my space sucks i'm a jerk?

screw those visionless robots...

Cockfighting

they busted up some cock fighting in town today.

what's the deal with that stuff?

am i the only person in the world that still loves a good tit fight?

Again With The Thinking

i keep thinking
that there's a perfect set of words
a collection of curves and straight lines
a set of magic pixels
and
if i wrote them
when she read them
all of her problems will be solved
well
maybe not solved
but pulled into focus
and simple to deal with

like turning the lights on
and
finding that the monster is only a coat over a chair

way do i bother?

because i'm an artist?
because i'm a moron?
because i'm trying to un-cause a car wreck?

if i could answer the questions that float through my skull i'd be a zillionaire

It's Still Just Typing

i think that i should point out
once again
that
what would text being flat and without tone there is a good chance
at any given time
that what you think you are reading into something written might be wrong
and that
when you are wrong it's your fault
and a learning experience

(much like this post)
(which wasn't written about you)
(i have much better things to do in life that waste time making you feel bad)
(you sick, paranoid, deluded, martyr, dip shit, childish, loser-fuck)

take it like a grown up and move on to whatever is happening next

high school is over
and this is real life

fuck you very much...

Going To L. In A Handbasket

i saw l. today
being the rough tough manly man that i am
i totally forgot how she never writes to me
even after she promised that she would
we made eye contact
and
i melted like a nestle's crunch bar in a long shoreman's arm pit

god

i'm such a fucking lame ass...

That Pointless Paris Hilton Piece

at what point exactly did it become obvious that she was a whore?
was it that cover story in 'big fucking whore monthly'?
that interview on the tonight show where she said to jay leno, 'well, in my spare time i'm a whore.'
maybe it was that time you gave her money for sex and said, 'thanks, you huge stinking whore!'?

know what i think?

i think you heard some dip shit hanging around the water cooler at work
or some skank at the lunch table
quoting some stupid joke
and that hundredth monkey thing kicked in
and then
whenever you were reminded of her
the first thing that kicked in
was the thought
'whore'
it's pavlov for the trendies
and i refuse to play

again
she might be a raving bitch and a full on idiot
i have no idea
i don't know her personally
but
does having a scumbag ex-boyfriend that sells a private tape make someone a whore?

calm the fuck down

it's only the media
and
the hundredth monkey
only has an average intelligence

Another Great Idea

you know what i think would be a great idea? having a guy on the news that asks questions. wouldn't that be amazing?

'and now, with the big questions, our own wally carlson. wally?'

'well, the president said this and the governor said that and congress said something else. the big question this week? who gives a shit? i mean, none of that chatter really has anything to do with you so whatever, am i right? back to you, steve.'

'thanks, wally. truer words were never spoken. now let's go to the sports desk.'


you may say i'm a dreamer but i'm not the...
hmmmmm...
maybe i am the only one.

All You Need Is An Empty Soul

i honestly feel that any company that would even consider using the song 'all you need is love' in their ad campaign should be blown up, rebuilt, and blown up again. and, when they got to hell the people who work for them should be kicked in the nuts over and over and over again for the rest of whatever. yeah. i know what you're thinking. what about the women? they should be assigned nuts and then have them kicked over and over and over again for the rest of whatever. oh! and their children should be forced to watch.

Supermarket 2

the folks who shop at my local supermarket amaze me. it's like picking up food at a mental hospital.

you're aware, of course that there are actually people that think that if they get mad at you it's because you're an asshole and that they shouldn't have to deal with that negativity. you shouldn't bring their reality down to that low a level. you should stop invading their space.

they also think that if you are mad at them it's because you are an asshole and that they shouldn't have to deal with that kind of negativity. you really shouldn't bring their reality down to that low a level. there's no need for finger pointing.

'know what i call these people?

that's right

assholes

and their parents?

assholes

isn't it strange how everything ties together?

Overheard At The Supermarket

"...i dunno, dude, i think it needs new tires and shit. OH! DUDE! so's i go to my bro's, dude, to check out the car and shit and he's watching 'twin peaks' again, right? that's like all he fucking does and shit, right? so like that sharon fenman babe, the one that he has that picture of on his fucking wall and shit? her dad shoved her fucking head into a fucking FIREPLACE and shit, dude! that show's fucking WEIRD and shit, dude! i was like all, 'DUDE! NO FUCKING WAY', and shit! SERIOUS, DUDE!"

Free Band Names (Sorry, Jello)

black band-aid
the snoochies
four toed foot
pen in the neck
gentlemen nail redheads
the pleasant tomorrows
the egg needers
ungentlemanly haymakers
stomp the poodle
yoda morgenstern
mondo con carne
the living nixons
wac's and wayne
the flying dead
funkmeisters of the new despondency
the wankers
flying eraseheads
the honkeys
dr. skinflint's purple tinted airport monkeys
the flaming hetros
the aristocrats
back 2 bach
pink water
bring me the head of lou jacoby
beatlemaniaphobia
mad about plaid
liquid lunch
the sneeches
greta garble
melted leopards
not perry como
father and sum
the nocturnals
the orgone donors
skip toomaloo
april may june and jewel eye
half cocked and fully crocked
wet nightmare
colombus was a fink
singed eyebrows
chunks of pulchritude
the skinks
knights of the lepus
loni anderson's cleavage
the stolling roans
cream of groucho
thyme and tied
the bruce lee spotters
murder is neeto
underwater tractor pull
friday the 54th

So Long Spring

Welp.

It's just about summer and you regular readers of my stuff know what that means. Yeah. I'm going to have to beat down those mole men in the backyard again. Man! Am I ever tired of that whole scene! It just never fucking ends!

You know, once I found out what a total sham voting is I should have just kept my mouth shut. Not me though, not fucking me. I was so filled with that ass-holy-ness that's better known as righteous indignation that I actually called the government to bitch about it. Have I ever told you that story? Maybe I haven't. I don't remember if I have. Come to think, maybe you're new here so I'll drag that old chestnut out for another spin. Forgive me if you've heard it already and feel free to skip ahead if you'd rather. It's not going to kill me if you do so, whatever. Know what I mean?

So I call the government. It's not very hard to do, anyone can. You just have to know what to Google to find the number, right? I'm pretty sure a lot of you can figure it out on your own. So I call and this voice asks me what I want and I start screaming about what a lame ass scam voting is and how I never will again because all politicians are jag offs and if I had to pay to vote I'd want my goddamn money back and fuck this and fuck that and fuck you too, sister. Really letting it rip. And she says can I hold on for a moment and she puts me on hold.

I fire up an ultra-light 100 and do another shot of spiced rum and I'm sitting there wondering when the guys with the high powered rifles with the silencers are going to show up and pick my ass off through the window. On the news it'd be reported as one of those drive bys or whatever and boo hoo hoo, time for my funeral and some shoulder shrugging and who'd give a wet fart anyway?

So she gets back on the line and says that she checked with her supervisor and that I have two choices. Either a plain white van is going to pull up and I'll be shot with a high powered rifle through the window or I can make a deal. So I go what kind of deal are we talking about here? You know, like, is there a lot of math involved or what?

She says that it's cool if I never vote again but if I tell other people what a crock of shit that whole school yard game is other people will stop voting and then they'll start thinking for themselves and stop watching hit TV shows and giving a good goddamn about 'Scrubs' and total wankers like Celine Dion and whoever wins 'American Idol' (no matter what a babe Kelly is or how hot Carrie looks in a real tight T-shirt) and then they'll stop buying big ass cars that they don't really need and they'll realize how fucking stupid caring about empty headed junk like this whole bling bullshit is and the economy will collapse and where the fuck am I gonna get my spiced rum from then, thank you very much. At this point I see her point and I say I'd like to deal, please. And if you'd like a cherry on top I could arrange that for you real easy-like. I'm nothing if I'm not polite in a crunch. It's the romantic in me.

Anyway, she says seeing as to how the government is going to spare my life I'll have to do a favor in return. I say it sounds fair to me which is exactly the wrong mother fucking thing to say for sure.

So I hang up and keep drinking and screaming along with old Alice Cooper songs and watching "The Brain That Wouldn't Die" for about the eighty first time and the next morning or maybe the evening after that I've forgotten the whole thing. Which is yet another mistake in an entire life that's chock full of huge ass mistakes, believe me, you.

About nine months later a guy in a dark suit with a clipboard shows up and has me sign in ink at the bottom. I'm a fucking moron so I sign. I was also pretty well hung-over because... well, I'm an American, and it's one of my rights since I was born here and all of that shit you see in the movies and in those old books about history. It might have even been a question on "Jeopardy" once or twice but I'm not gonna swear to it.

As it turns out the government knew about these mole men that were going to show up and my part of the deal was having them sent to my house and now I have to deal with them every summer for the rest of my life. Even if I move they'll just have them go there. So I'm stuck and it sucks and you can write the second verse yourself so, like I said before, it never fucking ends.

In fact I was going to wrap this up with a real cool story about how one night Drew Barrymore, Melissa Joan Hart, and Avril Levine gang sucked me while Jennifer Tilly made me eat her nipples and kept calling me daddy but I hear a scratching noise outside so I have to get a flashlight and a rake and go kick some mole man ass.

It never ends, man.

It just never fucking ends.

What I Believe

most of the world doesn't really hate us. we're the home of jazz, the blues, rock and roll, cinema, the telephone, television, thx sound, marilyn monroe, the marx brothers, jerry lewis, woody allen, francis ford coppola, bill hicks, george carlin, oingo boingo, the ramones, the donnas, and countless advances in medicine, electronics, and
technology. what they hate are ugly americans. those boneheads that think that we should be thanked for everything that ever happened in the world and who think that the american way of life is the ONLY WAY that all other countries should be run. you know, the kind of morons that believe whatever they see on the news because they're just too dumb to understand that it's just a TV show. the kind of folk who rush out and buy a plastic flag because everybody else does and then throws those same flags away when it's no longer in style to have them. the sort of jerks that really think that people die in wars so they can buy those cheap ass flags that are made in other countries and wave them in the face of guys and gals who don't agree with them, the feeling being that if they have an opinion it must be the only opinion that's important because any REAL american follows orders and never asks questions. you know, assholes.

all i know is this:

1) i used to have money and now i don't.

2) i can spell potato. being a devo fan i am one.

3) ketchup is NOT a vegetable and before reagan all of those crazy people that you see living in the streets were in hospitals.

4) we are at war with some guys that bush's daddy hated and those clowns who blew up those buildings are still free.

5) strangely, gas now costs a freaking fortune. just like it did in the eighties. i don't really know why and i don't really care.

6) you should all rush out and see, 'duck soup', 'wag the dog', 'network', 'starship troopers', 'the president's analyst', and 'josie and the pussycats'. you should see them over and over and over until you really understand them and tell people that won't see them to get bent. any truth you need is buried in pop culture. trust me. i'm a rogue sub-genius doctor/pope.

7) no president really does or says anything. they have advisors and writers and people they have to answer to who helped them get elected in the first place. anyone who thinks differently isn't really thinking.

8) this is my country too. i was born here, i'm fifty years old, and i can have any opinion i want. just like anyone else. if you don't agree with me you can stick it where the sun shines now and then. like if you sleep naked with the window open or bend to tie your shoes at a nudist camp or whatever.

9) if you'd like a much easier life send me rum and vodka. the only reason i took the time to write all of this junk out is because i'm not screaming along with old alice cooper tunes right now. i miss drinking and, like most people who feel gypped i blame those rat bastards in office. whoever the hell they are they never ask me anything...

Might Have Been A Model

she was pushing eighteen. not much of a problem there. i was in my mid twenties (going on about twelve) and she had a boyfriend anyway. besides, i take things kind of slow. i wouldn't want to hurt anybody, once bitten, better safe, apples falling from trees, pick one you like, okay? she was blonde, hips like a dessert cart, painfully pretty. wanted to be a model and might have done very well at that kind of gig. face like a really hot angel.

so... we're at this party and her boyfriend (a real nice guy, btw) leaves for a while. i'm feeling good, drinking a bit, nothing serious, just hanging out. we've known each other for three or four days and i'm playing at flirting with her and she's playing at being pissed off about it. we're both laughing and bothering other people with our fun-vibe. i go to the bathroom and, on the way out the host drags me back in.

he says:
you like her?

i say:
yeah. lots.

she told me not to tell you but she's leaving her boyfriend.

so?

she's thinking about you.

why would she tell you that?

so i'd tell you.

but she told you not to tell me.

what are you, man? a fucking moron?

(long pause)

oh...

at one point she's really acting shocked at my attitude, goes into the kitchen, comes back with a glass of warm water, and dunps it over my head. it wasn't beer. it wasn't cold. it was art. i would have married her right then and there.

her boyfriend comes back and they get a ride home. she and i act like we don't really give a shit that the other's leaving but the eye contact was promising.

a few hours later we get a call from the emergency ward. the car that they were in was in a crash.

i figured that everything was okay, or at least not all that bad or they would have told us over the phone so it's off to st. john's.

we sit there for about an hour and they call her sister into another room.

there was a scream. just like in the movies. just like nancy allen in 'blow out'. anybody that tells you that chicks don't really scream like they do in the movies is full of shit. you can trust me on this one.

so there's this scream like in the movies and then she yells, 'that's not my sister! she doesn't have a face!'

she was dead before the cops had shown up.

we all kind of floated home in a fog.

a couple of days later i got the story: the car had rolled over quite a few times. she was in the back seat on the passenger's side and her face was torn off when her head was smashed through her window. her boyfriend was crushed in the wreck. the driver lived. he was saved because he was pinned in the seat by the steering wheel.

she never became a model.

the strange thing is that i rarely think of her and when i do i can't remember her face.

then again

maybe that's not so strange after all...

Zooology

Look:

It's not pronounced "zoo-ology"
It's pronounced "zo-ology"

How do i know this?

Because it's not spelled "zooology"

You stupid fucks...

405 Days Later

FADE IN:

EXT. STREETS OF LOS ANGELES - DAY

"Cool Places" a song by the band Sparks begins.

We see a montage of empty streets, dead cars, vacant buildings, etc. Basic L.A. landmarks.

From a freeway overpass we see only a few vehicles and they’re not moving.

The Hollywood sign in need of cleaning.

Scraps of paper being blown along the Santa Monica pier.

A rather old set of corpses slumped at a bus stop.

Wilshire Boulevard, stretching all the way to the vanishing point with no one to be seen.

The empty parking lot of the Ralphs Market on Wilshire and Bundy.

Off in the distance we see a guy walking toward the store. He is wearing a black “Pinky and the Brain” baseball cap, a khaki hunter’s vest with lots of pockets over a black “Eraserhead” t-shirt, black pants, pink high top Converse basketball shoes with black laces, and headphones.

He is alone.

As he gets closer to the store he pulls a backpack off of his back and unzips it, taking out a gas mask. He takes off the headphones, puts on the gas mask, and then replaces the headphones. There are several shopping carts. He wheels one in through the shattered glass of the market’s doors.

CANNED FOOD ASILE

The shelves are almost empty.

He tosses cans of ravioli, tuna, and Spam into the cart.

Tosses in cans of mushrooms, carrots, corn, etc.

PRODUCE DEPT.

He passes fruits and vegetables that have rotted into nothingness months and months ago.

MEAT DEPT.

He passes rotted and decayed meat.

LIQUOR DEPT.

He loads a couple of half gallon bottles of Cap’t Morgan’s Spiced Rum into the cart.

BOTTLED WATER

He loads up the rest of the space in the cart with bottles of water.

EXT. AN ABANDONED CAR - DAY

A length of hose is inserted into the gas tank.

His mouth spits out some gas.

A five gallon gas can is being filled by the other end of the hose.

The rear window of the car is shattered by a crow bar.

He walks away from the car and up the street with the can of gas. Every car behind him still has a rear window. Every car he passes has the rear window shattered.

EXT. A BACKYARD - DAY

The gas can is filling a portable generator.

INT. HOUSE - NIGHT

He empties an envelope of punch flavored Kool-Aid into a jug of water and ads sugar, shaking the jug after replacing the cap.

We travel through the house in a single Steadycam shot.

There are cases of bottled water and canned goods in large stacks.

Cases of beer and malt liquor.

A large freezer that has the word "SMOKES" spray painted on it.

A huge professional stereo system with two turntables and giant speakers.

About three thousand vinyl records arranged in shelves.

The biggest goddamned plasma television everyone has ever seen takes up an entire wall.

He enters this room and moves to a shelf on which hundreds and hundreds of DVD’s are held. He takes one.

Sitting on a large comfy couch he presses "Play"

The Twentieth Century Fox fanfare plays followed by Rod Serling’s voice.

It’s "Phantom of the Paradise"

He smiles.

GUY
I love this movie!

He does a shot of rum, chasing it with the Kool-aid.

He lights up a cigarette as the song "Goodbye Eddie Goodbye" begins in the movie.


FADE TO BLACK

Late Night Olympics

I don't know about you but I'm a bit of a night owl. I sit up late
and suck up television while the rest of the world sleeps, right?
This being the case I have been lucky enough to catch some of the
more obscure Olympic games. The ones that you guys missed
because of your sleep patterns. Being the nice guy that I am I kind
of feel it's my duty to fill you in on the winners of these games.

Knocking Richard Simmons off of a bar stool with a tennis ball
serving machine was won by the USA. No biggie here. It was a
lock.

Standing around quietly while waiting for the phone to ring went to
Canada. No big surprise here either. They kill at this. They do it
every goddamn day.

Six man luge on an upturned coffee table was won by the French.
Nobody really knows why. I'm thinking it might have been the
wine.

Turning into a bat and feeding off of the townspeople was a gold
for Rumania. Geeze! They win that every year! Like we had a
chance!

Limbo for fat guys was nabbed by Japan. For some reason the
limbo has become a huge thing over there. I don't know. I guess
they just love old American pop culture or whatever.

I hope this has caught all of you up and we can get back into
watching "Saturday Night Live".

And now the news:

Madonna played to a sell out crowd in Los Angeles tonight. The none too good looking ex-professional boy's masturbation fantasy and wanky ass pop star said, "While it's true that I am richer than all of creation I'm so fucked in the head that I still need attention from people that I don't actually know in person." She then added, in a very phony English accent, "Know what I mean, gov?" Twenty minutes after making that statement she was shot in the face by someone who the police didn't bother trying to contain, figuring the world would now be a much better place. They were right. She is now dead. We'll have more on this story just as soon as the three people left who give a shit bother calling the station and asking us for it.

Hitting My Head On The Ironyboard

i just knocked over a flashlight
it hit the floor and broke open
scattering the batteries under the desk

i can only see one of them

it's odd
the one thing i need to look for the battery
is lost under my desk

that's my life, gang
the whole mother fucker in a nutshell...