Friday, May 30, 2003

well you seem to be working again. good dog. er, blog.

if you're reading this you're either a magician or on netscape and remembered the triple-dub, so congrato-fukn-lations.

fuk blogger, blogspot, google, and all affiliated companies and/or people that provide me with shoddy free services.


and to the old fukn fart dumbfuck piece of shit that talks talks talks and never fukn listens to anybody - please fuk off you unbelievable piece of shit.

Thursday, May 29, 2003

whut the fuk is up my south quarter pee-yops?

It is I the martian woo-man-hunter otherwise known as carlos escostarskeyenhutch. Yeah that’s it that’s the ticket that’s the hoo-ride that’s the flow like domino in the two by fo.

Meth & red are much more condusive to proper mental states of tranquility then the teen spirit smellers. There’s no suicide drama just phat beats and blunted sis-tole. Laddatt.

Flackin flicken flackerstein. Mad skillz that so far don’t pay billz. But my other occupation as a Waikiki limo driver hook it up on the regulah when sales is low at skunkworks inc. – BUT see sales aren’t slow now but I gotta stack that paper. Europa my sons & dott.s – esquire. Had to spell dots ladat cuz bill gates is a sucka. Sucka sucka empty ropah.

Mad props to a genius of the age of enlightenment aka doug dever.

MXV is proppin with a hizzle on tha tee-vee in chi-town. get on over there and he'll lead the way. he's pretty damn famous now, so careful on the carpet. I ain’t gonna deprive the contingent. pinball kine stuff.

What kind of credentials do you have to have to be a thug therapist? I’ve often (never) wondered that, and sometimes over a heavy chardonnay. Rion dark is going to be the next, the next, fuk that, that next shit, he’s gonna be the frizzled dizzle you bohanklin frizzles.

The problem with spittin verses this hard is that it’s like, impossible to reign in that battle-cat he-man shit, you wanna get all castle grayskull on that shit, fukn beastmaster beatmaster v take this mothafukka home shit. That fukn cop body count ice-tee shit that fukn Reginald denny takin one for the team out there in planet zeebop kine masta ace dog-grilled ass ice juiced barry white trombone shit.

Fukn it seems like people are tryin to fuk me out of my okeefenoke and just to let yall know homey ain’t standin for that, or sittin down for it or nothing for it. this shit was laid down by the early jack-o-lantern crashers before that time na mean?

I can be a prickly little pear sometimes. As in an oversensitive little whah whah master. And other times you could drop a nuclear bomb in my backyard and it won’t bother me a whit. I’m moody and can be super happy and super pissed in a framework of like 45 seconds. I am a human being dammit, and prone to inconsistencies and self-righteous moments of self-absorption.

Bleh. Who gives a crap? I realized in my little racial diatribe the other day I might sound like a whining martyr. Screw that and fuck me. It’s really not so bad at all. I had a moment of anti-zen at the gym hearing these guys say “haole.” It was in reference to a sign at the gym saying how people have been taking dumps here and there, and the gym is understandably pissed about it, and when they catch the fuckers that are excreting their excrement all over the place there will be hell to pay. And these Hawaiians were joking about it, like “oh did you do it?” and the guy’s like “hell no, you know it’s some haole.” They couldn’t have given a fuk that I was right the fuk there.

Anyway, background info you should know about h-town. Race and people’s view of it is very different than on the mainland. You can joke about race here, it’s accepted. But you can’t, as a haole, joke about Hawaiians, you just can’t, history and people don’t allow it. They’re persecuted, we’re the invaders, end of story. Don’t think I’m being shit on all day though, folks, I got it sooo easy. Really. It was just the moment, I thought “this must be what it feels like, to be, like, uncomfortably racially shit on” which is a feeling that supposedly black people and other races have to deal with 24/7, depending on who’s story you’re hearing. Little things, the way people act, the way they talk to you. things I never see or notice being a white male. And it stung. And it felt good. And I liked it in some small weird way because it felt like I was seeing another side of the coin and gaining some kind of empathy for my fellow man/woman/transgendered freemason.

Bleh, bleh, bleh. What a bunch of horseshit. Too much work today, got my brain fried. Almost lunch time and I’ll be on the bike, the wind blowing in my face, I’ll be smiling, I’ll eat something, I’ll come back and have a different attitude.

Maybe I should turn off this fukn nirvana. Kurt was talented but he was never one for lifting spirits, now was he. The man who sold the world indeed. Ever noticed how you can just say a phrase and end it with an “indeed” and it sounds like you said something wise and sarcastic and scathing & intelligent, even if it was just “peanut butter and jelly sandwich indeed.” Like it was some inside joke between you the wall and the mop. Like anybody fukn cares.


Wednesday, May 28, 2003

"blogspot can eat a landfill of dicks" - Jim Treacher.

wise, wise, wise, wise, words from a man with a new home. congrats on joining the dot commers jimbo. i would join you but it doesn't seem worth it just so me and my cat can read this crap, along with Mr. T's hair implant specialist. ok now that was just fukn stupid.

Jim's old site is actually still up and running, and that's where i got the above quote from. I'm thinking about seeing if he'll allow me to engrave it on my tombstone, becuz it's poetry, true, true, poetry, without all that rhyming and metaphorical horseshit, and I think it sums up a life well-lived.

piles of donkey shit like me just start b-level blogs named after other people's dogs when blogspot decides to ass-fuck itself. real dillio kingpins like treach keep it gully and stamp their name, aka, big dick dog dirk dangler, on the game like a grave full of paranoid schizophrenic barbie dolls. fuk i suck eggs.

there's just no good way to end this dumb stupid crap-o-la, which no one can read anyway, becuz this page hasn't been loading all fucking day.


this here page is acting like a little bitch yet again and refusing to open in explorer, at least for me and my retardo montalban computer. what about you kind folks? well obviously if you're reading this you made it through. now that you're here, what are you going to do?? why don't you e-mail me and tell me alllll about it. yes folks, it's that interesting. and honestly, 4 out of 5 dentists would seriously advise you to never stop reading this site until you have absorbed the appropriate amount of knowledge, which can only be obtained by gleaning every last detail of my wisdom. anyway, if this page keeps not understanding the theory of ack-rite, i might be cruising at a dog named clipper later on, just so you know where to find me, which i know is quite vital for your sanity and overall philosophical well-being. now i must go becuz this is the time on sprockets when we dance. and yes i've used that line before. recycling is good remember??

Tuesday, May 27, 2003

I went on a long motorcycle ride with the “boyz” yesterday and as I am the whitest of white I remembered my sunscreen and avoided solar related skin issues except for the top of my hands which are burnt to shite. We’re not talking 3rd degree blistering or anything but they’re red, at least as red as sitting bull’s ass, which I’ve never seen, so don’t get me going down that road, Mr. & Mrs. Literal society, but in any event I’ve heard through legend and racial kine stereotypical kind stuph of which I would never subscribe that sitting bull had a red ass, red even for an Indian. I mean native American. I mean Atlanta brave. No I don’t.

I remember that back in the latent days of the new wave of ultra sensitive political correctivism that I thought most of it was a load of hogshit except for the part of that they shouldn’t name sports teams after Indians. I still believe that. I think it’s pretty fucked up that we have a Washington redskins and a Cleveland Indians with a big red faced big nosed Indian with a feather in his hat, especially after we raped these people’s lands and gave them token reservations and casinos which only like 2% of them get any useful amount of money from. Are we supposed to feel better about ourselves now that 75 Indians are millionaires? “well Barbara, you know, we did all we could for those people, I mean, we can’t start casinos, now can we? So what do they have to complain about?”

A lot of people don’t know that being a white persona in Hawaii means you are a minority. The problem with being a white minority is you can’t complain. Black people can complain. The white man loaded them on boats, enslaved them, only after wars and other kine insane shit finally assimilated them into society, and even then forced them to endure jim crow and the fucked up restoration and whatever they call it. blacks have lots of things of validity by which to bitch about. They did not as a race initiate the actions that led to a large chunk of Africans being uprooted from their land and culture and transplanted into a new geographical & sociological framework, one in which they were seen as objects and tools by which to make white men shitloads of money by selling tobacco and getting people hooked on ciggies. Indians have lots of legitimate concerns as well. We landed at Plymouth rock, sat down to a Thanksgiving feast, gave them big phat smiles and shook their hands, and woke up with full bellies the next morning & proceeded to rape & pillage & wipe out all the buffalo.

But here in Hawaii, I can be at the gym working out, let’s say working on my lats, which are huge, and these two local guys can be working out next to me, and talk shit about haoles with me sitting right there, and I can’t say shit. This is comparable to hanging out & dropping n-bombs right next to a black guy. But as described, different situation. And n-bombs are, yes, much more harsh and fuked up then haole-bombs, but shit, haole is not a nice word, m’kay? Haole is not a comliment. But fuk, I am a haole, so I will just sit there & realize I am in a ‘nother land than my forefathers. I have to endure racism, but shit, my people came & took over a native people, but we didn’t wipe them off the face of the land like we did the Indians. We left enough of them around and due to other factors like racial assimilation & local customs of mixing & mashing the races and hapa culture etcetera, there are a large population of mixed race people that identify much more with Hawaiian culture & ideas of sovereignty & yearnings for the old monarchy & kick the fukn haole invaders out than they would with any white ideal of imperialism and or European kine progenetical dogma. I can’t bitch, because I am the invader. They’re still pissed off. I’m not the beaten down, I’m the conqueror. Except if I’m at a nightclub and there’s a drunk local guy, I might have to hear about how I’m a “fukn haole” and I can’t say shit.

I gotta do work but I’m gonna leave this document open for editing & plus I’m not done. Actually I doubt I’ll edit it maybe just add to it, but you’ll never know unless I tell you and/or unless you’re spying on me. In that case watch me flick this booger at you. oh and yes I edited it. but only for the promotion of grammatical crankmatical delirium. Yes, it’s like that.

So now that I’ve emptied out my white imperialistic skull regarding racial whatevas to you, let me tell you about the phat motorcycle ride I went on yesterday. We basically rode around the whole frikken island. Starting in Kaneohe, we went up the east-side (yay-yay) and I was pushing rhymes like weight, except I wasn’t. we rode on through kahaluu and through Kaaawa and Hauula and then stopped for break time at Kahuku sugar mill, long abandoned and now a tourist trap with a little lunch stand & 7-11 type dillio. Tourist trap may be a strong word cause it’s pretty desolate. Anyway, continued on through sunset beach, Waimea, through Haleiwa, well actually not through, because we banked a right at the park and cruised through Wailua and by mokuleia beach and rode down the airstrip & watched the skydivers do their thing at the Hawaii jump out of da airplane kine place. Some lady there asked me, while we were on our bike-break, if I was gonna jump today. I said, uh, no. I’ve never jumped out of a plane, not that I’m adverse the idea, but it just hasn’t come up. These guys land pretty fast, almost as fast as fastman, in that, shit, they’re coming down, and they like to fly through the air & wait (like white lion) for the last minute to pull their little strings which slow the parachute down. Anyway it was an education. We also rode by all the hangars with their little planes in them & I’d never been around there so it was, um, pretty cool.

Ok new paragraph, that one was becoming a monster, as is this post, but bah that’s your problem. If you don’t have the attention span to read it go watch fukn MTV. So then we continued on into Wahiawa and ate lunch at Dot’s, some plate lunch place kine diner and I ate baked chicken with gravy even though they had all you could eat sweet & sour spareribs. The waitress was kind enough to give us a sample, and they were good, but so was the chicken, and it tasted like frog legs. No, that’s a joke, based on social norms from 1887. Seriously folks, I’m here all day, and yes I’ve used that line, check the files. So long story long we went through on down and into pearl city & aiea, and cut through nimitz by the airport & enjoyed the shade of the overpass and on into town & Waikiki where we broke again & checked out the scenery and/or freaks of nature. As we were mounting up again, a she/he/we never quite figured it out rode by on his/her scooter. He/she had a dress on and a beard, so I was confused, and I’ve seen a lot of gender swirling, but this one had me for a loop. Plus we saw this really fucked up looking lady that the ugly tree fell on her and then the roots rose up from the dead and bashed in her cranium for good measure. And no that’s not nice, but neither was her face. Unkind words from an unkind man on an unkind morning. Deal with it America and/or Canada and/or mexico and/or Antarctica.

So onward to sandies via Hawaii kai & kahala, and beautiful scenery, nice twisties and views of the ocean, and shmall kine drama involving wood-dog revving his engine & blowing sand all over some people’s car, and some tough guy Hawaiian acting like he wanted beef, but then getting in his car & driving away. I had the shittiest bike of everyone, most of who have PHAT harley fat boys & soft tail heritages, and one pretty nice Suzuki, and I’ve got a beat up Honda rebel, but it’s free and it runs & it keeps up so I’m not complaining, except on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and well wouldn’t you know? Look at the calendar.

Ok that’s it for today, or at least right now. Aloha. Hope you had half the chronic weekend I did. Eace-pay for all you latin pigs. And just so I don’t get hate-mail from the Hispanic contingent, that’s a play on words in that eace-pay is pig latin for peace. I don’t think latin people are pigs even though latin is a dead language and kalua pig tastes good with cabbage and lomi-lomi salmon & poi. And you know what? I think I DO push rhymes like weight. Just a little. Seriously.