it was 11:15 in the evening, 45 minutes till midnight, binky mcsmithers leaned against his car looking at the stars. He pulled a pall mall from the pack and lit up.

as he inhaled the first draught of smoke, the tip of his cigarette CRACKLING with it's "birth", binky thought about his childhood, how he liked to imagine great adventures, and was told by those around him to "grow up" and how he was wrong in how he was thinking. Binky didn't argue. he didn't like to argue. he realized the ones who speak the loudest and the fastest were the ones who won the arguement, regardless of who was correct.

halfway into the cigarette's "life", which is also halfway to it's "death", binky blew smoke rings, and as the undulating rings of smoke floated
up
up
up
toward the stars and heaven, disipating as they rose skyward, binky thought of his life as an adult. He would share his ideas and dreams, fantastic and unrealistic as they might be, with his wife, who would point out the flaws in his plans and tell him how wrong he was, tell him how wrong his thoughts and feelings were. His daughter would tell him how wrong he was, speak to him with no respect at all. At work, he was told how wrong he was, and even though he managed to obtain a reletively high position at his office, his co-workers, bosses, underlings, all treated him with little to no respect. he was the butt of thier jokes, a mere amusement, never to be taken seriously.

Binky realized, in the gameshow of life, he was the all time worst contestant in history. any time he rang in with an answer, he heard the dissonant BZZZZZZZ of the wrong answer buzzer, and the flashing red X would flash onscreen to show those who may be hearing impared that Binky was wrong.

Binky realized his words were just ammunition he provided others to shoot him down with, cut him down and put him in his place. if you were having a bad day, you could always step on binky to elevate yourself. that was his job in life.

As the cigarette burned to the end, reaching the small printed words "pall mall" right against the filter, binky decided he would no longer play the game. He would no longer offer others the chance to show him how his thougths and feelings were wrong and not worthy of respect. Binky dropped the cigarette and as he ground it out with the tip of his shoe, binky decided he would live the rest of his life and never

ever.

ever.

talk.

again.

the day after

Another Halloween came and went. It didn’t feel like Halloween, probably cause I live in Arizona and there isn’t a crisp biting chill in the air and maple leaves are not all over clogging drains and gutters and rotting in the yard. I assume Christmas will not feel like it either. Sweet.

I didn’t have too many candy beggars knocking at my door, extorting candy out of me in fear they will terrorize my house with soap and toilet paper and eggs and such. The cool thing is, all the kids had costumes, unlike some places I lived where 15 year olds come asking for candy dressed as “a student” or “a rap artist.” Fuck you, at least pretend to give an effort.

I don’t understand the parents who bring infants, dressed in some dinosaur or tiger pajamas. The kid doesn’t even know where he is, and is sleeping in the car seat you are toting around. You come to my house and show me you have a kid and you want me to give you candy? Save the money you spent on gas and buy your own damn bag of snickers, moron.

And if a car pulls up and kids get out, that is just cheating. Like you aren’t fat enough, at least work for the candy. It’s like getting shaken down by the candy mafia. Makes me lose hope in mankind. Trick or treating has gotten jaded and there should be national rules that must be followed. Kids should have “trick or treat” classes in school, so everyone knows the protocol and dos and don’ts. That would rock.

But then you have the damned Christians who want to boycott Halloween, cause it’s evil. Getting dressed up as Batman for free Hershey bars *IS* doing Satan’s work, sure, I can see it, but then you should also not participate in Christmas, which originally was a celebration of the winter solstice. At the very least, they shouldn’t have a Christmas tree, as evidenced by this next bit I copied and pasted……
[The Norse pagans and Celtic Druids revered evergreens as manifestations of deity because they did not "die" from year to year but stayed green and alive when other plants appeared dead and bare. The trees represented everlasting life and hope for the return of spring.
The druids decorated their trees with symbols of prosperity -- a fruitful harvest, coins for wealth and various charms such as those for love or fertility. Scandinavian Pagans are thought to be the first to bring their decorated trees indoors as this provided a warm and welcoming environment for the native fairy folk and tree elementals to join in the festivities. The Saxons, a Germanic pagan tribe, were the first to place lights on the their trees in the form of candles. Ancient Romans decorated their homes with greens at the Festival of Saturnalia, their New Year and exchanged evergreen branches with friends as a sign of good luck. ]
Blah blah blah. It’s not like they will listen. I’m just saying….hope everyone had a spooky and fun Halloween.

Note to Trans and others who don't have halloween...you aren't missing much, it's lost it's fun over the years. but if you were to ever come to the states, drop by anytime, i'll give you free candy...

happy holidays

Everyone here at Saddle Sore Review would like to take a moment to wish everyone out there a Happy and blessed Halloween.

As you gather around your Halloween Tree, singing Halloween Carrols, lovingly insert razor blades into candy apples, dance naked around a bonfire, however you celebrate this special day, remember those who sadly cannot enjoy Halloween for whatever reason,

and laugh at them, those poor suckers.


Happy Halloween

i like things that are measured in dollops

Gather round children, and hear tell of the tale of Captain Ignatz the Rude, the fierce hot air balloon pirate who was the "scourge of the skies" in 19th century Europe.

the year was 1804, napolean was looking for alternate means of supply routes, and decided to test the feasability of the nascent technology of hot air balloons. with its success, soon everyone was lemming up and hot air balloons were as common as a fat drunk shirtless guy at a NASCAR event.

one man, known now only as Ignatz the Rude, operated outside of social norms. Some say he was french, some say he was portugeuse or that he came from bavaria, no one is completey sure. Ignatz grew up, not in a poor family with a hard life, as these stories seem to always go, but in a middle class family with pretty much an uninteresting life. His father worked at a button factory, making buttons, and his mother ran a small bakery where she sold her wonderful homeade jellybean pizzas (pepperoni pizza with red, pink and orange jellybeans, that, when baked, melt into little puddles of sweetness and mix with the spicy pepperoni grease for a taste sensation that is out of this world). Ignatz was intelligent, and bored, and we now know he turned to a life of crime on the high skies merely for something to do.

Ignatz became famous when he pulled off "the great hot air baloon robbery of 1805." to thawrt brigands and highway robbers, france was using hot air balloon trains to transport gold and money, and one sunny day during a routine gold run, ignatz and his pirate crew floated out of seemingly no where, boarded the hot air balloons filled with gold, and took every bar, floating away before the french bankers, mouths filled with brie and baguettes, could do anything about it. amazed at the ease of this crime, ignatz tried agan three days later, when, while floating over what is now lichtenstien, he boarded a dutch hot air balloon, conscripted those who were willing and dumped the rest out, and added another balloon and booty to his hot air balloon pirate fleet.

flush with his success, ignatz went on harrasing hot air balloon traffic, often mocking the pilots as he robbed them blind, earning the notorius moniker "ignatz the rude." although their were some who tried to capture ignatz to make the skies safe and capture the large reward put on his head, ignatz was too cunning, to quick, too much like the wind and never was caught, making him the most successful hot air balloon pirate. ever.

the life of a hot air balloonist is a lonely, harsh one. spending months and years in the sky with no soft touch, wet lips, warm embrace, or flowered smell of a woman, the lonliness of the sky takes it toll on a man, and not many men can bear that hardship for so long. also working against ignatz was time and man's nature itself. soon, modern technological advancments that were bound to happen sooner or later came into play. the age of the horseless carriage and the steam engine blew in like the east wind, and hot air balloons fell by the wayside.

and Captain Ignatz the Rude, the worlds most daring and celebrated hot air balloon pirate, floated off into obscurity, like the clouds he made his life amongst.

all my powertools

so here is my cool idea....first i will find a reletively good restaurant that is popular, then i will open up a restaurant within one block and my menu will have the exact stuff on it, but everything will be called a different name....then, whatever people order, i will call up and order from the other restaurant, pick it up, and serve it as if it were my own. whatever i pay for the food, i will charge one or two dollors more. all drinks will be from my own bar.

this way, i don't have to hire a bunch of cooks, i don't have to pay for food, cooking expenses, all that stuff, i just have to serve food to people, so much less work, and i will be a good restaurant.

another idea i just came up with is this....you know how all this working on computers makes people's eyes hurt and makes you go blind? what they need is a computer that talks to you, like a speak and spell, but with a waay more sexy voice, a lot less like steve hawking. anyway, then you could rest your eyes and listen to what you had to read. this would eventually result in people's eyes being strong but going deaf, which sucks, but would be better than being blind, cause then you couldn't look at porn, and you would stub your toe on a table leg when you walked across the room, and a stubbed toe hurts really bad......

so i got a new computer and it kicks ass and now i am playing doom 3. yes, i am waaaay behind the times, but i love the doom, i have to play it, and i finally am able to thanks to my new computer.

off to kill demon aliens......

i accidently swallowed my hand

music makes beautiful soundwaves, thumpin, screeching, rocking, soulfull, adreneline rush inducing soundwaves. if they could figure out a way to convert soundwaves to energy, or better said, transform sound into harnessable energy, they could make a car that runs off music.

then, instead of getting low grade gas or high grade gas or turbo charged nitro burning funny cars or whatnot, your power/speed would be directly proportional to what you listen to. hip hoppers would be thumpin along to fiddy cent, old peole would still be driving slow listening to chopin or benny goodman, punkers would be speeding along with old skool suicidal tendencies, hippie surfers would cruise with jack johnson, etc etc.

i could have a misfits and gwar powered car. YES!!!!!!

taking this principle, though, since music does create sound waves, technically, in space you could propell a ship with them. what a cool story that would be....a spacecraft full of people, maybe going to a new planet, maybe just commuting across the galaxy, breaks down and the poeple are going to die, but some young kid saves everyone's life with his ipod, which helps propell the ship "all across the universe" (a beatle reference for you all to enjoy) and back to safety.

that would be cool though, wouldn't it?

thou shalt not molest aliens, says exodus 22:20, new american bible

sunday sunday sunday, weather kicked some ass, had a good day really. i was surfing around the internet, like all the kids do nowadays, and i joined some kind of community thingy, like a myspace type of deal, and i honestly don't know why i did it.

i want to create a virtual little town, much like trans did with her little island, only the town would have it's regulars like sunshine the happy goth, afro cat, instant justice man, the snacktruck guy, and it's regualr places like Shooters Steakhouse and Mosque, and the cockring kiosk in the mall. but really, what would i do with it? i could make it a collective, like, open it up to whoever wants to write something in it, or...not.

you know those homies figures you get in gumball machines at kmart and walmart and such? well, i got a bunch of them, and i want to use them in a live action comic strip type deal, maybe do a skit with them, like, take pics of them arranged and put captions on them and all that. it would be the "saddlesore playhouse players" and there would be little skits and tales and such, staring the homies, the little ninjas, and some other little figures i have collected over the years. (they aren't dolls, they are ACTION FIGURES!!!!)

yeah, but i don't quite know how i'm gonna pull it off.

see, i have all these ideas, but i seem to lack in the implementation department.

today i ate at a place called pollo feliz (the happy chicken). what the hell was the chicken so happy about? i mean, i was eating him. anyway, i had the most tastiest roasted pepper ever, as a condiment. i bit into it and it was sweet, and smoky from the roasting, and then BAM it burned like acid and i was in supreme pain. then i ate the rest of it. wow, that kicked ass, really. no point to that little vignette, just wanted to share really.

frustration simmers under my skin, i have these ideas and "creative" urges, but i can't seem to harness them and get them out, and if i did, they would not be to completion i fear. dammit.

movie review: DOOM

i saw DOOM the night it came out. it wasn't all that crowded, but then again, i live in a small town now. after paying $6.25 to be allowed to see the film and $7.00 for a bottle of Nestea Iced Tea which had a shitty sweet bitter taste that i suppose passses for the flavor of "brisk" and a bag of popcorn that closely resembled styrofoam packing peanuts, i took my seat in the theatre. alone. solo.

i have no problem going to the movies alone, it makes a bit of sense as you aren't supposed to talk during a movie and you watch tv alone so what's the big deal, but there seems to be some stigma attatched to movie watching and dining out alone in the states. i was cured of that in japan, where everything is done alone. anyway, other than being the "wierd creepy guy at the movies alone" and thinking about how americans, for all our "look how independant and solo i am" try to do things in groups, where other cultures based on groupthink, like the borg that is japan or any other tribal/cliqueish society, often cherish the solitude. i guess everyone is looking for some kind of balance.

oh, the movie.....so i smelled what the rock is cooking, and it smelled ok, but he has cooked better things i think. i really like the rock, he is intelligent, has a great sense of humor and timing, and, i'm not gay, but you gotta admit, he is quite pleasing to the eyeballs. well, he is SARGE, leader of a small quick reaction team of marines who have to go to mars to contain some kind of problem. the the problem gets out of hand, etc etc etc.

the movie moved slow, perhaps in an effort to build suspense and interject plot, but it really wasn't a "thrill a minute non-stop cavalcade of action packed excitement." the pacing could be a bit better. the plot was simple and the character development was not too much but you learned enough about each character so they weren't just a hollow meatsack walking around.

the sets and costumes were pretty damn cool, and although they were going for a dark feel, it wasn't like some movies that were just so dark you can hardly see anything. the music was almost non existent, but when it was there, it was pretty damn good. i think there were only two "songs" in the whole movie. i will look for the soundtrack, but they are gonna put a bunch of music that wasn't in the movie on the soundtrack, or they are gonna have a sountrack that is a single with one B side.

all that said, there was a bit of a twist (at least to me it was a twist. you might be, and probably are, quicker on the uptake than i am, but i went into it with a certain expectation so when that wasn't the case, i had a small pleasant surprise. but then again, i got it half way through the movie, i might be making something out of nothing). also, there is a five minute sequence where it goes from third person view to first person shooter, in an homage (i wanted to use the word homage, "h" is silent for maximum pretentious fuckishness) to the original game. this not only kicked major ass, but it wasn't dragged out, and was done just enough to make it a perfect touch to the movie. good job boys!

overall, i liked it and enjoyed it. maybe you have to be a big fan of DOOM, (which i am) to really really enjoy the movie, i dont' know, but as a fan, they did a passable job (i am a huge fan of "firefly" the cancelled tv show, and i LOVED the movie serenity, which had a bit more action and excitement than DOOM did honestly). it didn't suck. it reminded me a lot of the resident evil movie. actually, now that i think about it, it did have the same kind of pacing as the game, so, yeah, it was a pretty damn good movie. it did leave a possibility for a second movie, and if a second movie comes out, hell yeah i'm gonna see it, cause, well, it's DOOM for chrissake.

now they need to make a movie out of Duke Nukem and Twisted Metal. THEY would fucking rock.

i got a magical haircut, and now, thanks to my hair, allows me to understand animals

you know the "swiss miss," the little swiss chick on the package of swiss miss instant hot cocoa? well, i *hate* to be a gossip, buuut......

her real name is Svetlinka Klergenhergenbergen, and she started out, like many legitimate actresses and celebrites, in porn. it's true, she was in a porno with, of all people, the quaker oats guy and mrs butterworth, the maple syrup lady.

it's a movie called "black pussy eating white eurotrash, " and there is this hot scene where he is doing her from behind, holding onto her pigtail braids like they were motorcycle handlebars, and she has her tounge so far up mrs butterworth's pussy (which is dripping with buttery maple goodness) i swear the swiss miss is licking mrs butterworth's womb. meanwhile, mrs butterworth is cheering the quaker oats guy on, saying "that's it, work that white eurotrash pussy, yeah, tap it good".

then mrs butterworth sucks the quaker oats guy off, and jerks him off onto swiss miss's mini marshmallows....

kinda wierd to see how they all got thier start and the different paths they took....

what, are they gonna tow *ALL* the cars?

i love to watch kabuki, i saw live kabuki three or four times when i lived in japan, it is so damn fascinating and interesting. i really really do enjoy it, and even though i have no real clue what's going on, it's ok, cause the japanese people don't really know what's going on either. one of the coolest things in kabuki is the KOKEN, the assistants. these are the ninjas onstage, guys dressed in black who are there, but "you don't see them, they aren't there." when an actor wants to sit down, BAM, the koken comes up and puts a chair under him. to signify a fight scene, the actor stamps his foot, then kicks off his sandle, sliding it forcefully to the rear, and the koken is there to catch it. no matter where the sandle goes, the koken is THERE! if the actor takes off a piece of clothing and throws it behind him, the koken is there to catch it. the guy is the actor's shadow, and is really cool.

so i was thinking, what do the koken do when they retire? what if i could hire a koken for myself, a guy dressed like a ninja who follows me around everywhere and when i want to sit, he is there to put a chair under my ass. i could come home, take off my shirt and throw it behind me and he would be there to catch it and put it away, or i could put out my hand and he would put a sandwich in it. wherever i went, he would be there, so i could be in the supermarket and just walk around getting what i need off the shelf and tossing it behind me without looking and he would catch it and put it in the cart. it would be a pretty good short internet movie, if i could film it.

pizza flavored ice cream

i saw this guy today with a t-shirt that clearly stated the guy wearing it was a "professional masseuess," as if chicks who saw this would ask him for a massage. i thought about asking him for one, just to see what he would say. i also thought about posing as a licensed masseur and asking to see his credentials and giving him a hard time about fals advertising and such.

i saw a license plate border thing on a toyota celica that said "official pimp mobile." oh really? so now the pimps are riding in two door toyotas?

i saw a guy with a t-shirt that offered some kind of sexual favor in a barely witty and double entendre way, i saw a guy with a t-shirt that...ad infinitum, ad nasuem, etc etc.

do these people actully think some chick will read the shirt and fall down with legs spread wide like the grand canyon? are they trying to show their (pathetic) sense of humor? yes, i am being picky and curmudgeonny, but really, are you that much of an idiot that you think those shirts are worth your cash and worth you walking around with them? are you *really* a "Female Body Inspector"? would any female, after reading your oh so clever t shirt let you inspect her body? you are as sharp as a bowling ball, my Spencer's shopping sad sack of a human.


how about you buy your t shirts from a store other than Spencers, Abercrombie and Fitch (i need to wash my hands just for typing that accursed name, i feel so dirty), or some other frat boy clothes outlet.

oh, and by the way, paying $25.00 for a faded shirt does not, in any way, give you some kind of street cred, you pathetic wanna be band wagon jumping feeble little shallow fucktard. you are too young to have owned or ever played an Atari game or listen to the Misfits or do any of the other things your brand new but oh so faded t shirt says you have done. how about you get a life and stop trying to pretend you had someone else's life.

fucking morons. i hope they all choke on a gourmet hand crafted bagel.

his fruit is don't mind

i am currently reading hyperspace, which isn't important just yet, but keep it in mind if you read this whole thing....

try to follow me on this....so it seems that the world of robots gets more advanced every day, and robots are becomming more and more realistic and human-like, moving like humans, AI, the whole shebang....

we as a people love bodily functions, hence the popularity of burps and such. kids love dolls that pee and burp and poop and all that...."look how realistic it is" they squeal with disgusting and somewhat disturbing delight....

we love to customize our machines and gadgets, pimp our rides, hack our ipods, tweak our nic- nacs, remove the brakes from our bikes, customize our ring tones...

so, you probably see where this is going, no? one day we will have realistic robots who do our things, talk to us, whatever, and we will want them to be super realistic, and it's only a matter of time until they make a robot that farts. and THEN it's only a matter of time until we learn to hack and tweak our robots and there is downloadable customizable fart tones for our robots, so they can fart like a birdsong or beethoven or whatever, and the thought of a robot farting a song or a special sound makes me laugh like a wino staring at the lights of the inescapable oncoming dumptruck...

what does this have to do with that book way at the top of this post? well, i am reading that book about serious stuff, i have a modicum of intellect, and yet, do i write anything intelligent and witty, insightful, or worth anyone's time? am i thinking about the amazing universe around us, the things we don't know, all the mysteries and such? no, i am thinking about robots farting. i am a sad sad little man.

the illiad, the odessy, and oklahoma

after many many miles, and many many little debbie snack cakes, and much jet lag, etc etc ,blah blah, i am here, camping in a house, waiting until my things get here.

i have been in the states about one week. i have seen three movies: corpse bride, an excellent and cute little tale starring the voice talents of that heartthrob johnyy depp, and the sultry minx who i will always think of as the chick in fight club, helena bonham carter; serentity, a kick ass movie that i absolutely loved loved loved, because i loved the falied television show firefly and the chick who plays river is a hottie (in real life she is a ballerina, hence her graceful movements and flixibilty...mmmm, flexible chicks), i would see this movie again and again, it was spec friggin tacular; and willy wonka, another tim burton joint starring depp (Swoon) and HBC. eh, it had a few moments, but really, just like the lobster boy, reality television, or a threeway in church during a mass up in the balcony behind the organ with two choir chicks, it is a bit of an abomination against god and really shouldn't have happened at all.

i think i purchased about 52 books. a super kick ass independant bookstore that i found turns out to be closing due to lack of business, thanks to the damned internet and lazy ass people who don't read, and this is a sad loss, but i also picked up professional grade hand made quality bookshelves for super cheap, so there is the rose in that manure pile.

cell phones in the states are a complete rip off. if i make a call i get charged "minutes" (it is ALL about the minutes) and if someone calls me, I GET FUCKING CHARGED?!?!?!?!?? what heinous fuckery is that? and of course i get the number that used to belong to varoius people, so i keep getting this old indian guy and old indian lady wishing me a happy birthday and some guy named poncho (no kidding, his name is actually poncho) keeps calling for Father Louis. if only poncho knew....

huzzah, i am back in the states. the blogging assault i had planned will be much less a whirlwind and more a light breeze, at least for now, while i get my things up and running. only today, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth did my internet get hooked up. things are not as easy as they seem to make you think they are.

and i got a tattoo.... (no, i will not be showing it, sorry, but thanks for asking....

traveling

in the airport.....crappy internet machine at high prices.....gong back to japan for a week or so....no internet for about two weeks...then it will be a blogfest of hugemongous proportins..


.if. i. could. only. reach. my. utility. belt....

lissome waifs stole my hair

Tyrone Shoes satat his usual booth in the corner of "The Dirty Sanchez" drinking his usual shot of Johnny Walker Purple (a mix of red and blue) and thinking his usual thoughts. the words "girls in bikinis and men with martinis an old lady walking her dog, hikers hiking, bikers biking, death comes in on the fog" kept scrolling across his otherwise blank mind like the annoying ticker thing at the bottom of all the news broadcasts.

Tyrone's girlfriend, Clamidya Brown, a waitress at "Shooter's Steak House and Mosque" had been acting all wierd lately, ever since that bout of Toxic Shock. She would occasionnaly burst out a phrase in Estonian, even though she didn't speak that language and never knew anyone who did. Tyrone followed her around all day one day with a tape recorder, and managed to capture a phrase and bring it to a linguistics expert, who translated it. It turns out Clamidya's bursts of turret's in a foreing language were bits of a recipe for some wierd baked fish dish.

Tyrone waited with the patience of a coked up kid with a belly full of espresso the night before christmas. He had bought a lottery ticket, and he knew, KNEW he was going to win, he had a dream, a vision, a gut feeling, and his gut was never ever wrong, except that one time at that shady day-old sushi place....

150 million dollors. oh boy, what tyrone would do with that money. first off, he would get Clamidya whatever medical help she needed. then he would give her a million or two and tell her to never talk to him again. She was an ok girlfriend, but she had some quirks that rubbed Tyrone the wrong way. like how she always took her shoes off before getting into the shower, or how she always hung up the telephone when she was done talking on it.

Tryone had plans. he was going to buy a small town somewhere in asia. he figured with that much money, he could set up a free hosipital, throw a town wide fully catered party once a month, and be a benevolant dictator. all he would ask in return would be everyone's loyalty and for everyone in the town to fight to the death to defend him, if any government or whatever tried to get rid of him.

"that is where saddam hussein went wrong" thought tyrone. if that wacky arab had forgone just one of his 80 bazillion dollor palaces and given, say, 100 dollors to every citizen once a year, all the people would have been happy and not let him be taken out. they would have gladly put up with his frat boy sons and thier frat boy antics of raping and killing at will, or the occasional gassing of some kurds (really, who likes kurds anyway?) if they got free cash once a year. and tyrone wouldn't even kill or rape or any of that. he just wanted his own town. kind of like playing "Sid Meier's Civilization" only on a real life, 1:1 scale. and he could probably get laid by a hot and sexy asian chick, which would be a pretty fine bonus in tyrone's book.

tyrone thought about how cool it would be, what a great and loved man he would be, building schools and temples and libra ries and hospitals, and as he thought he mindlessly ate a complimentary bar pretzle, which he choked on. before anyone could get to him, tyrone suffocated and died.

the winning lottery ticket bunched up in his jeans was mistaken for an old recipet and burned with his clothes and no one has claimed that money to this day.

commiting murdercide

ok, so you are a 5'7" tall blonde with sparkly teeth, perky breasts and perfect skin. so you have a masters degree, you were captain of the volleyball team, you lived in Mongolia for 6 months building yurts and wells for the underprivalged. You speak two languages fluently and can quote Tennyson, Bukowski, and anything by Dark Horse Comics. You understand and can apply Hiesenberg's uncertainty principle in everyday life, you know HTML and Java and have your own webpage with hundreds of hits a day. You have a promising career and drive a sporty convertible and everyone likes you and you have friends who would take a bullet for you.... But do you do anal?

scott baiowulf

you know how dudes get a chicks name tattooed on thier body, then in less time than it takes a celebrity to avoid jailtime for a crime everyone else would get the chair for, they break up and the guy is stuck looking for a chick with the same name?

well, i was thinking.....what if i got a tattoo of a girl's name, then just spent my life looking for a girl with that name? then, when i found her, it would be like...destiny or something crazy, and i would know she was meant for me. it would be my way to force destiny, take control of my fate. maybe by commiting to a name before i even met the chick, i would invoke some kind of predestination thing, and i would meet her. then i would already have her name tattooed on me, so i would have that going for me.

well, i did such a thing. i got a name tattooed on my arm. it is a prediction. perhaps some girl will see the name and comment that it is her name, and we will talk, and she will find me interesting, and then we will have a cool story to tell everyone about how we met.

now all i have to do is wait until i meet a smart, sexy, hot chick with the name Beauregard.

ragnaraok and roll

i have not showered in three days. i have slept approximately 8 hours in the last 72 hours, only about 5 of them in a row, the rest in increments of 20 - 30 minutes whenever i could. my body is sore.

i went to Edgefest up in phoenix arizona with a guy who is from there (we crashed at his parent's house) and the mexican i went to see velvet revolver with. it was a one day concert which we sandwiched between two nights of all night "partying" which consisted of people sitting around and talking and drinking until 4 a.m. apparently that is what people do. all this time i thought i was missing something, but it turns out i am not missing too much. i had a good time, but i don't understand staying up until 4 am to drink and talk. if i am going to stay up all night, i am going to be doing something exciting or illegal or both. i can sit around and talk during daylight hours.

the rest of this piece will be a review of the concert, so if you aren't interested in that, don't waste your time reading further.

the weather was perfect (duh! it's arizona), the venue was big enough to be comfortable but small enough to not need a map to get around and see everything they had to offer pretty easily. four stages, two small, two main, one band on each stage at a time. the local no-name bands on the small stage, the big time rock and roll bands on the main stage. the local bands kicked some ass, more on that later. the local roller derby association was there puttin on demos and pimping thier thing, and i think i will become an avid roller derby fan once i settle in here. violence and rollerskates, two ingrediants for quality entertainment. someone asked to take a picture of my sneakers. i had about five comments on my sneakers throughout the day.

it wasn't too crowded, and the crowd had a damn good vibe. refreshingly, it wasn't a huge commercial for hot topic. in fact, i don't think i saw more than two hot topic outfits. it was genuine. there was, however, a metric fuckload of misfits shirts/tattoos/belts/whatever. this is cool, but surprises me as i know most of those kids have never seen the misfits or probably even listen to them. i wonder if it's the cool skull logo that attracts the kids so much. wierd. anyway, there was no peacock strutting, no territorial pissing, none of that posing that goes on at a lot of music festivals. even in the mosh pits and close to the stage people were pretty considerate, not too much idiocy going on. a good fun clean family affair really. like church, but louder and with a bit more pushing, piercings, and tattoos. a small, not so commercialized (yet still endorsed heavily by "the man") event that showcased some damn fine local talent as well as the big names.

i am now hot on a local band called Peachcake who are like, still in highschool or something, but put on a fun cool show. it was like a fucking party, and they sound like "atom and his package" mixed with Dead Milkmen. they fucking rock, not punk at all, and i think that is why i like them, after a while the screamo bands start to sound the same. and i don't think they have any cd's out, but i got thier t shirt. seriously, they were a fun band. goofy but cool.

the fun seriously started happening with a local band called Authority Zero, who kicked some ass and put on a damn good show. fenix tx also put on a damn good show. some band called Louis XIV played in cool hip suits and were ok, i couldn't tell if they sucked or not. Interpol was pretty awesome, and some 14 year old started throwing elbows and started a mosh pit, and people actually moshed to interpol. i swear people will mosh to anything, cause they think"that is what you do at a concert." i enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but to the right music. there is music for it, and interpol is not that music.

there was a lot of room, even close to the stage, until RISE AGAINST, when i looked around and noticed it suddenly got awfully croweded. as soon as they started, it was on. spectacular violence ensued, complete with my face being rubbed against sweaty naked backs, arms being twisted in all sorts of ways, people trying to shielf thier girlfreinds and everyone attempting not to fall down to avoid being trampled, but really, you almost can't fall down, it is too packed. i think i may have had sex with someone (hopefully she was not underage). i enjoyed seeing absolute fear on the faces of the people who were being twisted and shoved, as if they didn't realize that was going to happen. eventually enough room opened up to allow the dance of the damned, the cirlce of tormented souls, the mosh pit. as i was pushed from one pit, i ended up in another. i have to say, that was one of the main highlights of the day. the sheer violence of it all made me laugh uncontrollably, i needed it, it felt good and wonderful. i am not a violent man, but with the music and sweat and heat and energy....i swear if you could capture that energy, you could run a small city on it. and it all lasted about two songs, then everyone suddenly gave space and we all stood and listened to the music. it was wierd.

pennywise put on a great show and seemed like they were having fun. sadly for me, they didn't play "perfect people" or "searching" which are my all time favorite songs of thiers and i am compelled to jump into the nearst pit when i hear those songs. but still, they haven't lost thier edge, and the lead singer of rise against joined them for a tune which got everyone excited.

i finally got to see the phunk junkees, who put on a rollicking party type show, they kicked major ass. they are locals, from phoenix, and they were just downright damned fun to listen and dance to. they looked like they were having fun, and it made the whole damn thing fun. thier guitarist kicks serious ass. i danced and sang along to them.

and then, perhaps the greatest band in the world, SOCIAL DISTORTION. yeah yeah, mike ness can talk a bit too much at times, but are you gonna tell him he cant? and besides, he is one of the old skool granddaddys, he can pretty much do whatever the fuck he feels like. and he does. and he puts on a great show. i had not sang out loud for the other bands (much) but i scraemed and sang with every song Social D played, and danced and it was fucking fantastic. i basked in the sound, energy, complete feeling. i hope i feel the same way when i die if i get to go to heaven (chances are slim, but i can hope).

overall it was an emotional event, lots of fun and adreneline. i think about 72 breasts were rubbed up against me in the course of five hours, which is more than i have had in my whole pathetic life, so that alone was worth the price of admission. i also had the opportunity to trade sweat with about 200 strangers, and if you do a link association, i probably have touched the entire state of arizona and some of california. overall, the music was excellent, band put on a good show, the crowd was excellent, it was a great line up. definatly one of the best saturdays i have spent. i will attend this event every year until i die.

ok, what in sam hill (does anyone actually say "sam hill?) is the deal-e-o with all the damn stupid writst bands? yeah yeah, livestrong/lance armstrong started it and it was cool, then every tom dick and skittletits mcgee started having them, and now i can't go into a gas station for some burnt crappy coffee and a little debbie licky-chewy snack(mmm, little debbie, you vixen, how i crave your overprocessed high saturated fat siren call) without a half dozen rubber wristbands for sale for a buck or five.

no, it's not the cure for cancer, but that is what is on my mind at 6:45 in the morning after getting a full 1 hour 42 minutes of sleep in a 36 hour period.


oh, and truman capote, that little drug abusing alcoholic fag, sure can write a good story.

onward to mayhem.

assfuck

goddammit i am cursed i swear. i am meant to stay frustrated and tormented as if by the hand of some vindictive spirit who deep down hates me but pretends to be a friend while secretly laughing and joyously celebrating when things go wrong for me.

i need to change the address on my credit card, but for some fucking reason, they have my birthdate wrong. how the fuck did that happen and how, after many many years in dog time did that not come up or get fixed? fine, fuck you, i will get another fucking credit card, but oh no, for some motherfucking cocksmoking assfuck reason the goddamn website isn't working and i can't access my motherfucking god damn bank account. i hate it and i feel like i am being played. i feel like i don't have control over my own god damned (and god did in fact personally damn me to a slavish hellish life on this god forsaken by everyone planet) life.

it's like swimming upstream when your aren't a salmon, or when you are a salmon but there is a bear waiting for you. it's like pushing a door that says pull, but you are too fucking retarded to notice. it's like every god damned motherfucking cocksmoking shitpisscuntfuck decision i make is the exact wrong one, cleverly designed to cause the most greif/stress/heartache/pain humanly and inhumanly possible. there is a preternatural force fucking with me, i am life's bitch and life is the heavy handed pimp and i apparently owe the mutherfucker some money for crack that i didn't even get to smoke.

why do i get put in the special ed class of life? why must i be alligned with the bucktoothed two inch thick glasses wearing overweight slow speeched motherfuckers who grasp thier fork with all the fingers wrapped around it like they are going to jerk it off and shovel food in thier maw evern though they are already chewing? that makes me one of them by association. what the fuck did i do in my past life to make me come back as "that guy"? what god or goddess or diety or supreme being did i piss off? did i walk into someone's temple and whiz on thier sacred altar? i swear it was that guy named jinx who worked in the voodoo shop in new orleans during mardi gras so many years ago. either that or some jealous evil woman (which if you think about it, the term jealous evil woman is pretty damn redundant, women are born jealous and evil and find an easy mark and snag them and force them into a life of pitiful servitude while all the time acting helpless) put some fucking curse on me.

it's like an invisible fucking wall that surrounds me, and i swear if i could just break out of it, or clear it, get the goddamn monkey off my back....i need a fucking exorcism. fuck, i tried one, but interestingly, the charm i was given to keep disappeared two days later and i havent found it since, as if someone didn't want me to be free of whatever demon i am enslaved to....

fuck i hope i die soon and get it over with

aposeopetic penguins with guns

i am still alive, i am really busy, i will get busier, i will start to blog for real and answer comments and read other blogs and all that by mid october, halloween at the latest.

do gay people use the term "Straight" as a pejoritve? dude, that is so straight.

in a horrible accident brought on by too much alcohol and a horniness that runs deeper than the imprint left by bam margera's dad on a bean bag chair, i stuck my dick into what i thought was a sex toy but turned out to be the gom jabbar. boy was i surprised. but i have to confess, i think i kind of liked it....

i went to get a tattoo last night, and buddah damnit all to iowa, they wanted to charge me one hundred bucks for a tattoo that shouldn't cost more than fifty bucks, tops. my other tattoos each cost a hundred or so, they are colored, larger, more intricate, and took more time than the one i want to get would be.

i guess it's cause tattoos are mainstream and almost expected and everyone has one or is going to get one, and so artitsts can charge whatever they want to. i remember when i could buy a cup of coffee for less than $4 dollors and no one cared if you drank coffee or not. now coffee is a religion with temples to the black bean on every corner. there is even a fucking coffee shop in safeway. SAFEWAY!

so i wonder if safeway, wanting to make your food buying experience the Best Ever!, will also have a litte tattoo shop in each store, so you can get a tattoo, a mocha heroin latte, and a box of frosted mini-scabs all in one convienient SUV trip.

anyway i didn't get the tattoo, but i will go up to tucson and see if i can find a reasonable artist who is willing to inject ink under my skin and stain my meat sack eternally in a decoritive pattern for a reasonable price.

LET'S PEE!!!!

So I got bit by a black widow. It was when I accidentally tipped over a casket at a southern baptist funeral.

I think marriage is an antiquated, outdated tradition, I don’t understand why people do it, it makes no sense to me. The only reason I can see for people to be married is if they want to have and raise children. Kids need two parents, and parents need someone who can help them, so other than training a human to be an adult, there is no need for marriage. In my opinion.

I have been pretty much alone for a good portion of my life on this spinning ball of dirt. I can cook for myself, I can do my own laundry, when I go to the movies I only have to pay for myself. why would i need someone else? Sex is awesome with another human, yes, but after years of marrying my bed (anne sexton, “the ballad of the lonely masturbator. Google it) I have pretty much come to be used to being lonely and alone.

Lonely. Ah yes, that is it, isn’t it? But sometimes, I think I would rather be lonely than be with someone who I don’t want to be with. It is Friday night as I write this, I am in my room with all my friends. Alone as usual. I would love some kind of companionship, and if that companionship came with a set of tits and female genitalia I could taste, well that would fucking rock. But you don’t need to be married for that. that aint gonna happen anyway, though. I would have to leave my room for that to happen, and even if I did leave my room, I could pretty much guarantee I would end up back in my room alone.

People used to marry for life, sure, but they also only used to live to be 40. We live longer now. Being with the same person for so long would get old and boring after awhile. How many people marry young, and realize after a few years they have changed and their tastes have changed and they no longer are interested in the person they are forever chained to? Our bodies regenerate after every seven years or so….every cell new, a complete new body, new person. Isn’t it possible our tastes change as well? Did you like the same foods as a kid as you do now? As stated earlier, other than an 18 year contract to raise another human, I can see no reason for staying together. Of course, I am weird and see things differently and I am a solipsistic little bastard, so there is that. As for infidelity….if I could get only the people who have cheated on their spouse to vote for me, I would be president without a doubt.

There is no perfect person, I know. No matter how perfect a person might seem, after a month, you see their flaws. I think the trick is to find the person who you are attracted to sooooooo much, their flaws are outweighed by your desire to be with them. Someone you can talk to, who you want to talk to, someone you want to listen to when they talk. I meet people and think “wow, why don’t I meet chicks like that?” and I know I would eventually get annoyed with them and their weird quirks, and I am pretty certain they would get sick of me in less time than it takes an avocado to get over ripe, but still…..if only…….

So I think it would be funny and/or cool if avogadro called up someone and got their machine with the message “leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you” and he said” yeah, this is avogadro, my number is six point zero two times ten to the twenty third. Thanks.”

demons are a gouls best fiend

The devil and I sat down for a drink
I had so many questions from all the time I had to think
about the way life works, or rather the way it don’t.
Do you think I’ll care that’s grammatically wrong?
Well, no. no, I won’t.

So I ask the unholy host of the netherworld if he has anything to do with art and the internet and all that, and he laughs derisively, making me feel even worse, and in a voice smoother than Mel Torme and more reassuring than a hug from someone with a soft fuzzy sweatshirt, Ol‘ Scratch says to me, “It’s retarded questions like that which cause me to marvel how cognitively simple animals like you ever figured out how to procreate and keep your worthless species alive. Do you have an extra chromosome or something?”
Then he went on to explain…

“I have nothing to do with artists and the internet. However, and see if you can follow me on this you failed abortion, the artists and internet do in fact work in my favor. Artists, the truly talented artists, the ones you aspire to be and will fail at miserably every time, they get that from, oh lets call him “the deadbeat dad.” However, the teeming masses of untalented fucks like yourself, well, you morons get all jealous, and are filled with self doubt and self hatred, and *THAT*, my useless animal, works for me. I don’t have to do anything, which gives me time to fuck your mother and grandmother in the ass…yes, your pious mother and her mother are both down with me, you‘ll see them soon. What? I would never lie to you . Anyway….

The internet…no I had nothing to do with that. You animals do most of the work for me really, I just sit back and reap the benefits. The easier it is to show unlovable refuse like you how smart and loved and revered others are, the quicker you go about trying to be something you are not, and that usually leads to me. You are never satisfied, you are never content, and the internet shows you what you are missing, and shows you how worthless you truly are. The beauty is, you think you are in some kind of competition, and you struggle to be something you are not, and you think you are missing out on something. You will try to reach that spectre of success, and in reaching, you will grab my hand. Here, let me get you another drink, ok?”

So he comes back with two fresh drinks and I ask him, “What about that guy I work with, the 25 year old whose bases his life on what he reads in MAXIM. The one with the perfect skin, perfect height, perfect set of muscles, and his buddy? They have a close friend ship, chicks dig them, guys dig them, they are living the life right now, and me? Well, anyway, I just want to know, do you have something to do with their success? It makes no sense. Forget the personal angle, what about all the stupid people who people have to work with and deal with, the dumb ones who get the kudos the ones who don't work but everyone thinks is so great? What about the idiots who have no clue yet seem to be the ones making the decisions? ”

“Look, you Special Ed dropout, I don’t. But as you should be able to see, their success works for me, even though it may be a gift from the deadbeat dad, which shows you how much he cares about you now, doesn’t it? Don’t you feel neglected? Don’t you hate the fact that those two perfect models for pro-wrestling seem to have more talent and success than you and the chicks flock to them and look at you like you are covered in vomit? Doesn’t it make your veins run with the sweet ochre of jealousy and rage? When you have the correct answer but they won’t listen to you and fuck shit up, and they are seen as doing things the right way, doesn’t that just bother you like an itch on the bottom of your foot when you are wearing thick soled boots? Well, there you go, I have nothing to do with it, and yet, it comes back to me. Do you know what I do? Do you know how you sit there, and it’s like a pimple right under the surface, you just *KNOW* you have something there, but you cant get to it, like when a pencil falls behind the desk and it is *JUST* out of reach of your fingers no matter how you scrape your arm to shove it a half millimeter farther? *THAT*, you stupid fuck , is me. So was the drunk driver who killed your father, and yes, your father sucks my dick after I fuck your mother in the ass. But as I was saying, it’s not too difficult really, I just keep it from you. As far as you know, you have nothing, I just make you *THINK* you have something that you can’t get to. Hahahah, what do you do? You get frustrated, etc etc, ad infinitum. This really bores me, you bore me, I hate you just like everyone who knows you hates you whether they say it or not to your face just know in your heart everyone hates you and suicide is an easy and quick solution. Ta.”

And he was gone. And yes, the motherfucker stiffed me with the bill.

dragonriders of porn

the "hotel" i am staying in is a room, it's an apartment type arangement. there is a hotel about two blocks from here that has a "continental breakfast." every now and again, i pop over there and get free coffee and a bagle. is that wrong? i dont' think so. i figure there is at least one person in that hotel that is not drinking the coffee or eating the bagel, and really, a lousy cup of coffee and the occasional bagel isn't going to bankrupt them. mmmm, free food.

if you are bored and hungry and have nothing better to do, go to a large hotel that has room service and walk up and down the halls and you can get some good stuff on the carts outside rooms waiting to be picked up. if you are feeling extra ballsy, go into a crowded restaurant at peak hours, and if you time it right, you can get the leftover food on people's plates when they get up and leave. mmmm, free cake.

so....it is done.... it is complete. i now have a no shit, true track bike. a fixed gear bicycle the way it is supposed to be. i took the brake that came with it off. i now have no brakes on the bicycle. to see the difference, go to the pics, they are there. you will notice a distinct lack of things like gears, cables, brakes, or any of those things you just dont need when riding a bicycle in traffic...

i rode a few laps around "the block" after removing the brakes. it was a smooth dream-like ride, the temperature was perfect, the road felt smooth and flat, and frankly, i think the bike rode itself, i was just a passenger. here are the thoughts that popped into my head as i glided along:

*sniff sniff* someone's grilling...

hey, a rabbit...

hello dog..., hey! stop barking at me dumbass, good thing you are fenced in...

that guy is watching sports on tv in his living room...

must be a wheelchair at that house, there is a ramp...hey, a house with a ramp, that might be fun...

oh crap, an intersection, hey, i don't have brakes....

i bet that driver thinks i can just stop whenver i want to...

"hey baby" or in this case "hola chica"...

holy shit, i forgot i am actually peddling...

god i love arizona....


it was better than looking at porn on the internet. i tried to stay at a controllable pace, but the bike was like "hey, lets go a bit faster, c'mon, we can go just a *bit* faster," and who am i to argue. it occurred to me just what having no brakes means when i got to the intersection and realized "hey, there might be some cars coming..."


but it was effortless, and i loved it. i had to be aware, i noticed things a bit more, but it is a great bike. next i must get me a track bike tattoo, possibly ringed in little devils and fire and skulls and such...

tomorrow, i shall take the bike on the highway and go a bit farther....just to be safe, i will only make right hand turns...

i'd like the "all you can eat ribs," but i won't eat them all

holy shit, i have just discovered the "local morning news show." wacky morning fun and witty banter with freinds i've never met; the kooky weatherman who does some shtick that makes jim carrey look like donald rumsfeld, and then tells me about rain with seriousness of a mortician; the hip and cool white male and female anchors with thier personal yet non-offensive opinions; and the smooth and sassy black national news chick who gets two minutes of airtime every 20 minutes and is off in the corner. great local stories like....new dog food, how to get out of a date, old people dating habits... things *I* need to know. it fucking rocks! seriuosly, i think it's possibly better than MTV News. does every town have this?

when i hear the term "hung jury" all i can think of is a porno movie.

so i finally did it, i got me a new girlfriend. she is thin, black, and i really think i love her. she makes me sweat, gets my heart pounding, but she also calms me down, and she makes me think, allows me to open my mind. she will (i am hoping) always be there for me when i need her, and what i really love about her is..she is simple. no fancy shmancy this and that. some people may think she is dangerous for me, cause she will let me go and won't stop me if i'm heading in the wrong direction, but i see it as good for me, she will help keep me focused on what i'm doing, and if i'm not careful, i know i could hurt us both.

anyway, i took four pictures of her, if you want to see her. one on the couch, one close up on the couch, one of her ass, and one where she is lying provocatively on the bed. no, i'm not in the pics. but trust me, she is mine. go on over to my cool pics and she is the top row.

we may go out tonight. or i might just stay in, and take her out tomorrow. i'm tired and may just go to bed early.

memories of things yet to happen

i gotta say, i kinda miss the snacktruck. i still think "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great tv show, if filmed in retro vision, with everyone wearing polyester and afros and the music would be all "starsky and hutch"-y. i was thinking how "SNACKTRUCK" would make a great radio play, and maybe i could have a series on the web. if, for no other reason, than to put on the internet for anyone to listen to, the phrase "well, jimmy, show me on this cheese danish where Coach Stedge touched you."

it would be cool to have a superhero whose super powers change every few days, without notice. one day he wakes up and he can be invisible, the next day he can fly, the next day he can walk through walls and bi-locate. i think a cool super power would be to always have the correct change. like, you can''t just reach into your pocket and pull out whatever money you need, thereby allowing you to be infinitely rich and buy whatever you want. but, as long as you can afford it and you were gonna buy it anyway, no matter what the price is, you reach into your pocket and automatically pull out exact change. no need for counting your change, or making sure you got the right amount of cash back. you walk up, they say how much it costs, BAM, you pull out the exact amount. it might not save the universe, but it may make it a slightly better place to live, and isn't that what it's all about? really?

anal beads of sweat

his eyes belied a sadness, perhaps hinting that the demons which reside in the dark depths of all our hearts are a bit closer to the surface in him. he was quiet, using words sparingly, like they were the last drops of water in his canteen and he was in the middle of a desert. perhaps his silence indicated his pensive, calculating chinese nature, or perhaps they hinted at a deep level of wisdom that is seen in only those with the longest, whitest beards. either that or he just didn't speak english that well.....(i found this written on a scrap of paper in an old notebook i was ripping pages out of, i wrote it a year or two ago...i think i posted it before, but i like it, so i put it up here again).

it's friday night, i'm hanging out with all my freinds. i am really really tired, perhaps i should sleep more than five hours a day, but then again, it's not that i want to be up before the sun...

i have ideas floating around my head...i want record a "radio show" and put it on my blog or the web or something. i want to have a weekly serial, something wierd and funny, that i can put on the web and people can listen to. two guys, Holden McGroyne and Phil McKraken and a chick, Anita Bonghit, and thier wacky adventures. the first thing i would need is a plot, a story, a script, something...i figure i could whip up something, given the right stimulus (no, i'm not talking about chemicals, i mean the right people who spark my creativity). next i would need the people. i know one guy, he would be good, but he is busy all the time. and i don't know any chicks. then i would need something to record our voices on. if i had those things, i could start a website and post weekly serials and stories and such. i would call it "the great 30 minute saturday adventure horror mystery variety hour" or some such kick ass name.

and now i shall read until i fall asleep, which shall take me about 47 seconds.

it feels like algorithms

i believe the term "piss flaps" or "meat curtains," when referring to the female labia, (as opposed to the male labia) can be a romantic term, if you just accept it as such. "oh darling, my heart, my love, how i long to suck on your meat curtains...."

it is 5:52 in the morning, i've been up since 4 in the morning. why? cause i am a freak, (on a leash-for all you old skool korn fans). i dont' know why. maybe my secret identity is.....

sleep disorder man!

anyway....thanks to system restore, i have fixed my computer. yeah, i lost whatever was on it, but it was mostly pictures that i don't even look at, and now my computer is back to when i first bought it, hooray for factory settings. i am now virus free.

i am currently living in an apartment/hotel/suite kind of deal. i have to do my laundry in the laundry room using quarters. now, most people would get change by going to a bank or breaking a dollor at a store or something. not me, oh no. how do i get my quarters so i can wear clean non-smelly clothes? there is a vending machine where i work, it sells various body poisoning substances of the chocolate and potato chip variety, usually for 75 cents. so every day, i buy a bag of chips or a candy bar using one dollor, so i can get a quarter change. one load of laundry costs me 1.75, 7 quarters. i spend 7 bucks on potato chips and candy bars just to do my laundry, cause that's the kinda guy i am....

fuck

my computer is phucked up like crazy, i'll be off line for a while. goddammit.

saw velvet revolver in tucson last night, kick ass show, they did guns and roses tunes, stone temple pilot tunes, a pink floyd song, and some velvet revolver tunes. sweet show. chevelle opened, they had to cut thier set short, but they rocked.

weather was beautiful, it was outside in an amphitheater, perhaps the heat and the small area and the chairs bolted to the floor kept things mellow, perhaps arizona crowds are just laid back, but there was no tension, energy, but not that buzz kind of energy. good show though.

what is rock and roll? a megaphone. scott wieland must have used the megapone (bullhorn, whatever) at least 5 times.

see you all in a few days, in shah allah

rachel ray is one sweet biscuit

i don't understand the whole "club card" thing. i know that if i go to safeway, and i want to buy four oranges, it will cost me USD $47.33. HOWEVER, with my safeway club card, it only costs me 58 cents. this is to encourage everyone to get the club card.

but what dragons must i slay to obtain this precious item and be allowed the priveleges of paying less than your average rube on the street? what herculean efforts must i give to earn the right to one of these symbols of the elite? what trials must i endure to be allowed into the sanctum sanctorum of the coveted "club card"? i have to ask the lady behind the counter for one. that is it.

i don't even have to take a test or wait for approval. and it cost's nothing. they give it to you.

so, i can either pay 5 dollars for something, or half of that for the exact same item if i have the club card. why can't you just sell me the goddamn 4 oz of cheese wihtout me using some token figurehead piece of plastic, another milimeter of thickness to my already overstuffed wallet that i must always have like a fucking albatross around my neck?

today i bought some corn (you know you can eat corn raw, right off the cob, right? no need to cook it, it's sweet and juicy just as it is) and the lady asked me for my card. all i bought was corn, and i didn't need the card for it, there was no special price. i asked why i needed the card and the lady gave me some bullshit excuse. i know she's been co-opted by "them."

the reason for the card..."they" (the ubiquitous "they" that start the rumors and control the world, you know, the illuminati "they") are tracking us. that can be the only excuse. they want to know our habits, what we eat and buy etc, so they know where to put the mind numbing brain killer drugs so they can break us down and control us easier.

so i found the joy and beauty of the dollar store. everything is a dollar. so, why would i want to pay $3.00 for a roll of aluminum foil when i can get that roll for $1.00? ok, so maybe the food is a bit sketchy, i'm not gonna buy the used sushi, but for things like soap and towels and such, hell yeah i'm gonna buy them for a dollar. and i don't need a club card either.

hey, does this look infected?

i added some pictures, they are not worth the energy it takes to move your mouse and click.


so i have this story rolling around in my head, about a guy who, at birth was burnt in a horrible accident (as opposed to a wonderful accident). he was allergic to shellfish and pennicillin and other stuff, and the doctors used him to test out a new fake skin, made entirely of vegetables.

so the docs grafted all this vegetable based fake skin on him, and it took and he was ok, lived fine, a normal life. when he was 15 or so, he lost his appetite, slowly but surely. he didn't get skinny, he wasn't weak or hungry, he just didn't eat.

it turns out his skin, plant based, retained it's photosynthesis properties, and he would get nourishment from the sun. he no longer needed to eat. this saves him time and money and he doesnt get all the bad crap from all the processed chemical foodstuff poisoning everyone else who has to suffer from KFC and wendy's and taco bell. comedy ensues.

hey, so tommy lee, the crazy famous drummer with the 32 inch penis who was one of the few thousand to have sex with pamela anderson, has his own show, about him going to college. OH BOY!!!! tommy lee is going to school. holy shit, call the presses. he definately deserves his own show. and i understand he made the drum team. must have been a stretch. and he gets his own tutor, who happens to be a hot chick. not a fat pimply guy, not a fat pimply girl, a hot chick. comedy ensues.

why is this such a big deal? why does he get his own show? i'd rather watch the funny guys who end up writing for the onion or the simpsons go to college. now that would be entertainment.

fuck that, i just wanna watch gary busey lose weight.

himba chicks have boss hair

how can they call it a desert when it rains every fucking day? yeah i know one has nothing to do with the other, but there it is.

i finsihed the book POPULATION: 485 BY MIKE PERRY, a bunch of essays about life in a small town as a volunteer fire guy. its my 29th book this year. i will again fail to reach my goal of reading 52 books a year, one a week. eh, i've failed bigger and more important things.

the book was good, it made me look at my own wierd existence. the guy is comfortable and happy, fitting in in his home town, a local, a thread in the fabric of the town's history, interwoven and integrated with the other lives and souls. living a transient life these many years i have no "home" to go to, i am not part of anywhere or anything. if i decide to settle and take root here, i guess i could integrate myself in the community, but all these years of breezing into a town, staying for a short while, then leaving, like the hulk, only without the green muscles, has left me a bit insulated from others. i'm an alien on my own damn planet, a foriegner in my own damn country, an interloper in my own damn town.

it's interesting how our lives come in contact and we click, and then move on, like billiard balls. fire needs three ingrediants to live; heat, oxygen, and fuel. without those, you can get a spark, a breif sputter, but nothing more. so how many, and what are the ingrediants needed to sustain the attraction/fire/whatever between humans?

the other thing the book made me think about, which isn't a new thougth for me, is how temporary it all is, how thin the strings on our marionette lives are and how easy and quickly those strings break and leave us a crumpled heap on the floor, disposable. here i sit, thinking about what i have to do tomorrow, and i have no guarantee i will need to worry about it.

there are two tattoo parlors in town. i have some ideas. i think it will be time to once again go under the gun....

cuatro, con yuca, para llevar

it is saturday morning, not even 6 in the a.m, why the hell am i up so early?

i was told or i read, i forget which, that ancient chinese soldiers (soldiers of ancient china, not really old guys in the chinese army who should have retired and died years ago, crazy english) used to sleep on the ground because they believed they would draw thier strenght from the ground and it made them hard like the earth. i would think they slept on the ground because carrying a boxspring mattress and headboard would just be cumbersome and ridiculous.

i want to write a story about twin sisters, named Flora and Fauna...they do something cool..that's as far as i got so far on that...

i'm bored and horny...i was thinking, is it toooooo much to ask to find the woman of my dreams? is it too much to ask to find a woman who:

*WANTS* to have crazy sex just for the sex, likes to be on top, on bottom, on side, and any other possible way she can get it, can lay on her back and touch her knees to her ears, likes art and literature and fine food and camping and dangerous adventure that may end up in loss of life or limb, might be interested in sharing another female every once in a while, can be comfortable enough with me to drop all inhibihtions and indulge in whatever twisted crap her mind came up with at that point during sex when your mind is in the groove and comes up with the most twisted possibly illegal in some states shit that you would never really mention to anyone, might yell out an obscenity or three while fucking me like she is trying to kill me, would use me as a fuck toy when she feel like it, would cum loud and hard, lay quiet for a few minutes, then say "hey, lets do that again, only this time i wanna do it like this"...., feels comfortable in jeans and t shirts and isnt' freaked out if she has to go a day or two without a shower, will let me go down on her all the time, can supply half of an interesting conversation, can pick what movie, restaurant, or event we are gonna do that day/night, can take control or relinquish it depending on what we both wanna do, is as perverted and darkly twisted as myself, can spend a whole day, morning to night, naked in a bed, playing, talking, teasing..., will be my fucktoy when i want, i feel comfortable with, doesn't care about my heinous grammatical and spelling errors, can take off with little more than a backpack, can be capricious and a bit careless and reckless but is still always dependable and solid, emits and radiates energy and life, and doesn't just take it in and drain those around her....

blah blah blah....anyway, i went camping, it rained a significant portion, but i got to not shower for five days so that was pretty cool, although i went light, which meant no stove, which meant no coffee...i got a cool picture of a snake, a rattler, he was angry and rattling (i'll post him and the pics tomorrow or after that), and the mountains were rather wonderful. it was so dark and quiet at night it was wonderful. i am a freak, i sleep better on the ground with a rock poking me in the side than i do on a bed with conditioned air. it was very....embryonic. in my tent, the rain tapping outside, dark, warm....if i could figure out how to get internet access in a tent in the middle of nowhere, so i could look at porn and order books from amazon.com, i think i would not live in a house. or i could get a house and live in a tent in the yard....

i think i shall go rub one out and see if i can fall back asleep for an hour....

What Would Jesus Blog?

i feel like a junkie. i feel like one of those unwashed scraggly smack addicts who live in one dank room, sleeping on a stained bare mattress, alienating himself from everyone by stealing from his freinds and being a complete jerk to everyone, including those who try to help him.

and i am not even close to that. i am showered and have a bed with sheets and a blanket. maybe it comes from staying in a hotelroom with bad lighting? maybe it comes from not sleeping so much, like reguarl people do? but i feel like i should be guilty of something, like i did something wrong last night that i can't remember, as if i'm going to call someone and they are going to tell me i peed in thier car and tried to have sex with thier poodle in front of thier 7 year old. luckily i don't have anyone to call.

but last night i didn't go out, i stayed in, hanging out with all my freinds. i watched crappy tv, surfed the web and went to sleep.

i did pick up a fucking trojan virus, goddammit. it's gone, but i swear once the malicious program fucks with your computer, even after you "fix" it it's never the same. like a scar, or the everlasting parasites you get when you go to india. you never really get rid of them, you just learn to peacefully co-exist with them, but they are always there, and you are never quite right again.

perhaps i have the whole "fight club" thing going on. maybe when i think i am sleeping, i am actually creating havoc and "breakin' the law, breakin' the law" (some judas priest for all you old skool metal heads). i have been extra freakin tired lately, and i'm a bit of an insomniac. if i am living another life, i wish i could be concious of the fun exiting life and leave my droll existence to my subconcious.

that would be a cool twist on the "fight club" thing. a wild rebellious anarchist who lives to destroy the current establishment and shake things up doesnt realize is he is schitzoid, and living a double life. when he thinks he is sleeping, he is actually organizing disaffected youth and creating a beuracratic juggernaut, restoring and enforcing order and a calm, practical, methodological way of accomplishing things that need to be done. his "army" all wear white shirts and ties, and have breifcases, and they go around and make businesses and services more efficiant and orderly.

i will not have internet access for a few days, so i will not be "online" as the kids call it, until saturday.

in space, no one can hear you fart

i am a three sided mobius strip, a submarine with screen windows. imagine if you walked into a crowded place, and looked at all the faces, and you couldn't tell if you knew any of the people or not. you can't tell if you recognize anyone, you dont recognize anyone, but some of the people may be your freinds. for some reason, you see them, but your brain just doesn't registger knowledge.

i wonder if i drank enough hot tea could i raise my body temperature high enough to simulate a fever, and cook my brain, get that pink floyd comfortably numb feeling while permanantly losing capabilites to read or think logically, if only just a little bit.

sometimes i think i cannot help but make the wrong decision, like i have some kind of limited free will. i can have *ANYTHING* i want off of side "A" of the menu, but all the winning choices are on side "B" and side "A" has all negetive outcome. sure, i feel like i have a free choice, like i can make my own destiny and all that crap, but really, in the larger sense, i do not.

or maybe i am just tragically doomed. god that always sounds so romantic and heroic when you read about it, but when you have to live it, it's not that great really.

sometimes i feel removed from humanity, like i just dont belong on this planet. sometimes it's like watching myself from outside myself, i can see me saying dumb things, doing dumb things, making the wrong choices, and all i can do is watch, knowing full well i am fucking up in triplicate.

i have been deja vu-ing like mad. i am either seriously fatigued (probably) or this life that i have lead is slowly coming back to me (cool thought, but...eh, not buying it) or as we all know, it's just a glitch in the matrix (yes!).

humans are reletively predictable, and i bet if you really really really studied hard, and used thousands of hours of research and ovservation, i am willing to bet you could talk to someone for about 15 minutes and tell them thier future. we seem to do it all the time. like when we see people at work, and we know they are going to end up fucking each other at the office party, and regretting it later, and becoming bitter, but they don't know it. and then it all happens. so, i bet you could do it on a wider scale.

i must be getting old. i keep fantasizing about a time machine, i *WANT* there to be evidence of a time machine, i entertain the childish fantasy that i might someday find one, stumble onto one, whatever. i want to go back in time, knowing what i know now. shit would be different.

i really really really need to sleep now. and i haven't even had anything to drink.

the oranges are ripe in valencia

i walk into the place. it's more like a "joint" than a place. three old people, with a collective age of at least 210, are smoking and drinking coffee at the semi-circular counter. their heads turn my way as i enter the one story cinderblock building painted red and yellow. each one gives me a hearty and, i do beleive, sincere "howdy."

the waitress is about 5 foot 7 and must be no more than 110 pounds, 10 of those pounds are her hair and makeup. if she had a coke habit or a meth habit, i would not be shocked. some people's lives are written right there on thier face, and this lady's life was written by bukowski, or whoever wrote "less than zero." she also gives me a "howdy" and i take a seat at the counter.

i am dining with "all my friends" (my euphamism for all alone). i ask what's good, i get the reply of "it's all good" but not in an "urban-youth-jerry springer" kind of way. no sarcasm, no wink, no feeble attempt at humor by refrencing modern culture. it was an honest reply. i get the buffalo burger. mmmmm, buffalo.

the old people are smoking like they are having an AA meeting, and they have obviously been smoking for years, as evidenced by the spectacular cough on the lady. they are happy, and are having a good conversation, and they are not embarrassed by it in the least. they are loud enough for all to enjoy, and i think join in, or at least feel included, but not so loud as to be intrusive. they glance my way as if to include me. i smile and nod.

living in japan, i was quite used to eating out alone. no big deal, most people are alone in that country, by choice or not. i was alone in a crowd of people, and that was natural, expected. in the states, however, in many places there is a wierd stigma attached to being alone. i used to be self concious about it, but now, i don't much care. sometimes being lonely is better than being with someone who grates on you like nails on a chalkboard.

the waitress throws out some one liners, comments with no *need* for reply, but a reply would not be out of place if you choose to speak up. perfectly crafted, whether she meant it or not. maybe she is being polite, maybe genuinely wanting to talk to someone closer to her age, maybe trying to make me feel less alone in her own way. is she pittying me?!?!?

hahaha, how full of hubris can i get? not everyone has an ulterior motive. (i'd like to believe that, i really would). i make a remark or two, based off her comment, a variation on a theme, turning her monologue into not so much a dialogue, but two monologues that dovetail nicely. she goes about her business. she isn't too busy, but keeps moving, earning her paycheck or whatever.

this place is a small, "locals" kind of place. i realize how far removed from humanity i have become. everyday people live like this. no movers or shakers, no business deals, no power lunches, no pretentions, none of that false crap that people mistake for something that matters.

the food...not so hot. i've had better, i've had worse. but what sells it is the atmosphere. and they didn't even try to have any. it was real. real life. with it's bad dyed hair, its tuberculean cough, it's conteded happiness on the inside, despite what it looks like on the outside.

"willy", another ancient, apparently known by all players on this stage but me, drove up with his RV, walked in with his wrinked tattooed arms and his tank of oxygen, with the tube up his nose. (the smokers commented how they went through a tank just today. willy didn't need oxygen while he ate, he just used it for walking around, emphysema does that to you i guess) willy sat down and had some dinner. as he ate, the smoking gang finshied their coffee and headed out. willy was left dining with "all his friends." i wished him a good night as i walked out the door.

i wonder if i was just granted a glimpse into my future?

marsha marsha marsha

an idea for a comic strip, i doodled it today during an important lecture that i was supposed to be listening to,

i call it "Frank and Stien" about a hot dog and a german beer mug who work together and hate each other, (yes, i am vaguely ripping off "milk and cheese") both vying for the love of some chick in thier office. i drew the beer mug kicking the hotdog in the nuts, it looked pretty funny, but then again any strike to the nuts is pretty damn funny, unless they are your nuts....

like the wierd kid in 7th grade you always was a bit off and suspected but weren't sure who grew up and went to college and tried to kiss you when he was drunk then later confessed about his true nature and now openly subscribes to "Advocate" magazine, i'm out...

sno-cones of the dead

contentment and happiness kills. flat out. i can't seem to come up with anything, even though deep inside i know i have stuff i want to say and write, but when i type it out, it is like a stuffed tiger, lifeless and non threatening, and even though his teeth are bared and his claws are coming at you, there is no fear, no thought, it's an emtpy shell, a representation of an idea, a grand facade, a lie, emotionless lifeless and dull.

where has the spark gone? perhaps the burning and acid has been soothed by the pepto bismal of happiness and contentment? the sky here is hugemoungous, blue, goes on forever. the mountains are perfect, i am living in a tourist brouchure. i am happy, a bit frustrated, but too happy to care. when we are happy, we let out guard down. we don't need to believe in god, we don't pray, we aren't scared, we don't need favors, everything is going along quite swimmingly thank you very much.

if gwen stefanni had the exact same voice, but was fat and pimply, would anyone want to listen to her? really? i don't want to holla back, girl . i want to change the channel to something more interesting, like an infomercial.

i had an idea about a guy who is miserable and wants to kill himself and tries to induce a heart attack by running hard. he passes out, comes close, but doens't quite die. he keeps trying, and insteat of dying, he gets super fit and healthy and is a great runner, and now his skin clears up, he is trim, and all the endorphins make him happy all the time. it would be obvious for him to get hit by a truck, now that he is happy, so the ending would have him marrying a former pornstar and living to be old and happy.

how many people are living lies right now? how many people are unhappy, because they think they are supposed to have this job and marry at this age and have this many kids and live "this life" from A to Z. these are the people who are bothered by people like marylin manson or other free spirits who do what they truly deep down enjoy. the "normal" people are angry because they are jealous becuse they fell for the lie of a "respectable normal life." in some ways i feel i've compromised my integrity and sold out, even though i really hadn't, cause i dont have any talents i could pimp out and do my own thing with really. but the hypocrisy and small minded jealous driven attacks by patheticly weak people with small insignificant lives, it just drives me up the wall.

and i don't know why i wrote all that, because, like i've said, i am happy. and right now i am tired and going to sleep.

temporary layoff..easy credit ripoffs....hangin in a chowline

i hate all small living creatures, such as cats, small children, and any stupid adult who takes such hellishcreatures along with them on a 13 hour journey in a small enclosed space at 13 thousand feet...

my cab driver was a nice guy, who talks to animals and listens to his dog...the guy did come up with a great plan for combating nature, dissipating tornadoes and hurricanes before they become huge enough to do damage, as he said, they are living things....he may be a bit sadistic and going about it the wrong way, i wouldn't want to kill an air elemental, lest they come back and kick my ass personally, but he had the right idea....must be the sun, bakes everyone's brain, makes em a bit nuts, but it makes for interesting conversations and an overall good group of people at the bar....

at last...i seem to be not the most insane wierd guy around...

having lived in foreign (to me, not to the people living there) countries, now that i have returned to the land of milk and honey and supersize chocolate bars and 80 oz. buckets of soda with free re-fills and cars cars cars, i can see why people hate us....i wish all americans would live in another country for one year, hell, make it six months, really live there, so when they return home, they can see how loud, arrogant, rude and solipsistic we have become. people are freindly and nice, i get a nod and a hello as i walk down the street, but for the most part, on the outside, people appear to be all those pejoritive terms previously mentioned above....even if they aren't that way truly, that is how they are initially.....what happened to my country? or has my skin lost a few layers?

still, i am happy to be here...i like the sky, it's fucking huge...i can walk down the street in the sun and watch a lightingn and rain storm off in the mountains...live entertainment for free...better than the neon swarm i had to fight through....

neon kills the spirits you know...

television is awesome...i have like 76 channels or so, of crap i hardly care about....but i get to watch gary busey lose weight along with the snapple lady and that dude from warrant (once, in hawaii, i met the dude from warrant at a strip joint and he invited me along to some bar and we played pool and i got to hang out with the dude from warrant...i don't even like warrant....and all those chicks were hot, but i managed to not get laid...it's a talent...)...i also get to see all the commercials for feminine hygene...aparently, these ladies don't have time for period pain....oh, and kids love thier new cool diapers that tell them when they peed in thier pants...are the kids that dumb that they don't notice?... i have to write a whole thing on tv, let me keep watching it...i cant turn away....

the best part is the jet lag...it leaves me in a mind numbed doped up state, all naturally....without having to worry about being arrested by "the man"... damn the man....too tired to write coherently, but not too tired to spank it...so without further ado, time to give myself a low five and get some sleep....

a few months and i will be ready to go....

the sun sets in the east

my bags packed, my feet besocked, i find myself with time to murder....what better way to fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way than to blog it to the world...

like the fat kid in dodge ball, i am outta here...done...and although i may look back fondly and remenisce from time to time, i will not miss it outright...me and this country have gotten enough out of each other, it's time we see other people...we've had a good run, but all things, good and bad, must come to an end...

the next time i write a blog entry, i will be in the states....i may write something about a movie star named Tori Adore, who brings joy to the world with her magical breasts, that inspire men and women to break out of thier hum drum lives and achieve greatness in various fields, ranging from nanotechnology to the nascent job market of international truck wrestling...but that shall have to wait...

now i must be off to squeeze myelf into a long metal tube that weighs a few tons yet manages to give the finger to gravity for about 12 hours in a row, and we forget how that is almost magic, and just think about the crappy food foisted upon us......seriously, flight, television, all that crap, still amazes me if i think about it....

i am happy and looking forward to whatever new crap sneaks up and cracks me on the back of the head...perhaps i will find whatever the hell i am looking for.....

MOVIE REVIEW: War of the Worlds

NOTE: before i begin this entry...... my prayers and condolences to australians on the loss of thier women's national cycling team, who suffered a great loss and were pretty much taken out by a driver in germany...

MOVIE REVIEW on "WAR OF THE WORLDS":

i am not a big tom cruise fan, but the movie *is* based on a story from HG Wells, who was a bit of a visionary, predicting a decent amount of modern stuff we take for granted today. interestingly, orson wells, no relation (that i know of) scared the bejesus out of america (now we have no bejesus) back in the day, when everyone was still a bunch of gullible rubes who believed in any crackpot story. sure, we still are still a bunch of gullible rubes, but now it's more high tech, modern, or cool crackpot stories we believe in.

i like orson wells a lot actually. as trite as it may be, if you watch "citizen kane" with a critical eye, it is a genius movie all around. also, orson wells was an accomplished "amateur" magician, which is pretty cool, and he even used that when he was in the movie "casino royale", the james bond spoof, where orson played a bad guy who was doing magic tricks while he gambled at the casino. (note: casino royale was the first "james bond" book written by ian flemming, who also wrote "chitty chitty bang bang" but the first bond movie made was "dr. no". of course, the book was serious, but i liked the way they made it into a spoof, with david niven and woody allen, who i think is brilliant really.

i think one of my favoirite woody allen movies is "love and death" which takes place during the russian war against napolean, absolutely hilarious, excellent dialogue, well worth checking out. a lot better than his more well known movies like "sleeper" which is a pretty funny look at the future.

speaking of the future, why the hell aren't i wearning a jumpsuit and driving around in a flying car, just like all the movies of the future told me i was gonna do? in a way i'm kind of glad, i am not a big fan of the jumpsuit, but they do seem pretty damn simple. imagine everyone walking around with the same gay ass jumpsuit? and an annoying robot like Twiki going "bitty-bitty-bitty." remeber Twiki from the old "buck rogers" tv show? i had a thing for erin gray, the hot chick in that show. i really like brunettes. then again, i like blondes, red heads, bald chicks....pretty much if it's female, i like it.

anyway, getting back to the review.... war of the worlds: it sucked.

don't fight the band that heeds you

social distortion makes me want to drink beer out of a longneck bottle, smoke cigarettes, and play pool....they have that sound, that scratchy, tacky floor littered with peanut shells sound, the sound that makes people with motorcycles hang out and chicks who ride on the back of motorcycles shake thier lucious asses provocitively on the dancefloor....

stage 14 is done, lance is comfortably in yellow, things appear right with the world, at least on the superficial surface....

bread and circuses...yay..

no matter what happens, the world keeps going around the sun and we keep marking the passing, the future, much like the hits, keeps on commin'! i have less than one week before i go back to the states for a few months in preperation for the new job. the next few months will be busy, i won't write much online (my notebook journal is getting a good workout) but eventually, i will be back to keeping the online journal blog thing. i will go back to blogging, full contact blogging, with the note leaving and the reading and the daily posting etc etc. ...

i hope my plane doesn't crash.

Lo! what wild talents are in the miso soup

in the words of sir george washingtonalot, "i cannot tell a lie...i like big butts."

my hand on the small of your back, eyes meet, we both know it's coming. the gravity between our two solid bodies increases as we draw imperceptibly closer. eyes drop to half mast, sultry, inviting, almost pornographically hinting. the kiss.

we are supine, your lips are sanguine, you are divine, i am yours and you..well, you know...

another kiss. a drop of sweat forms at the maginot line of your hair and scalp. i suckle you like a starving child, your head bobs in ecstasy, the drop of sweat rolls slowly down your forehead.

my hands grab and knead the flesh of your perfect and beautiful ass. the drop of sweat rolls between your eyebrows.

you lower yourself on me, slowly, like easing yourself into an extremely hot bath, the pain melting into pleasure. the drop of sweat rolls down your nose. the nose i love to kiss playfully, or rub like an eskimo with my own, which makes you laugh. i like to make you laugh, your smile is a ray of sunshine, your giggle is beethoven and marylin manson.

your hands grab my chest, your fingers dig into my pectorals like a cat getting a good backscratch. the drop of sweat hangs on the tip of your nose as you look down at me looking up at you looking down at me.

at about this time, the guy sent to clean up the spill on aisle 4 comes over and tells us we are causing a disturbance and we need to leave the supermarket. we dress and quickly leave.

if only i had gotten your name and number.

anchor what? pt 2

i posted a few more pictures, i think that shall about do it for now, they all start to look the same after awhile...

so i'm sitting in this shady "cafe" and i order a coffee, i get a cup one third filled with black liquid and a hot kettle. i figure i am supposed to add the hot water and make a full cup, so i pour the water in. it is a bit off color, but i figure it's boiled so it is clean. turns out i invented green tea coffee. i gotta say, it's not bad, not bad at all....

i hate haggling, just fucking hate it. first off, if we both know i am going to pay $1 for a ride, why do we have to go through the dance? save time, tell me the price, and lets move on. second, on bigger things, i just know i am getting ripped off, and why do i have to pay more just cause i am a "rich" westerner? yeah yeah, basic economics, but it seems prejudice and unfair that i have to pay more cause you are greedy and i am supposedly rich. i don't mind paying a bit more, but if something costs you 50 cents and i have to pay two dollors, that is a huge markup. fuck you poor people...

the smell and sights of fly encrusted meat and dubious drinking water really helps you appreciate your blue passport...

although it would cause assloads of damage and should never happen ever, it would be pretty damn cool to have a rave type party, with laser lights and djs spinning records and people dancing and bass booming through you and all that all night long at the top of the hill that overlooks ankor wat and all that, where you go to watch the sunset with the other three hundred people....

i want to start tours for cambodians and vietnamese and other third world people. i will drive them in a bus up a regular street in a small town in the states, and they can take pictures of people mowing thier lawn, laying out, walking thier dog, etc. then i would take them into someone's house, and they would walk all over and take pictures of the people watching tv, taking a bath, cooking. then i will give them a tour of wal mart, and let them go shopping. i figure, that is what we do when we go to the third world, it should work in reverse....

ok, enough of that. i mock and laugh at those people who go somewhere, and for the next week, every sentance starts with "well, when i was in _________...." and act like they are the only people who have been there and are all experts on it now. those people get old after about 15 minutes, and i want to be young forever....

i am getting a bit bored with the planet. doggammit, i wanna travel the universe and bum around the galaxies, i wanna do it with alien chicks (actually, i'd be rather happy to do it with human chicks, but that doesn't seem to happen ever, so maybe i need a new race of beings.) i want adventure, excitement, crazy space diseases, i wanna meet aliens and hang out with them, be their pet human. i wonder how you would be able to tell if an alien is a nerd on his planet. what if you met some alien, and you listen to him or her cause they should know what's going on, but it turns out they are losers on thier planet?

i'm a junkie looking for a fix
i'm a hooker looking for new tricks
i'm an excommunicated priest
i'm the dearly departed, recently deceased
i'm a guitar playing the wrong chord
i'm burnt out, and frankly, i'm bored