Posted 2:10 PM by Alfred

I can’t get over the fact that Father Guido Sarducci was in Godfather III. It’s fucking with my mental. I wanted him to just bust out of his smock and like start tossing bocci balls around. And plus he plays a priest as well, but like a serious actual priest. The guy that presents Michael Corleone’s philanthropy award to the press at the like fancy party that they have to have after the fancy big event that starts off each movie. Wait, did they do that in part II? Shit, can’t remember. Wait, yes they did, it was, um, oh yeah, the senator came down, it was Michael’s kids confirmation or some shit like that, or first communion. Yeah that’s the ticket.

Father Guido motherfucking Sarducci.

So I watched matrix one yesterday again and I have it more figured out now. Last week I watched part 2 and then saw 3 in the theatre. I’m not gonna write about it though. Why? I don’t know. See it for yourself, or not, digest, or not, and you tell me, hmmm? I think that’s a better plan.

Damn, I’m taking care of fukn biznass today. Something about getting bitched at by the queen bee, dang if it doesn’t get your motor runnin’ and your mind on the prize. The prize being the almighty dollar. I worship it I am it I yearn for it I will KILL for it. ok no I won’t, but that’s like a pep talk. Ya see, most people, well I guess I shouldn’t say most, but prolly a lot, are highly driven by the hunger for cash mony, and I am no different, but sometimes I sense my Schwartz leaning to the left a little, now, not politically, but ya dig, like left of center when it comes to my brain coordinates vis a vis motivation to achieve upper payment levels. I drift and float and let shit go but fuck that give me my goddamm paper, and holy shiznit if I didn’t ring the bell like a goddamm fukn champ today, which signifies, yes my peeps, a nice big chunky magical order for a fukn HUGE shipment of skunks came in today, and it was all me, peeps, after many faxes, phone calls, teleconferences, e-mails, and backdoor handshakes with 5 dollar mcdonalds gift certificates attached, the order is in the hopper and once the delivery is made and the skunks have been properly installed into their man-o-war serving dinner trays, then shit, I can invoice those mofos and then once the fukn skunkworks gets the scrilla in it’s like yo yo yo and a bottle a brass monkey my percentage is on the table.

No sell out, unless I need to get the hell out. But shizzle, my fizzle is dizzled so there are no complizzles, you gizzle? Fa shizzle.

There are some days where I just want to snoop talk all dizzle lizzle. That whizzle nizzle wizzle understizzle mizzle. It’s bizzle.

And yes that’s stupid and yes that’s retarded and yes my blog sucks and yes you’re better and yes yes is the best band ever (no they’re not) nah fuck yes, I like no, no, no, see it all comes back to def leppard, that’s a classic damn track.

I really need on through the night, like right now, in my system, bumping hello America. It’s like neil diamond inspired but not & so much better. Trust me. Pick it up, you’ll thank me. And even if you don’t, even if you hate it, well then you can mail it to me, and I’ll win. Alfred will be the winner at the game called life. That game was like monopoly but different, less money-centric and more like stackin up babies and degrees, and shit, and it had this big spinner thing that went click click whirr and it made me very happy to win it all and then tell the world I win! And when I didn’t win I’d usually go outside and bash my head against the fence adjoining the neighbours’ yard repeatedly saying over and over again to myself my secret hidden mantra, “you suck, you suck, you suck, don’t EVER lose at a board game again.” I hadn’t really figured out yet that a lot of the odds of winning said games were totally random and luck influenced and eventually, don’t worry, I learned not to beat myself up so much about it.

So did I win? I think so. I don’t live in a mansion with like bouganvillea vines crawling up the terrace, but it’s all good. My hood is under control and the squadron is prepared. Aloha. Sorry I sucked royal ass today. I’ll try harder tomorrow, except I prolly won’t.

The master thesis is up to 7,900 words. I gotta get crackin’ on that shit, ferreal, cuz then the jurk storr will buy my novel and it’ll be published by leprechauns. Seriously.

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