Friday, September 13, 2002

Kool Keith here, with a special feature for ultrablognetic. We caught up with Jason Voorhees this morning for an exclusive interview at his Huntington Beach Mansion.

First off, I want to say, you have a beautiful home, especially your garden. Breathtaking.

Thank you. I do spend a lot of time out there, trimming, pruning, fertilizing, hacking, you name it. It's really a passion for me.

Fascinating. Now, gotta ask you, what was the deal with Jason X?

Hmmmm. Well, I think the director was trying to get the kids into it, ya know, with the whole Aliens thing, and don't get me wrong, I love those movies, especially that little guy that popped out of that guy's chest? Very nice work. But, well, I gotta be honest Keith. I took the money on that one. Basically Jason X equaled Ferrari for the Jase man.

So, but I mean, was it hard work, putting in all that time on a movie set at your age, killing, maiming, and the make up sessions?

Oh I wasn't even in it, are you kidding? Just send me the check, baby. I've used stand-ins since Friday the 13th part 6.

Wow! Can I print that, aren't you afraid what the public would think?

Nah. I mean, I've got everything I need. A nice place to hang my hat, a fully functioning dungeon, lots of fans. They know who I am and what I'm about. The only thing really missing in my life, Keith, is a lady to call my own.

With your fashion sense and charm, I'm sure she's right around the corner, Jason. I gotta say, love the fuzzy fedora. But out of curiosity, what happened to your hockey mask?

Oh, I still wear it for going out on the town, I mean without it I'm just some old dude with a seriously mangled face and a shitload of cash, dime a dozen in LA. As for the fedora, I saw Nate Dogg rocking it on MTV, and I was like, I'm all over that.

Word. So, ever get back to Camp Crystal Lake?

Ya know? Not nearly enough. Geez, I think the last time I made it back was in 97 to tell you the truth. There was a reunion of the cast from the 2nd movie, which was really my big break. Not everybody knows, but that was my Mother, may her soul burn in hell, in the first movie.

How was the reunion?

It was pretty fun, actually. Everyone was middle aged or older now, so I didn't really have any urge to kill any of them. A few did bring their teenage children for the vacation though, and that, uh, didn't work out very well.

Why? What happened?

Well I offered to take all the kids on a hike through the hills, kind of a tour, and came back alone. Covered in their blood. The taste of their screams still ringing in my ears, their nubile young bodies, thrashing and heaving, running and clawing, and... where was I?

Oh, um OK. It was all good though, everybody was real understanding. I mean, they know that place doesn't really bring out the best in me. I was bummed, though, cuz one of the girls was the daughter of a good friend of mine. oh well, it's a crazy business.

You can say that again. So what do you think of today's horror movies?

They mostly suck Keith. I mean, what the fuck? Nobody can come up with a good character anymore. Really the last good idea for a horror character was Chuckie from Child's Play. And even that, kinda weak. I mean the big three, me, Freddie, and Mike Myers, we're all basically out of the game now.

So what's in the future for Jason Voorhees?

I don't know, tending my garden, I want to try to catch up on my reading. I'm thinking about redoing the kitchen. Oh, and of course, I'm gonna keep killing people.

Of course.

The thing about it is, I like to switch up my methods, and shit I've basically run out of murder techiniques! I mean, I eviscerated a guy with his pool vacuum the other day, and realized that was the first original work I'd done in a couple years. It kind of depressed me, but also inspired me to raise my game too, so we'll see.

Please tell me you'll keep us posted. Well were just about out of time. Anything else you want to tell the world?

Nah, that's about it. Oh, stay in school, kids. And don't go hang out at Neverland with Michael Jackson. Now THAT guy's frikken weird.

Hey, c'mon. That's cold.

Yeah, I know, but dang he gives me the creeps. I'm a firm believer in living with the body and face that life has given you. I mean if anyone is a candidate for plastic surgery, but you don't see me in there popping botox and getting tummy tucks. Ah, ferget it, little pet peeve of mine Keith.

Oh well, to each is own. I gotta say, great interview Jason. Thanks for your time.

No problem.

Thursday, September 12, 2002

Sometimes I think I really should have been a rock n roll star. I mean, damn, I play a mean air-guitar. For example, right now, I'm jamming HARD to Dio's "Invisible" not on a vintage Gibson or anything like that but on a plastic fly swatter, and I look GOOD. I mean, shit, Ronnie James would be in here, like, dang, Keith, you GOTS to fly out to fukn Kennebunkport and jam with me and Stephen King and we're gonna show Casey Kasem that Elvis DOES sing the blues, goddammit.

Shame on the night. For real. And shame on you. You've stolen the day snatched it away but I saw the sky and I'm never gonna die. Shame on the night. You don't care what you've done, so I think I better run. Shame on the sun.

I mean damn, ronnie james really really really really knew what he was talking about. It wasn't just a napoleon complex. Seriously.

Maybe he had one of those stargate thingies in his studio and he could like go to other worlds and see what the REAL dillio was. That's really the only goddamm way he could have come up with even half of the insightful shit he wrote. There is just no other frikken explanation.

Okey dokey smokey - gotta go tar the landing strip. General Joseph P. Johnson and the 18th brigade are due in later today with the an official dignitary from the panamerican consensus of rhesus monkeys. He's a fully frontally lobed primate with a PHD in mixology and a minor in banana theory. I'm looking quite forward to asking him his opinion on Gorilla Grodd's hypothesis that all nectarine trees should be chopped down to save the knock-kneed turtle.

But first things first. OK where did I put my tooth scraper and my ethanol scrubber? And don't EVEN tell me that I misplaced my industrial size vat of ketyl-19 cuz that shit ain't cheap.

Wish me luck in my big meeting. If anyone has any questions they'd like me to ask Coco the rhesus monkey dignitary, let me know now, cuz there may not be another opportunity like this for a long long time, it's a real bitch getting those fellers out of those tall south american trees and don't get me started on their prehensile tails. Really, don't EVEN get me started.


Bumpin def squad's el nino and drankin on some now a little luke-warm coffee. def squad is a crew comprised of red man (yeah the guy from the deodorant commercial with method man - let's not go there, because as bill simmons would say - that never happened), keith murray (very talented, little known rapper, that was locked up for a few years but got out a while ago) and erick sermon, formerly of EPMD. Solid solid solid shtuff.

Wellie wellie wellie well. It feels so nice to just blog with no regard to my affect on the psychological framework of the american and world public today. I have officially given myself license to be lame and/or offensive if not a little dab of both.

You know whut I really want to discuss today? Back-stabbin fuckheads in the business world. Dang some guy at the central skunkworks in chicago illinois is play-hatin and sayin I said some shit last year that I know I didn't say, and they be perpetratin like a mofo!! My boss knows that I'm the mizann and that I pay the cost for the land of the lost, so it's all good in the hood, but still this guy on the mainland, I considered him a homey, and now he's just a clown.

Enough of negativity and propagatin seeds of discontent. I just can't be down with that.

Stoked the dodgers won last night to tie it up for the wild card with the deuschbag san fran giants. And yes you sf people I know you hate being called san fran, it's like don't call us San Fran, we're the "City" or address us correctly as San Francisco, well ya know whut? Fuk off, deal with it, the rest of the world calls you san fran so piss off. And screw barry bonds and his steroid ass, he ain't hittin homers out so quick anymore is he? I didn't think so. Ah gotta love that dodger/giant rivalry. If the dodgers make the playoffs I'm going to paint my left but-cheek dodger blue and eat dodger dogs for every meal until the world series kicks off, with kazuhiko ishii on the mound, fully recovered from his fractured skull, (we're thinking about you man, get better) and then I'm going to say "blue blue your all I knew when I was young it was all about you." Over and over. And people are gonna throw trash at me cuz that's probably the lamest rhyme this side of an illgotten dime.

Uh ok. When you're rambling like that it's time to ask the bartender to cut you off.

Back later. Word. Again, so happy to be back with my same goofy and inane words that hopefully inspire you to mediocrity on a daily basis.

Buddha bless.

Wednesday, September 11, 2002

well here we are. 9-11. one year later.

i thought long and hard about whether to even post anything today. there's like this big pressure i've put on myself to either say something profound and meaningful or just shut the hell up.

but you know whut i decided? to spew whatever's on my mind and just hope for the best. i remember last year that one of the prime emotions i was feeling, along with fear, sadness, despair, panic, etcetera, was guilt for any feeling that didn't seem appropriate. for example if i laughed, smiled, or thought something twisted i felt this massive guilt for even feeling that way. like any of us have the ability to censor our own thoughts and emotions.

i guess what i'm trying to say is that it is a weird day. i have this sick feeling in my gut. similar to last year, but not nearly as big. like i'm walking on eggshells. luckily i'm in a pretty mellow environment, just me and my boss today, and he is a pretty loose guy that basically is not offended by any offhand remark i might make. i wonder how all of you in cubicle land are dealing today though. is it just quiet, reverent, what?

i really don't have anything new to add to this whole thing. just my own little take on it. 9-11 was a huge tragedy and it sucks hard for sure. the fact that osama is still out there and probably celebrating today is especially sickening. the fact that the media is jumping on this like a dog on a fukn bag of kibbles and bits is disturbing and annoying. i didn't really watch tv much last night, just a little of the local news, which wasn't too overbearing. flipping through the channels, i noticed every channel has their own little catch phrase for the tragedy, which bothered me as well.

i don't feel like being bummed out, i feel like being happy and dancing around, shooting basketball, listening to loud offensive rap music, all kinds of things. am i a total asshole for even saying that, thinking that, do we have to feel bummed out? isn't that like letting the terrorists win, or some catchphrase like that? i mean, let's have respect for the dead, but would they want us to sit and cry all day, or would they want us to go out and bbq some burgers and hotdogs and celebrate the fact that we live in the greatest country in the world, in the name of which they made the supreme sacrifice?

when i posted the other day about how i didn't think the media should drag us through this overblown day of mourning, I even felt guilty about that. was i just being selfish? was i just wishing for my own personal benefit of not having to drag myself through those feelings again?

sidebar: i am such a dick. someone just called asking for pat mcgroin, and i just couldn't resist fucking with them for about five minutes, even on 9-11. am i a bad person? should this person be making calls about listing us in the us yellow pages or whatever today? what is appropriate? should i even care?

i guess the point of this nonsensical probably inappropriate ramble is that in my opinion, for today america, give yourself a day off from feeling guilty about anything. like a get out of guilt free card. feel bad you kicked your dog last week? it's ok. feel bad for waking up this morning and watching your tape of the beverly hillbillies instead of the somber news of 9-11? your off the hook buddy. i mean, let's have respect for the day and be good to each other and all that stuff, but really, whatever weird emotions or feelings your going through today, it's OK. really, trust me. just get through the day, go home and hug all your loved ones, pop in a tape of bing crosby meets milton berle for the sing song of elvis's remixes. whatever. if you want to watch all this 9-11 stuff, knock yourself out. but if you start shaking and crying, may i suggest some tiny toons or benny hill. i mean c'mon, no need to beat yourself over the head with it.

finally, mahalo and rip to all the victims. it is my hope that we are a stronger nation for your sacrifice. i like to think we are, but that remains to be seen i guess.

peace and aloha to everyone out there.

Tuesday, September 10, 2002

a few notes from the sports desk - I was kind of in tirade mode yesterday, so i didn't really get to linger on the whole raiders and cal bears winning in the same weekend thing. it's kind of like finding money or someone just handing you an ice cream cone out of the blue. it is a very nice feeling. anyway, the cal bears and their new coach jeff tedford must face their first true test of the year in east lansing, michigan this weekend against #15 michigan state university. msu is the alma mater of my grandfather (rip) as well as magic johnson, for whatever that's worth, and they're always tough and are supposed to be a fukn load this year. first road game, first big time opponent. bears better practice hard this week. i'm feeling confident though.

my buddy jen up in the oregon boondocks dropped me a line today, and while she let me know she is enjoying my little blog, which i so wholeheartedly appreciate, she's also talking a little yang about the osu beavers taking out the bears this year. hmmm. i don't think so. i just can't see that. the golden bear is loose and a beaver ain't nothing but another forest treat to chomp on and spit out. word. basically, it comes down to simple physics and kinetics. the cal bear stompage must continue and cannot be abated, and seriously, that's on long beach. it's like unstoppable force meets gumby. word and a half.

as for the mighty raiders, i can't wait until the first bronco game, which i think is a monday nighter. bartley you punk, the broncos are going down. i'm glad they beat the rams cuz fuk the rams, and it'll just boost griese's confidence so he'll be blinded by the light of truth and severe pain as romanowski shows his true silver and black blood and pummels his head in a violent fashion. as for pittsburgh this weekend, you're going down. keep that fear in your eyes kordell, keep eye-balling those receivers for a half-hour, and the woodson twins will be picking you like a cherry on sunday. double word.

gotta feel bad for that dumbass on the cincinnati bengals that chucked his helmet down the field in a celebratory steroid rage, losing the game to KC in the process, i ain't gonna say a word. that guy is hating life this week. but really, just keep the helmet on until you know the play's over next time, kay buddy? i mean it was a weak call by ther refs, but cmon don't be stupid.

thought it was pretty damn cool to see andre and sampras in the us open finals. and eff all the sports writers that were saying earlier this year pete should hang up his racket. he's getting the last laugh now. word to the third, straight up and no panicking. do your thing pete you hairy mofo. as for andre, keep it real my vegas homie. damn andre's and steffi's kid is gonna be under a wee bit of pressure, no? shit junior, you can't even serve 90 miles an hour yet? damn your almost 6 years old you little punk!!

and to the USA basketball team, which came in 6th place in indianapolis last week. uh, good job guys. way to represent. yeah fukn vlade and the crew are some tough comp. better luck next time suckas. and what's with george karl holding paul pierce on the bench at the end of the last game? was he fukn smokin ecstasy juice? watch next year, suddenly kobe, shaq, kg, vince, anyone with half a fukn game will want to play. or maybe they won't. i mean, really, why risk injury and be tired all season for a pat on the back and a say-hey from dubya? fuk it, i wouldn't, unless there was a phat check in it for me. do re mi, bitch.

that's about it for now, party people. don't forget to wash behind your ears before eating your asparagus. quadruple word score, 8th to the parallelogram, finite silence on a straight up bonumbo tip, via the triple schism ice cream float. ya know?

there are many different definitions of cool. well i've got a little story to tell that i think epitomizes the essence of the word.

sometime last year, mrs. p and i were back in LA for some function or another, maybe it was my high school reunion. we were staying at my parents' house. so one night my dad has a hankering for some jack in the box so him and i head up the hill to gather up some eats for the womenfolk. maybe i'm a big dork, but i had this cool feeling like, ok now the men are going to go hunt game while the women prepare for the feast. whatever, i AM a big dork, but that's besides the point.

a little background on my dad. he is the definition of mellow. calm, cool, collected, very rarely confrontational. but with that presence and authority that let's you know, business WILL be taken care of if necessary. as the years go by, i've seen my dad use this demeanor to achieve his goals in life, simply by being a mellow cat and keeping his eyes and ears open, receptive, all-knowing, wise, COOL - that's my dad.

so anyway, part of the reason we go to jack in the box is that my mom wanted the new jack antenna ball thing, cuz it like had a cute scarf or something like that. the hitch is you have to order the sourdough combo. so my dad orders a whole bunch of food (for four people), but not included in there is the aforementioned required combo for your free jack ball. so my dad completes his order and says "and throw one of those antenna balls in there, too."

jack-in-the-box worker replies, "uh, well, you need to order a #5 combo to get the antenna ball, but you can buy one for 99 cents."

my dad: "can't you just throw it in there?"

j-i-b-w: "well I'm not supposed to."

my dad answers, "oh, that's ok," waving his hand, so the guy runs the register, takes the money, gives my dad his change, and starts putting the food together. so me, obviously still not trained in the ways of the force, ask my dad "what about the antenna ball, i thought that was the whole reason we came here."

dad: "oh, he'll put it in there."

me: "I don't know, I mean, you have to order a # 5 meal."

dad: "you'll see, there'll be an antenna ball in the bag."

and sure enough, there was. and i was just like, damn dad, you are the coolest frikken guy on the planet!! my strategy in such an instance would have been to make a big scene and a total ass out of myself, and i probably would have not gotten the antenna ball, rather i would have been embaressed and probably banned from the premises, but just a wave of the hand and a friendly smirk from the clint eastwood of glendale california, and all is well.

so that's my little story about my cool-as-ice dad. why story time about dad today you may ask? cuz it's his birthday you foolios.

happy birthday dad!!!!

Monday, September 09, 2002

Okey dokey, well I got to have a mellow lunch break with some good vittles, so I'm in a little better spirits this afternoon. Internet service is still slow as fuk, so I'm back over here in bill gates' fukn piece of shit monopoly-ass software, microsoft word, preachin to you, my choir, in my dissected didactic diorama of verbal diarrhea. How you like THOSE apples? Bumpin' a little sublime, damn this album is solid. shame that guy had to pump heroin in his veins until he was dust in the wind, ain't it?

Gawd, I am just in no mood to make any kind of sense today. I really must apologize to you two people left over reading my blog, I know I've been sucking ass lately. But I like to think that what I lack in cognizance and direction I make up for in vibe.

Am I wrong?

So anyway, I was thinking about some deep thoughts today but I can't remember what they were. Something about like are we really here or is all of existence just a speck of dust on a cockroach's antenna on the dirty floor of your neighborhood butcher shop? I mean, when you think about it, the whole universe might just be one smidgen of slobber on a chilli cheeseburger getting eaten by a black labrador retriever named lindsey. You know it could happen, but you're just not prepared to accept it, are you?

The more I write of this drivel, the more I realize that I am a hopeless hack with the misguided mindset that anyone actually gives even one quarter of a rat's ass. Then I look outside, see the clouds covering kailua, and I think, where am I, who am I, why am i. Is my name oscar or jacque?

These are the thoughts that keep me up nights, gripping my sweaty pillow in a fistfull of dissatisfied angst, waiting for the perfect moment to jump out the window buck naked and howl at the moon with some unrecognizable jelly like substance foaming out of my mouth, madness in my eyes, a haunting solo being played by randy rhoads' ghost on my roof. He lives up there, you know. You can't see him during the day, but sometimes I'll lay in the driveway, and pretend I'm looking up at the stars, but really I'm trying to spot randy, seeing if I can get a little free concert action. And last night, damn I had him fooled, he looked down, I could see him, but I didn't look him in the eye, he's skittish like that, he'll run away. So anyway, he didn't think I could hear or see him, so he hung his legs over the edge of the roof, plugged his guitar into God's eternal outlet, and started jamming. First he fucked around a little bit with what sounded like Mr. Crowley and then it was just off and running, hitting chords that I honestly don't think I've ever heard from a human guitar player. It was like he'd tapped into the cosmic force, the juicy-juice, the good stuff, that on this earth is totally inaccessible. It was really an awesome moment, one of those lonely yet connecting pieces of a lifetime. Cuz we were together, me and randy, diggin on his tunes, but I had to play it off like I was totally oblivious, when really I wanted to stand up and dance and air-guitar and scream and whip my non-existent long feathered hair around and scream out an arcane rhyme.

But I couldn't, I chilled, I listened, and I watched a master at work. A man who even in death was continuing his mission of bringing rippin music to those looking for the truth.


Good morning all in the blogosphere and affiliated internet freaks. Well Oceanic Cable/Time Warner telecom/AOL DSL service is running slow as FUK this morning which explains my delayed opportunity to present you with these oh-so-inspirational words. I'm currently typing this up in microsoft word for later transposal to blogger for eventual posting onto the wonderful web page you're currently perusing.

Why do you care about this? Obviously you don't, but seeing as I am neither being paid monetarily nor via the barter system for this service you can't ask for a fukn refund now can you? The reason I'm telling you this actually is that it mildly annoys me writing my entries in word, as I've gotten in the habit of typing in all lowercase and bill (fuckhead) gates in his infinite wisdom decided that I am not intelligent enough to know when I want to capitalize, so it automatically does it.

Not that I’m bitter or anything. I mean really, I should be cheery and happy. Both the RAIDERS and the CAL BEARS won this weekend, which is about as common as a flock of geese flying out of my rectum. The RAIDERS look poised to do some serious stompage this season, which is gratifying and pleasing to me, which means that those around me can have less fear of my vengeful wrath, which is good for both the real world and bloggerville.

Now if deuschole time warner could connect those two worlds in a timely fuckin fashion maybe I could tell you about it more effectively. Ah but they are fukn idiots and it's a Monday morning, so what the hell can you do.

Tony pierce had some very wise and sage words to say this morning regarding this whole week of remembrance thing that the media seems to want to drag us through concerning september 11. I agree wholeheartedly with tony on this one. Do we really have to go over this again? Was this not the single most covered story this year? I know it's a terrible tragedy, but it is over, let's move on, let's not rape and pillage the psyche of the american public just because it's the same date on the calendar. We are healing, we are rebuilding, we are recovering. Let us. We don't need a time-life special, we don't need interviews with all the widows. Leave them be. Let them continue their healing and recovery in a private and dignified manner. If people want to congregate and come together for healing in their communities, fine, just don't make a fukn media circus out of it just to pump up your ratings and sell fukn advertising. Every celebrity, every pundit, every fukn person with a forum of any kind be it their fukn lemonade stand has said their piece regarding this. Let it rest.

Ok enough of that. Lucky I only have about three readers so my hate mail shouldn't be too severe.