|
|
|
4 out of 7 scientists prefer Chewbacca's crossbow
meanwhile, behind the facade of this innocent looking doghouse...
copyright 2002-2011 ultrablognetic |
Friday, November 14, 2003
 How fast can I write this shit?
Did about 3,500 more words on the master thesis at work today. It all just came out in a torrent of ecstasy. And ya know whut? I liked it. Every word. Not that I reread it. When you’re shootin’ for fitty geez, how picky can you get. I’m keeping one eye on the clipper game and the other on mortgage calculations. You know the drill. Clips are up 10 at this juncture. I find myself inadvertently rooting for Bryan Cardinal, the warrior’s out of knowhere suddenly starting power forward, cuz he’s kinda going off, and like, I picked him up from the garbage heap of the dregs the other day. Sorry. Fantasy league dork type shit. Ignore me. But don’t ignore the jurk storr. NEVER turn your back on either t-bone, coco, or the infamous J.S., cuz you WILL get gaffled. Seriously, I’m starting to have weird thoughts that I already mentioned already, ie the la clippers winning an nba championship. I was looking into getting clips ticks against the nuggets while I’m in la la land for thanksgiving, but shit, arm and a leg central called and they’re running out of scrilla. Kwaffing crown royal tonite. It’s real like that. On sale at safeway, I saved 9 bones with my card. I wouldn’t playa hate on a hambone like that, long beach. Really I gotta go, this is bad like, holy shit, Lampley’s playing for the warriors now, og cal showtime style. Go bears, but eff the warriors. But shit, when you got q-dog sinking tres like a gangsta and like kickin it on my squad, you know you’re going down. You cryin’ yet joe? Sorry brudda. Please hold this lead, clips, I’m talkin’ acres of shit. Sincerely, Tha jurk storr  Anutha day anutha dolla, contingent. Friday is a day of preparation for rest and relaxation, aka aloha fizzle. A day to contemplate how the raiders will lose yet another game. I don’t even know who the hell they’re playing. Does it really matter anymore? They could be playing my Uncle Jackie’s Pop Warner team, you know, the old skool squad, and they’re all like 72 now, and they’d still prolly lose. Even if they played them back in the day when they were all 8 I still couldn’t guarantee a victory for the silver and black. It’s a sad statement on the state of the nation, mis amigos, truly and not quite so fortuitously.
I’m glad that someone with the proper forum is finally addressing this batman being an infidel situation. About damn time. I didn’t think it appropriate to mention it here, as my cousin Gertle is an employee of DC comics, and I could be accused of racial bias. And shit. I mentioned it elsewhere already, in like a really popular and famous website, and actually 3rd leg said it for me today as well, or was that my 5th identity, shit I’m confused, but in any event let it be known that the clips are taking on the warriors tonite, and really, it’s gonna be a goddamm blood bath. IE the warriors are going to be pining for the fjords once LA’s finest are done with ‘em, and by LA’s finest I don’t mean Big Aristotle and Wee Willie Where’s my Winkie. Sorry Joe, but you know that when it comes to kicking warrior ass there’s nothing like a little pimp juice, and the clips have been stocking up and according to the teleconference I had with coach Dunleavy and Q, the shit should be through their digestive tract & kicking in about 15 minutes before the 5:30 tipoff. You have been warned. And don’t think Coach D’s gonna show any mercy just cuz his punk ass kid is on the other team. This is a guy that fought in desert storm and came back every day with 5 iraqi scalps when he was just supposed to be there as a meteorologist. Theoretically, that is, meaning, I think that’s the way it would have gone down if he’d been sent in for duty. At least that’s what kool keith told me. Yeah the one in my throat. Danny, that was his name before he got his record deal. Thanks Danny, I’ll always remember you even after I burn you with that chef Boyardee ravioli. And yes it’s like that. Hold that thought. Mr. Hanky needs to be taken out for a run. Oooh wheee, that Mr. Hanky, it’s like taking a greyhound out for a skedaddle, na mean, it’s like he runs you more than you run him, shizzle. Heh, now that’s gangsta. Or not. Well, I would say more, but that whole being over it for the time being thing seems to be indicating that our time together, at least for the nonce, has come to a close. Sing a little song to yourself and remember that I am never far away, simply give a little whistle and maybe like a cricket’ll show up or some shit like that. and crickets make good bait for catching crawdads, at least that’s what the jurk storr told me. Aloha. Thursday, November 13, 2003
 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.
So nice to ride into work on a fukn motorcycle through the goddamm fukn rain (ok,a light rain, but still a rain, and with fukn shorts on, which, granted is my own damn fault, but nonetheless) and get into your fukn work place and the first goddamm thing you hear after saying aloha to the crew is your fukn skunk supervisor bitching you out for something that you fucked up on. Well, yes, I guess I did fuck that up, but what about the 800 things I did right this week? Oh that’s fukn irrelevant, we’re concentrating here, Alfred, on the one thing you did wrong, asshole, don’t you understand that? now get in your fukn corner and trim that fukn assembly line of skunks ass-hair to within a 2/3 inch diameter and I don’t wanna hear any fukn complaints or we’ll put you on porcupine duty, and you’ll look like fukn Eduardo, yeah, you know, the kid who can barely pick up his skateboard due to all the cuts and scratches and missing eye, and, but shit, he’s got plenty of toothpick substitutes to pick out of his fukn leg if you catch my goddamm fukn drift.
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
 ok now’s as good a time as any to write some horrible crap and hit publish. There’s a lot of shit going down in the blogosphere on this fine afternoon and I’m gonna speak on none of it, I am however gonna speak on some shit, but that shit is hidden from my medulla oblongata at this juncture, but I can guarantee you this, you won’t give half a rat’s asshole about it, that’s right folks, for the low low price of $49.99 minus a $50 rebate, you can read all this crap all the time and the only thing you will get out of it is one red cent, which I will deposit on your front door with a little bow wrapped around it and a thank you goodbye and a kick to your dog’s gullet if you have a dog, if you don’t a cat will suffice or even a hamster.
Next paragraph. More crap. No comments. People will run, people will hide, people will barf, they’ll cringe they’ll fukn seek out the hills like yuban seeks out tasters choice. SHIT have you ever seen that old SNL skit with Chris Farley where they do the take on the folgers crystals commercial where they secretly replace the fancy restaurant’s normal coffee and fukn the OG fat guy in a little shirt just goes richter I mean he goes nuts I mean he gets loose I mean he just tears the place up and just about takes a bath in goats blood in an arcane rage not seen since the bronze era. Fukn what the fuck was coke thinking when they came out with new coke in the 80’s? I was watching that shit on vh1 crazy 80’s or whatever the shit that show is called, and you know, it’s scary how well I remember it, I mean, that was a scandal that was a controversy that was just people going OFF that corporate America in their ignorance and greed had taken away one of the symbolisms of pop culture slavery by shoving this piece of shit down our throat at breakneck speed like that. and have you noticed the lasting effects? Hmm, have you? for those youngens in the crowd you might not remember the days when your can of coke didn’t necessarily say coca-cola “classic” on it, but that’s only been there since this new coke shit went down in 86, ferreal. Before that it was just coke, but I mean, people went apeshit, so they had coke “classic” as well and whoop bam before you know it, oh shit, where’s new coke? Gone the way of the tyrannosaurus rex, and good riddance if you ask me, but WHY of fucking WHY do they still have to call it Coca-Cola Classic? This bothers me. Almost like when Doritos came out with a cheesier version of their nacho cheese flavor, called “nacho cheesier.” It was just supposed to be for those that wanted EXTRA cheese flavor on their Doritos, you know, and they had both versions for a little while, but you can’t find nacho cheese Doritos anymore can you? no, it’s just nacho cheesier? And “cooler” ranch. Those fuckers. I wonder if after that, since that time, they’ve been slowly but surely decreasing the amount of cheese and ranch flavor on those fuckers to get it back down to pre “cheesier” and “cooler” parameters, and then they’ll probably come out with like nacho “cheesiest” just to fuck with us, and we’ll think “oh, great, this is fukn GREAT”, but it’ll just be a big fukn conspiracy, and you know whut, I bet we won’t even care even if we find out, cuz we’re a bunch of fukn sheep that’s why. The moral of this story is fuck Doritos & coke. And continue to buy their products, thus perpetuating the spirit of America. God bless it & you. aloha. Tuesday, November 11, 2003
 As usual, the blah dee blah, I gotta lot of work to do, but yes I’m gonna holla, spit, shout, whatevs you wanna call it, at you for a minute, cuz I care about the contingent, I’m not like the other gamers in this so called exhibitionist tool shed rhyming session, la dee freakin dah.
Jennyeah’s posting, and she’s got a redesign bumping, and, well, you never know when she’s gonna take that shit down and bust a toilet flush, so peep while you can, na mean? Of course you do. When I was in paris (ah, gay par-ee) at the musee d’orsay, I saw this painting, a monet, that I think was called blue flowers, but even if it wasn’t, damn if it didn’t remind me of the dr. octagon aka kool keith song of the same name, you know, the shit he did with the automator and dj shadow nodding his head in the background. Don’t forget that the invisible scratch picklz were repped by q-bert, ok um, all pertinent info, leave it to say that it was inspirational, and I aimed the video camera at the painting and like sang a little riff of it. the impressionists, that was the name of their crew, I think they even had special jackets printed up and like would ride around bitch-slapping old timers in front of the cafes. Even if I made that shit up it represents. that museum was fukn crip, especially the van gogh’s, which they have a boatload of. Blows the Louvre away. Believe that shit. Louvre equals overrated and stuffy and full of like old dead like statues and shit, which are very good and all well and etcetera, but paintings of high intensity and like mind blowing other level shit abound in the orsay, and like van gogh even if his dismembered ear ain’t up in the hizzle it’s highly um felt, in some sense of the word, if not the literal or metaphorical. Shit, no respect in his lifetime, that could be me, except for the crucial fact I’ll likely get no respect after I’m dead neither. No big. Respect is highly overrated. I just want my benjamins and my diamonds. Bling bling beats a deep thought and a smile any day of the week except Tuesday and Thursday, and SHIT look at the calendar. I’m fucked.  As for questions of what this page has to do with kool keith, I AM kool keith, na mean? Nah, nah, not that one, the other one. The one that lives in my throat, like that kid from the shining. My imaginary friend that raps and tells me about horses' heads left in beds all across America. THAT kool keith, and if you don’t like it, the door is that way. It leads to my lawyer’s office, comin up the stairs in suits, bout to give a couple cops the boot, mix-a-lot style. See that’s how you know I’m not the real keith, cuz I’d prolly get bitch slapped for reppin sea-town in the same sentence as getting all elevated like that, but I don’t really care cuz I’m kind of a beyatch like that. Anyone that can think of referencing Chewbacca uncircumcised is a genius. Thanks ock.  I mean, it’s kinda retarded apologizing for jackin’ keiths name, cuz he jacked doc doom’s name & doc ock’s name, two of the og gangsta marvel villains, in fact, the two most prominent doctors in the aforementioned universe, one with an iron mask and one with steel tentacles. Makes a lot of fucking sense when you think about it.
I am three people I am no people. I am one alligator backscrubber I am two Afghanastinian butlers, I am three broke college students smoking resin in a back bedroom off of telegraph avenue. I am all of the above I am none of the above I am Cher’s sometime humiliated gimp. What are you? wait, don’t answer that. no, actually, do answer that. um, ya know whut, do whatever makes you comfortable. I don’t wanna get shit about it later if I made you like embark on some endeavor that violated your whatever the fuck you call it. and neither does Carlton, at least that’s what his official manifest says. Monday, November 10, 2003
 I’m spoiled, like a little ho, the attention deficit syndrome in reverse that is my idiom has reached epic proportions to the degree of what the fuck ever.
I just wanna take everything I write and toss it into a burning oven of cavernous bitch mark jehosophats, but I don’t, I wanna save it all and submit it for the review of the most high commission on unnatural dogshit acres. Sure yeah whatever great great sandwich. Thanks dave, say good nite gracie, good nite gracie, fuck you george, shove that cigar up your ass and meet me in the back alley for the drop of which we previously discussed. Up to word count that equals 6,101 on the master thesis, which means I am like 12% or some shit like that on the way to fifty thousand werds. And then when it reaches 50 g’s I’ll call up the jurk storr and tell them, “hello this is Alfred pennyworth, except it’s really not, I’m just some asshole that calls himself the batman butler, and yeah, oh, um, by the way my real name is Clarence Shadowspawn, and oh on another note, I wrote a novel. For your review. For publication. What’s it about? Fuck if I know. Three dudes drive through the desert and fall asleep for a while and some weird old fart is like fucking with them and then some really typical type shit happens and then like the jurk storr calls and ok that part hasn’t happened yet and no the jurk storr didn’t call but you might wish they did after you finish, ha ha like you’ll really get past the first page, reading this crap.” Nah, but actually I’m fairly happy with it so far. I look at it and I see like what people look at when they become happy from the things that they look at. And that’s a good thing. And then the jurk storr will call and tell me that you are the one millionth caller and even if your so called bitch ass book is the suckiest thing this side of the east side player’s association, well, fuck, we’re just gonna publish it anyway, cuz it’s be nice to famous rappers slash butlers that aren’t famous beyond their own bullshit self delusional horse cock sandwich backstabbing self inflicted desultory nonsensical ramblings. One thing I like about my shit is that I think it would be quite difficult if not impossible for somebody to mock it or imitate it, I mean, like, how could you? maybe I’m wrong and an egomaniac, I mean, do I do like the same shit over again and then repeat it any way shape or form beyond just like spitting a whole bunch of random ass bullshit that is just sucking hard in the fashion of like windpipe abuse? It would be interesting to see somebody attempt to like pimp out my shit on like the snl tip like not necessarily ready for prime time but like trying to be me but not be me. I was reminded of this issue and relevance thereof by a little experiment in blogging that 3rd leg has been up to. So yeah it’s all just basically a load of bullshit all this crap I’m writing. If I were you I’d call up the jurk storr and get the contingent loaded up in the back of Lebron James’ Hummer and like head on over to lake Michigan and jump in that shit and like swim across to whatever the fuck is on the other side and basically like set up shop over there selling t-shirts promoting this shit cuz that’s the only way you’re gonna make a ducket off of it, and then only if you’ve got a master designer on your side like my homey who necessarily for purposes of non-disclosure policies both expressed and assumed, must remain nameless. Like me. Sunday, November 09, 2003
 Clips win! well, won. the game was yesterday actually, but you know, what with daylight savings time, even though we don't change the clocks here, and like sunspots and like that whole lawn sprinkler dillio that went down over on 8th avenue, i mean, sorry, don't get all pissed, but i'm just getting to the task of reporting this matter to you now.
Nuff said. Well, okay, almost nuff. Now that the first one’s outta the way, we can get on with the business of bringing the first nba championship to LA. Well, um, ok, not the first to the actual city of LA, but the first brought to you by what should be known as the first team of the greater los angeles area but instead is treated like a bunch of inbred hooligans because of the ineptitude and penny pinching ness of the greediest owner and most inebriated on all the wrong substances owner in all of sports Mr. Donald Sterling. But I won’t go into that. Instead I will just relish this victory. Clippers are 1-2, and those 2 losses came in Japan, and we all know that basketball games played outside the united states don’t really count. Well, they do, but I like to think that they don’t, at least in this instance. Sue me. Gracias. Aloha. Clippers. oh and holy shit, we ate the BEST korean barbeque tonite. seriously. kiawe bbq, king street across from stadium park. holy shiznit. i shall testify that the kal-bi was not just off the hook, it was like literally ripped free and smashed into the corner, and associates have filed heartfelt reports as to the chronicness of the chicken and the lamb. the kimchee, to die for, so fresh, so perfectly spiced, so, what is that jene se kwah i am looking for? it is unknown and vagarious to a degree i cannot quantify it. simply know, i wept, and they were tears of joy, i laughed, and it was guffaws of victory, i ate until full, and it was good. oh yes, it was good. Oh & the jurk storr called but it was neo. He’s got some like jesus complex going on and what with that devil slash yang guy that insists on calling him Mr. Anderson even though, you know, he’s so past that now, well anyway he was gonna come over for dinner, but wouldn’t you know it bowling league got cancelled that night putting forth a very intense and stupefying chain of events which ultimately culminated in me hitting publish and sliding over to the couch to watch sports center. Did I mention the clippers won? Sleep tight contingent. |
![[Powered by Blogger]](http://buttons.blogger.com/bloggerbutton1.gif){kind=small}