Monday, October 14, 2002

hey yall, welcome to my tainted blog. tainted by rumours, innuendo, and a lack of true and heartfelt conviction. tainted by finger pointing and self realization. disturbed and marked and sullied and stained and nearly destroyed by demons both within and beyond. a blog that nearly fell, like the tower of babel, to the ruckus and cacaphony of a throng of revellers that merely were trying to have a quote-unquote good time.

but enough of that, who can be salty on their day off? hell yeah, that's what i said. i feel like ferris bueller up in this bitch. another thing to consider, for those that have followed closely the pennyworth/keith/joe adventures. this is the first blog entry not typed in a fevered rush in the drippy and grimy bowels of the skunkworks facility in Kawanui Marsh. Normally i make these entries during the spare moments I can get away from the guy in the leather mask and three dollar pumps who runs around with a whip throughout the plant, keeping up production and throwing stragglers into the pit with the rorshach monster. I've been there long enough, though, that i've found sneaky ways to disappear from the assembly line for up to a half hour with little or no suspicion from the overlords.

anyhoo, today i am blogging from the safe environs of the university of Hawaii computer lab, care of a secret code entrusted to me by mrs. p. That's right true believers, i'm back to school like rodney dangerfield. except this time i'm not the student, but the teacher, so listen up punks. i've got some serious lessons to convey on this here monday morning. first off, did you know that columbus wore women's underwear? it's a little known fact, and without my time machine, I wouldn't know either. even with my time machine, you might ask, how on earth do you have such information, keith? well, let's just say i was travelling with certain representatives of a certain clothing manufacturer that has certain persons dress up like certain fruits in their advertisements, and they were doing a full earth and space-time continuum product inventory, and i was a journey manager. not journey the singing group, because legally i can't work with them due to my business relationship with Joe Perry, who i'm currently in negotiations for a pretty lucrative taco bell marketing and commercial venture.

anyway, that's another story for another day. the story i really think i should tell, since i have your unmitigated, or even mitigated, or even lack of, but the computer screen is on, flashing at you, as you drool incoherently, attention, is the story of the time machine and the little engine that couldn't. one day me and chuck woolery, this was before the dating game, mind you, chuck wasn't shit, i mean, he had had a few guest spots on three's company and I think a miller lite commercial, but shit, i mean, he was bumming money off of me for gyro sandwiches, and i was a pizza delivery guy. so sidetrack alert, so we're like fuk it, let's take the day off, i mean not like that fucker had a regular gig or anything, so i should say I said fuk it I'LL take the day off, and chuck's lazy ass tagged along, and we decided to hook up the time machine and go for a stroll down memory lane. but not our memories, which was what was so cool about it. we programmed the clock cruiser, as we liked to call it, but no one else did, for choo choo train goofiloofiness. you see, this time machine was like google, and you could program in any phrase and it would spit back at you various options and pukahs to choose from, so we're in warp speed and we get like only 3 responses, which was pretty small, but that only made it that much more intriguing, i thought. so before i can even read all three options, fukn chuck "oh i'm such a goddam pimp" woolery just pushes option # 2.

fukn bastard. so we find ourselves along this long run of train track in what must have been fuckville Iowa or cockscratcher Nebraska. Either way it was not okefenokee swamp or anything even remotely close. so, we're like, oh well, mr. pimp-daddy did it again, and i start bitch-slapping Chuck up and down the train tracks, i mean, really going to town on his face, leaving marks with my pinky-ring and everything. so he starts crying and i start feeling kind of bad, cuz, i mean, nebraska isn't that horrible i guess. so i hand him a tissue and all of a sudden this purple and red train with like this crazy glitter all along the side pulls up and honks its horn (i guess you don't call it a horn, but fuck off)

this psychadelic grandpa hangs his head out the window and is like "are yall headed to new yawk city?"

we're like "new yawk city?"

he's like "yeah, new yawk city."

and we're like "get a rope"

and he's like "ha ha ya fukn hippies, walk then." so chuck and i look at each other and decide that walking sucks ass so we get on the train. the shitty thing is that this hill came up and the train got stuck and it must have been a weak ass train, cuz it couldn't get up the hill. so we were like fuk this and jumped off the train and programmed for the time machine to come pick us up on our quadrophonic wristbands and we were like, so outta there.

dammit i never said it was a good story.