Saturday, November 01, 2003
non stinking shit girl, hope she doesn’t mind. But then again, she stole it from somebody else in the first place, ie the sitcoms online association or whatever the fuck they call themselves, so I’m not gonna lose any sleep over it. At least in theory.
Janet was like the unsung hero on 3’s company, I mean, nobody really gives her jack shit for props what with jack being the comic showcase etcetera and chrissy being the dumb blonde whateveryacallit and the ropers and larry and don’t forget don knotts, who I’m almost positive is still alive, but mixed in there quite nicely, in the fashion of being the champ due to in fact the corollary of that the idea that she is to a certain degree unnoticed may have been her greatest feat and accomplishment even though those are synonyms and I’m a lazy pile, um, her good job as an actress.
Refill time. Please hold. Your musical selection for this commercial break shall be def leppard “comin to america” off their classic first album On Through the Night. If that song is unsatisfactory to you then I must invite you to be sworn in as an official best seller of the jurk storr, at which point the shrimp will announce that your ass has been turned into a public urinal.
Ok my drink is refreshed. Maker’s mark and coke. Ok I am a filthy liar. Sorry Ryan, I bought Jim Beam instead. And it’s actually diet vanilla pepsi, which is actually quite palatable as I may have mentioned in previous correspondence with the ocean. Jim Beam, for me, besides being 10 dollars cheaper than maker’s mark, has an emotional connotation in that it was my grandfather’s drink, so be that as it may, it is doing the trick, and a shot of baileys on the side never hurt matters, at least that’s what mr. Toad mentioned to me in the middle of a wild ride we were having, and it’s not what you’re thinking, well, it is if you were thinking about Disneyland.
It’s been a long ass time since I’ve been to the magic kingdom now that you mention it. What was that, you didn’t mention it, I did, oh well now you’d like to quibble hmmm? Well get on your horse and ride out of town and please you as it may to never be seen by this that or them there okey fenokes if you catch my drift.
Bing seems to be kicking her mood into some form of updrive ie she is on the mend what with her um apparent bumming ness which brings to me a great degree of happiness in that people should be in a good mood even and especially if prescription drugs are involved. Not that they are in this case. And not that I’m like Rush Limbaugh’s evil, well actually, moderate, twin. Bing knows what I mean, she’s down with the jurk storr. I just mean that she deserves to be down with the happy fun time crew and it needs to be legit and it needs to be hammertime and it needs to be funky headhunter style if you catch my drift. Which you probably don’t.
Jim Beam gets me all beaminated. You may wonder what the fuck I’m doing up at what appears to be like 3 AM, but actually here in Hawaii it’s not even midnite yet so cut me some goddamm flakk jack. Me and Mrs. P didn’t go out or really do anything of import tonite except chill like villains. Well I went to the gym and flexed kind of hard, I mean, I knocked out this guy walking by with my bicep at this precise moment when I was doing like this judo move, but it was totally unintentional. There was this one guy at the gym that was like really grunting just a little too hard and like practically screaming out the numbers of the reps he was doing, and I wanted to say like “umm, cool down, too hot,” but I’m way too low profile for anything affiliated with something like that so I let it go.
Let it go is another def leppard song. So is mirror mirror. Not that that’s related. But then again it might be. Find a meaning and let me know about it. Here’s an example. “mirror mirror is so related to let it go in that if you look deep inside yourself, ie inside a really avant garde mirror, you’ll find your inner schwann, at which point you will have let go of any preconceived notions about your own inner self and your supposedly concrete ideals regarding morality, mortality, and responsibility, whereby you will discover that only you can prevent forest fires.”
And holy shit, that’s related to pyromania! This is some deep shit I’ve stumbled upon. I better watch sports center and finish my drink. I don’t wanna bust open Pandora’s box and find that the bacon has burnt the griddle, I don’t think I could handle that kind of pressure. One final note though, folks, be smurfy to each other, ye heard me? Gracias.
Friday, October 31, 2003
I still have no fucking idea where it’s going, and for some reason this comforts me.
So it’s frikken Halloween. Big fukn deal. Kid’s holiday. Well, at least that’s my take, I mean, shit, I don’t know, I guess it’s fun dressing up, but I rarely do. The tv shows, especially the sitcoms, make it seem like everybody and his fukn brother are like putting on a costume contest and bobbing for apples and playing wicked witch of the west meets Dorothy Dandridge’s crippled old Aunt Esther.
I don’t know where the fuck I’m going with that one. Enjoy your Halloween, don’t let me shit on your parade. I gripe and moan about the state of the whatever, but I’ll prolly be down in Waiks tonite checking out the freaks, it’s all in good fun. I don’t mean about 65% of what I say, deal with it Texas. Yeah you.
I wanna fly to cali, rent a car, get a big bottle of water and a big mac, and just drive the fuck all the way across the country, stopping only at the sleaziest grimiest looking bars and walking in and having one Beam and Coke (Beam & Jolt?) ok maybe 2, maybe 3, ok fuck it, 4, one last pup for the road, and then hop back on the ol whatever the fuck, road, yeah that’s the tick, and like only pull over at like motel 6 or super 8 when like it gets really dark and there’s a pretty gangsta yet safe for my suburban suitabilities drinking establishment and proceed to imbibe and then do it all again the next morning until I’m in like North Carolina or some shit like that and then dip my feet in the atlantic ocean for like 5 minutes and then go find some east coast food, like, fuck, I don’t know, chick fil-et or some shit like that.
You miss driving long distances after a while. Hardcore road trip style. Island living is conducive to max driving of a couple hours and then you’re back where you started, literally or figuratively dependent on which way you flakked it at Albuquerque. And yes it’s like that. or maybe not. I just write this shit.
Thursday, October 30, 2003
Tony mentioned a while ago that it’s like national novel writing month or some shit like that. um, I don’t know if that was actually what it was but it involved some rationale beyond the normal creative parameters for writing a beyond the normal scope short story ie stretching out certain ideas and characterizations to the point that you could make a book out of it.
So that’s what I started doing last nite. Cranked out some crap for like 15 minutes before bed time. Got about a page. And you know whut? I really liked it. I think I’ve got something. Something totally new, at least for me. My problem in the past with trying to write anything beyond some random ass gruel has been the painstaking annoyance of being forced to follow a storyline, keep things in some kind of chronology while carrying the stream of events like a hunch’s back, but I think I happened upon a group of characters in my mind and a writing style and a tableau and range of possible occurrences both in and out of the theatre of consciousness in which I can play to my strengths and do some rambling while at the same time telling what I hope will be a fairly decent story.
We’ll see how it goes, but at the time it felt like one of the easiest page I’d ever written in my life. And I could already think of about 85 different ways I could take it, but I decided I’m not gonna think about it until I sit down again tonite before beddie-bye and crank out another page, at the least. I’m just gonna see where the medulla takes me and this small group of shenanigan sheisters and observe as the tale gets told. I want it to be like I’m just along for the ride and it happens to be my fingers tapping the keys that imparts the knowledge. I even edited, just a little, but I’m not gonna do that too heavy either, save a big phat edit for later, but I’m so bad at waiting for that shit, I want to constantly reread but I’m gonna try to avoid it and let the izms spackle.
I’m not gonna try to force it to be centered around one character, but I have a feeling that, for the most part, that’s how it’ll be. It’s third person narration, but in the style of which everything is seen from the eyes of one guy for the most part, but it’s not like “I was born a poor black child” or anything like that, it’s like “joe malone knew he liked pop tarts, and no one would ever stop him from that.” like that.
So anyway, it felt good to write something fresh, I’m not shelving the other thing I’ve been working on, well I guess I am, but I’m not tossing it out or anything, and not the other thing either, well, um, that thing is done, but it needs a serious rewrite, and like prolly a quarter of it needs to be completely rehashed. For now I just want to concentrate on this little dillio I stumbled onto in my brain’s septic tank last nite & run with it.
And of course I will continue to impart random nonsense to the contingent while staring off into the distance. I mean, geez, this is like my flexing, my noggin exercise, without which my neural pathways may become crusty and gunk infested, and we can’t have that, no no no. and again, as always, muchas gracias and danke shein for being a willing witness to the, um, whatever the fuck this is.
Wednesday, October 29, 2003
Not a coke. Fuck coke. Fuck pepsi too. And fuck diet dr. pepper.
I have however found a diet soda that satisfies the palate to an almost satisfactory degree. It is called diet vanilla pepsi. Clock it. I’m not going to link it cuz they can suck my donkey’s schlonger anyway, despite their talents with mixing phenylketalene rat poison with syrupy vanilla goodness. Long beach.
Long beach dammit! Fuckn eh yeah. Long beach might replace the jurk storr.
I didn’t mean it, jurk storr, nothing could replace you. NOTHING. Not even at the last days during the last battle when they have my throat pressed up against the gas furnace, burning my stubble infested skin, will I ever renounce you, I will cry out your name “jurk storr” while they impale my gullet on a rusty pipe and then tell me to “let off some steam, Bennett” even though my name’s not Bennett. It’s from an Arnold movie. Check the files. Not these files, the, um, movie files.
This guy writes really cool movie reviews and ranks them with donuts. It makes me happy. So happy that I think I now have to go take a gigantic shit. gracias.
I was joking about the bowel movement. I thought it just sounded poetic. But now I realize that I am just an idiot.
I have to make a phone call. To someone I hate. Except I don’t hate him. I just hate the fact that I have to stop writing this brilliant pile of horse crap for five minutes and actually do something productive. You understand. Even if you don’t, just nod your head and the disturbing man will go an about his business. Mahalo.
Well I made the phone call. Voice mail. Asshole. Actually I was glad. Fuck him. ok now I’m gonna like organize some shit. don’t go anywhere. But like, wait like five minutes before reading the next paragraph if you want to feel like that true timeline shit, ya know, the way the author intended. What the fuck ever.
Ok I just sent an e-mail. I am officially contributing to the gross domestic product. Whoop dee fucking dee for me. Jurk storr goat fucker associaton, dues paid in full, beyatch. mas werkie ahora.
Sometimes you just gotta love phone tag, it’s like, the perfect excuse to shelve a particular thing you’re working on for another day. oh, but wait, she just called me back, and it was quite an easy dillio to deal with. I’m glad it was resolved. Now I can handle this bizness like a mackadocious playalistic rebellious causeless goatless bastard with an acute acne problem.
Long beach, with just a Mrs. Dash tad of jurk storr thrown in for good measure. Aloha.
Handwritten blog old school style.
Watching the lake show beat ass.
Damn, Payton/Malone, this shit is working.
Shaq shouldn’t try one handed 15 footer hook shots.
When I say Long Beach, it’s like, just saying “gyeah” or “yeah it’s like that, ho,” na mean?
It’s from Snoop. I never lived there, but my sisters did.
Not anymore though.
Kobe’s hugging Malone. Lots o’ love. Real or staged? Actually the court (whoa double entendre) basketball court, that is, may be the only place he can be real this year.
Not in court (ie his rape trial).
Not at home.
“Hi, honey, I’m home.”
“Oh, hey Mr. All-Star Groupie Fucker.”
“yeah, um, I’ll be shooting jumpers in the back yard.”
Tuesday, October 28, 2003
soldier stories ie more tales from the road with cypress hill’s latest tour, 2 weeks in Europe rollin with the eminem show, ya know, 50 cent, D-12, xzibit in the hizzle, and they hit up germany and Amsterdam, na mean, so you know cypress style hellz gee it’s on like a light switch, werd to the third. No panickin, strait up & down.
So uh, there’s like a jurk storr meeting on channel 13 so if you’re not down with that shit it’s time to recognizate yourself with the big baller status. No not big baler mr. Gates, you goatless bastard. I look like I’m bout to bail me some goddam hay? Mufucka.
So um, there’s a bunch of other shit I could say but, ya know, circumstances dictate otherwise. Aloha.
Mad love and safety wishes and caviar dreams for all the peeps in cali what with this crazy fire shit going on. Condolences to any and everybody who lost loved ones or their homes. G-town is out of the danger zone for the moment but those crazy santa anas sound like they’re kickin up all kinds of crazy patterns, so be aware and hold it down.
And may they find these sick arsonist fucks and string them up by their nuts for a public stoning. Not that I’m down with public degradation and pain infliction, but shit, these fuckbags fucked up a lot of people’s action what with this shit.
Ok so that was from yesterday. As for today, gimme a minute. shit, I got werk to do. Horses necessitate holding, por favor. Gracias.
So um, yeah, I should really give some overdue props to the site I’ve been jacking all these great comic cover pics off of. The grand comics data base. And actually I didn’t find them, well, in a way I did, but they were discovered by said self off of a link I found over at the super-villain’s blog, which is, by the way, off the chain.
Now I can rest knowing that the contingent is informed. Time for Fraggle Rock.
Monday, October 27, 2003
But I digress. I am, after all, a different person than I was 5 minutes ago. Aren’t you? I mean, we all are. I said so.
Def Leppard is & was & shall be the most important band in the history of music.
(Random insertion of link of doom wherein I refer to some shit that was gonna be like just this little joke but become something bigger, and thereby increasing corridors of the mind. referencing that I was going to say I don’t care whut Luke says, um, in regards to my musical taste for revering the almighty DL, but then I clicked on his page and he’s got like this sad eulogy thing for that singer/songwriter guy that killed himself the other day, and I was like, hmmm, thinking, ok, this doesn’t werk. It’s like reference him on some random crankenheimer when he’s all bummed about this guy, who honestly, I had never heard of until he died. Maybe I’ve heard some of his songs, maybe I haven’t, but it IS a rude statement to say that DL was the most important band ever when frankly I haven’t even heard this guy’s stuff, maybe he was deep, maybe he was atlantis style, maybe he had so much shit to say & so much on his mind that he was just overflowing with shit, just couldn’t handle it anymore, just strait, um, ok that’s a dark place to go. Back to the light skywalker, use the scwartz, to the extreme, rhyme like a vandal, it’s OK, see the schwammie. See the reason I was gonna mention luke was that like a year ago he told me I am never allowed to talk about music again for making that same statement, actually a lighter version of it. so anyway, um, yeah, after this I talk about def leppard on some strait up shit, but THIS shit was written like afterward. It was all very cosmic at the moment, but probably totally non avant guarde yesterday.)
I mean, shit, Pyromania, a magnum opus of any artist in any realm of creativity, commercial success yeah, genius, as well, rick allen still with 2 arms, the whole nine yards.
BUT, even better album, trust me contingent, High n Dry, their one before that. rizznipin. Fukn, more core division.
And the most balladistic song, by FAR on the album, actually the only one, prolly, actually, a big hit, bringin on the heartbreak, which Mariah (wtf?) just did a cover version of. I almost shit out of my esophagus when I was watchin some goddamm Mariah shit & it’s fukn def leppard, that was wrongholio.
Soo, farken sharken malarkey bone.
Um, dee dum, that’s all I have to say for right now.
Except now I got back on a roll, but it’s in the wrong section, so kinda unusable, so like, life & death are some deep shit, yo. Werd. Dang. Life, think about it, you’re LIVING that shit, damn dawg, and death, yo werd that shit is coming around sooner or later, believe you me and mister jeeves, I mean, ol’ mister skeleton guy in the boat is gonna be headin down a river near you at some juncture so get ready and start collectin your mulligans cuz time is short. Or long. Depending on your age & health and luck and fortitude and bravery and just plain stupid random chance flick of the dime type shit.
Strait up & down.