Friday, January 02, 2004
And writing this crap ain’t it.
The bowl game of the moment holds no interest for me. It will not stop fucking raining. I’m pretty engrossed in Fleming’s On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, but I lay on the bed, read, and in five minutes I’m falling asleep. Why not sleep? Oh yeah.
Um, I should do laundry.
It will not stop fucking raining. Like, nonstop since new years. Homina.
There’s some guy on tv saying that basketball is his job. And 1 tour. He makes 60 grand a year and he’s got people giving him shit that it’s small time compared to the nba. He’s a wise fella cuz he recognizes he’s making some pretty decent cash playing a game. Kudos, buddy.
Now butthead is calling beavis stupid & saying there’s always been tv.
Mrs. P is working today but I have off. My day will consist of, um, wait, who are you again?
Will prolly finish watching A View to a Kill, Roger Moore’s last Bond flick.
Yes, a pretty exciting schedule.
Have I mentioned that it will not stop fucking raining? And that I should do laundry? No pressure, but, you know, it would be nice to get some of that laundry done. The problem with that scenario is it requires me getting up out of this chair. Ok, 1, 2, 3, here I go.
Hmmm. It’s too fucking wet out there to do laundry. Hi, I’m Alfred, I’m gonna hang up laundry that will never dry cuz the humidity factor is like 8 billion. So no, fuck it.
Is 10 am too early to start drinking? Juuuust kidding. Kind of. 5 o’clock somewhere, ya know? Nah, nah, not like that, shit, crown royal will have me passed out by noon, and another potentially productive day turns into jurk storr central.
Mrs. P went to this city in Mexico called Queretaro, where they have this famous church, where there’s this famous bush which has thorns in the shape of crosses. Seriously. The legend goes that some Jesuit back in the day sat down for a spell and put his walking stick down for a second and like a sliver off the stick fell in the ground, started up this bush or tree or plant or whatever it is and the thorns were in the shape of a cross. If I’m lying I’m dying cuz I’m literally looking at one of them right now. She brought some back with her. You can’t get them from the church but merchants still sell them out front, and I guess what they did is snagged some branches or seeds or whatever you call it, took them home, planted them, and then have the strain, ya dig, and then bring it out to the church and sell them to the tourists.
Ah ha, here you go, gotta love the internet:
“…a thorn tree said to have grown from the walking stick of Friar Antonio Margil de Jesús, a famous missionary who covered vast territories on foot. This thorn tree is considered miraculous because its thorns grow in the shape of the cross.”
So there, you learned something today. Peace.
Wednesday, December 31, 2003
But fuck it, have a happy new year anyway. I’ll risk ghetto pass revokal in this one instance as I think it’s important to impart to you this vital message of, fuck, I don’t know what you’d call it.
What the fuck is a happy new year anyway? What’s really changed besides the last number on the bullshit assignation we’ve designated for the next 365 days, anyway? And don’t come back to me saying it’s like leap year or some shit, cuz I don’t even want to hear it, that’s just a myth set up to scare little children, ya know, like razor blades in candy and shit like that.
Ah the beauty of the holiday slowdown. And yes I’ve mentioned it already. But I didn’t mention its beauty, did I? Hell no, asshole, see, I got you on that one. There, now you owe me 5 dollars. Why? Cuz I said so. Who the fuck am I, gotta explain myself and shit. you’re in the wrong place if you’re looking for explanations, mofo. I raise questions, fuck answering them. That’s for the cattle cradlers and the backscratching adjective jackers.
What the fuck is an adjective jacker? Ok, just this once I’ll accommodate your pathetic request for elaboration. What’s that? you didn’t ask for it? Jesus Christ, you really want to complicate this, now don’t you? anyway, an adjective jacker is anyone that steals an adjective that would better describe you and then uses it to describe themselves. Like this mofo the other day who told me “man, I am so pimp.” Now, shit, everyone knows that I am so pimp, so, fuck, I mean, was he disrespecting me?
I was this close to skullfucking his cat, but I decided to let it go in honor of the baby new year hanging out right outside the gate, even though I don’t believe in him. I don’t believe in Santa either, but I still leave milk & cookies out for him every Xmas. Cuz I’m cool like that. Now, you may be thinking, “shit, I’m cool, that’s some serious adjective jacking that keith is pulling on me.” Mofo, it doesn’t count if it’s in writing, only the spoken word. That’s why it’s such a difficult crime to prosecute, what with you having to record it, and even then, shit, the way stuff can be faked with modern technology, good luck convincing a judge that you didn’t just dub the voice of like a bum off the street and then just use audio software to like twist the voice around. Oh and it doesn’t count if someone says it on tv or the radio, cuz that’s like public domain.
I was gonna erase those last two paragraphs, but Carlton wouldn’t let me. I’m thinking about suing him, but I’ve made up enough bullshit for one morning. Aloha.
Tuesday, December 30, 2003
I’ve got some pretty serious stuff I need to take care of today, and 7th and 8th on the list respectively are feed the chickens and milk the bulls. Oh yeah the chickens I gotta collect their eggs too and test them for the ebola virus. And shit, those fricken bulls never want to release their milk until you’ve played with that damn udder for what seems like eons.
Yeah old joke but what can you do. Prolly 83 movies have used that one, just pour this round on top of the pile and call my agent if there are any problems. His number is 976-PHUK. Just make up the area code, it’s a national listing, you’ll get him. I must warn you however he works some strange hours, so good luck and happy hunting.
There is always a weak section of every piece of writing and you are finding that section herein, and therein, and over therein, by the trashbin. Mahalo. Does being a lazy pile preclude one from delusions of grandeur, or at the least visions of melodrama? C’mon, you know the story, don’t be coy, it’s a long beach thing, right? Not inherently lbc as in location vis a vis geography but as in a mindset. As in representation must be represented, with or without an authorized voice on the board. Fuck the board. The board ain’t never done nothing for nobody that didn’t fall in line with their own nefarious interests, so don’t go counting your, um, dandelions, before they’ve, um, been blown to bits by a passing breeze.
Monday, December 29, 2003
If you don’t think it’s true then just ask somebody. Anybody. What if your dog was really a cat? What if all it wanted was a scratching post and some fake extra long whiskers and cute cuddly jumping up on counters and like propogating on feline like characteristics. And then suddenly it realized that in truth, in what society has told you is true, that that dog is a dog. But it’s not. It’s a cat. And nobody, not anyone in this day and or age, can take that away from little scrappy. Cuz if he wants to be a one of them other side kine soup drinking but mostly milk ie from the family of cats. It just didn’t register. But it had to be accepted. Scrappy was in his soul, deep down where it really mattered, the most felonious of monks, um, cats.
How many identities did Chewbacca possibly have? That was from a web page I saw that I can’t remember. And but speaking of identities my 83rd is late for dinner on the west coast to see charles in charge without ellen degeneres in that one really underground episode. The one with Mr. Hand from that sean penn movie where he’s a total stoner in that van with those guys and he orders pizza in class and that guy jerks off in the bathroom and that scene with the supposed romantic dinner with big chairs.
Plexiglass coated with steel alloy prevents 72 degrees of prostitution, the kind endangering America and the federated states, from damaging this infrastructure. And don’t even try to call 99th avenue for the update cuz I took those mofos out with like 43 hand grenades, me and Juan from 49th street in midtown, the one with the rollie fingers mustache and the potato chip breath and green bandanna, and with that fat guy with the greased hair and the glasses, bifocals.
He had to remember all that shit from the moment, the one where it went down, and it dawned on him he forgot to set the vcr to tape mr. Belvedere and was thus totally and completely fucked.
Sunday, December 28, 2003
Just enough crap to fill an average sized whatsistat and not a penny more. A dollar earned is a sword sheathed if you’re talking about after 2 in the morning on a Sunday, and even if it’s a Tuesday or a Thursday it’s still a pretty dicey proposition. Better you just wait in the car and let me go in and handle this. I mean it. It would be best for all parties involved if you let me do what they trained me to do. Let me be the dog that brings the newspaper that is the hidden code to the ancient Amazonian safe in your life.
There was this mountain, a metaphysical one, that I’m climbing right now and it looks like it’s gonna work out, I just wanted to let everyone out there in smurf land know that gargamel is gonna be exorcised from the premises in a few short weeks thanks to some high ranking connections I was able to rattle with an uncle willie from steamboat alley on my mother’s side. So don’t mention it but don’t forget it. I know you know what that means, and even if you pretend that you don’t, you know that I know that you know. So don’t front.
the flash is really really interesting. I’m gonna go get some beers and then go watch family guy marathon. Is that an alternate reality? It really could be, I shouldn’t rule it out by any means.
There’s not much time, no mas booze in one more hour midnite you dig? That is the time cannot buy, but bar’s till 2 and then some bars til 4. Am I comprehending yourself?