Saturday, January 31, 2004

people of earth

why are you looking for this picture?

What are you googling for

I cannot figure it out

I have heard that it is a vast conspiracy, but to what ends I know not.

There is rumour that the innernet is filled with such issues.

But that is not important.

What is important is what brought you here?

And don’t get mad cuz I spelled xan wrong.

Oh & have you seen the video that that pic is from? I have not. If anyone can give directions to acquisitions, see my staff at the jurk storr.

Gracias & aloha.

Thursday, January 29, 2004

In typical Hawaii fashion it’s pouring rain outside (duh, prolly not inside, well, um, unless we’ve got severe leakage problems (note to self: delete prior sentence later)) and it’s like blazingly sunny. Yah, weirdness incarnate, unless you’re used to the aina.

Ok I’m gonna go watch the bows take on Tulsa. Power matchup of the year. Yes, very much so.

Muscle met the people from the fantastic four movie. (pictured, above) unfortunately, herbie the robot was not in attendance. He was crying. And not tears of joy. Cuz herbie is his idol, as you can see here.

Update interlude 11/15/04:

fantastic four movie, up to dated sucka, on this here blogue, one click away, via mad referencing to elseworlds type dillios.


interlude part II, 11/30/04:

whuddupp. you folks just keep coming here in droves from clicking on that fantastic four pic off of goolge image search now don't ya?? mmmkayy, in addition to the link immediately above, may i humbly suggest you also click here for more fantastic four movie info that i posted, well, i derno if it's strictly info, but it is me rambling about it, and there's also a hawt picture of jessica alba posing in her ff uniform and links to more cast pics. do I aim to please or whut?? peace ouT and back to your regular scheduled what have you.

Well 4.5 minutes into the Hawaii Tulsa grudge match we’ve got a score of 6-6. Yes I know that without that information you most likely would have withered up, died, and gotten eaten by some german guy.

One thing you have to be cognizant of in regards to this here post is that I’m watching a basketball game which I have some concern over while it’s being written. Oops. Game on. Me gone. Be realizing that sentences may randomly end once the action picks up again. Apologies. Sincere ones.

Ok. 9-8 Tulsa. Defensive showdown of WAC asses in Oklahoma. You care. Deeply.

So back to ryan meeting the fantastic four. You may be struggling to remember this pinnacle of cinematic achievement. That’s because it was never released and can only be found as a bootleg deep in the recesses of e-bay. I may have to buy it now. Ok not now. Maybe a little later. But someday, I will watch it. Believe it.

Ah, game’s on.

I’m back. 13-12 Tulsa about 13 minutes in. this could be the ugliest basketball game I’ve ever seen.

Yet I’m strangely enjoying it.

Ok back to herbie and the fantastic four. This movie, and how it will be seen. By me. Some day. And probably Mrs. P, who will likely fall asleep and laugh at me later for the fact that I ever wanted to watch it. On second thought, I’ll probably watch it alone. In the dark. With a flashlight shining up under my face. Getting all spooky like that. And with that, this most important sporting event is back on. Gotta represent university of Hawaii, despite the, um, something.

19-18 rainbow warriors 4 minutes left in the first half. Your degree of interest has risen to 83 astromedallions.

So the other issue I wanted to discuss with you this morning was, um, shit, I don’t remember. Dammit.

The earth is a very interesting planet when you think about it. Water, land, heh, shit, we’ve got it all. Genius! Why didn’t I think of that? Oh wait, I did.

Fuck! I’m supposed to be using this commercial time for like deep deep thoughts and I’ve got literally nothing. Oh yeah, I watched night at the Roxbury last nite. Funny movie. You needed me to tell you that. Um, game’s on again.

Should I even post this pile of donkey shit? Um, yes.

Hmmm. Hawaii is totally losing their focus, to quote the random ass telecaster on k-five. 25-19 Tulsa.

Should I even keep going with this? I mean, who the fuck cares about the Hawaii Tulsa game?

Wait, when have I ever let the fact that no one will care, um, wait, game time.

27-21 Tulsa at the half. Reason number one you should care about the university of Hawaii rainbow warriors is that they are tied for first place in the Western Athletic Conference (the WAC) which, ok, is like being one of the smartest kids on the short bus (yeah, nice analogy, I know, assface central called, you’re their number one best seller) so anyway, whatever.

Reason #2 is just because. So there. Always wanted to say that. Ok, I have before, but never with such a drunken feeling of authority as I just did.

PS: the old spider-man movies rule about as hard as one rulon, but a really tough one.

OK, I’m gonna go find some links & pics & publish this piece of shit. Oh and if you give a rat’s ass if Hawaii wins the basketball game, you can click here later on and I’m thinking it will probably tell you. But you know the drill, and by drill I don’t really know whut I’m talking about.

Enjoy whatever’s left of your day or whatever you call it. Mahalo.


damn! did i say this game was a piece of crap? well it's done that coal to diamond thang, cuz we just ended the first overtime tied up at 64-64. good good stuff. if you're catching it anywhere in your neighborhood, you need to tune in, true believers. true-dat.

2nd update:

73-71 Hawaii with 18 seconds left. Tulsa’s got the ball. Triple overtime or end of game?

Hold on and I’ll tell you.

Um, Tulsa lost the ball, Hawaii recovered, and called a timeout with 2 seconds left. Looks like they’ve got it.

But I’ll keep you posted. Cuz I’m courteous like that.

I mean, all they’ve gotta do is pass it in & run around for like a second. Or two.

Jesus christ! Tulsa actually stole the inbound but then missed a running three.

Hawaii wins.

You may now proceed with your life.



Ya know whut’s like the most gangsta thing like ever?

Jack (book 'em Danno) Lord as Felix Leiter, James Bond's homey in the CIA.

Bar mothafuckin’ none.

With like these pimp ASS 60’s like spider sun glasses, way before fukn bono was rockin like the otherworldly styles.

The crazy thing about Dr. No, the movie, is that a lot of it is based on the book Live and Let Die. Like the characters in Jamaica, Strangways and Quarrel? Yah, from live & let die. Shit, which reminds me, coming back from sin city, reading said novel on the plane, and like I hit one of the best segments ever, and it’s about the fear of a plane crash, that gnarly feeling of helplessness, and it’s written like 5 billion astromedallions better than anything I’ll ever write in this life or the next 8.

And I’m on a goddamm plane! It freaked me out. I almost stopped reading it, being a small-kine superstitious bastard at times. But I thought, hey, if this plane’s gonna crash, it’s gonna crash, despite any thoughts flippin through my dome.

In any event, please read the following, which I present as reason # 4,080 why Ian Fleming’s James Bond books should be enshrined in the literature section of your local Waldenbooks instead of relegated by the filing system to the action/suspense section, where they aren’t anyway, cuz I’m pretty sure they’re out of print. Anyway, the following is the aforementioned excerpt from Live & Let Die. Yadda yadda. Read, danielsan(s):

They were flying at 15,000 feet when, just after crossing Cuba, they ran into one of those violent tropical storms that suddenly turn aircraft from comfortable drawing-rooms into bucketing death-traps. The great plane staggered and plunged, its screws now roaring in vacuum and now biting harshly into walls of solid air. The thin tube shuddered and swung. Crockery crashed in the pantry and huge rain hammered on the Perspex windows.

Bond gripped the arms of his chair so that his left hand hurt, and cursed softly to himself.

He looked at the racks of magazines and thought: They won’t help much when the steel tires at 15,000 feet, nor will the Eau de Cologne in the washroom, nor the personalized meals, the free razor, the ‘orchid for your lady’ now trembling in the refrigerator. Least of all the safety-belts and the life-jackets with the whistle that the steward demonstrates will really blow, nor the cute little rescue-lamp that glows red.

No, when the stresses are too great for the tired metal, when the ground-mechanic who checks the de-icing equipment is crossed in love and skimps his job, way back in London, Idlewild, Gander, Montreal; when those or many things happen, then the little warm room with propellers in front falls straight down out of the sky into the sea or on to the land, heavier than air, fallible, vain. And the forty little heavier-than-air people, fallible within the plane’s fallibility, vain within its larger vanity, fall down with it and make little holes in the land or little splashes in the sea. Which is their destiny anyway, so why worry? You are linked to the ground mechanic’s careless fingers in Nassau just as you are linked to the weak head of the little man in the family saloon who mistakes the red light for the green and meets you head-on, for the first and last time, as you are motoring quietly home from some private sin. There’s nothing to do about it. You start to die the moment you are born. The whole of life is cutting through the pack with death. So take it easy. Light a cigarette and be grateful you are still alive as you suck the smoke deep into your lungs. Your stars have already let you come quite a long way since you left your mother’s womb and whimpered at the cold air of the world. Perhaps they’ll even let you get to Jamaica tonight. Can’t you hear those cheerful voices in the control tower that have said quietly all day long, ‘Come in BOAC; Come in Pan Am.; Come in KLM’? Can’t you hear them calling you down too: ‘Come in Trans Carib. Come in Trans Carib.’? Don’t lose faith in your stars. Remember that hot stitch of time when you faced death from the Robber’s gun last night. You’re still alive, aren’t you? There, we’re out of it already. It was just to remind you that being quick with a gun doesn’t mean you’re really tough. Just don’t forget it. This happy landing at Palisadoes Airport comes to you courtesy of your stars. Better thank them.

Bond unfastened his seat-belt and wiped the sweat off his face.

To hell with it, he though, as he stepped down out of the huge strong plane.

Ok I might have gone a little over the river and through the woods on that one, but hey, I think it’s the shit, and I like sharing shit with you, dear innernet wanderer, and I hope you have a merry rest of your morning evening afternoon as you delve further into this thing which we call existence. Or something like that.

Wednesday, January 28, 2004

so um wait up I’m gonna go to the bathroom. Don’t worry nothing extreme or dangerous just some relieving of said bladder. Well, I guess not said, cuz it, strictly my bladder that is, wasn’t referenced per se, but, well, you get the jist, or ya dig, the tweak, of the argument I’m saying, even though I’m not in all seriousness trying to force any kind of understanding on you that you’re not ready for. Honestly. I’m just trying to type crap and find time for bathroom time therein.

Ok now that that has been accomplished, you really must wait for me while I accomplish this one vitally important task. I would try to squeeze in two, but you see, this other guy was just being a total jerk off, and therefore, he gets the, ya know, can’t get you that right now sir technique, when in all actuality I really can’t, at least not the whole kit & kaboodle, but I could get him something to get the ball rolling on his end, but well, subscribe to asshole magazine and don’t be surprised if you get some sour jello pudding pops come Wednseday afternoon.

Oh update! There’s like this one other beyatch that I should get some shit over to as well, so um maybe wait like 5 astro medallions and then check back, cheerio?

Well I completed one of my assigned tasks and in celebration I’m typing this unbelievable relevant sentence. Hold on and let me fax this thing and then, well, shit, the cracker jack kid might be calling cuz shit’ll be crackin’ that hard, believe me in all sincerity when I say that.

Ok, yes indeed, oh yes, that other thing. One couple of moments if you would please. Oh whut’s that? just a smidgen of my time? Ok, you know I’ve never been able to say no to you, not my dear readership of rapscallions and jurk storr aficionados. You, all 3 of you, including my imaginary friend Julius and franklin the pet store owner from Wisconsin, are the real backbone of the innernet, and for that, you are appreciated as far as the furthest reaches of wherever you can see if you look out your window. Ok, now that I’ve buttered you up mildly, gimme a damn second to take care of some biznass.

Hmmm. It required further review from the board. Which means you know whut my fantastic foursome appreciaters, yeah, you guessed it, quality time with herbie the robot. Peace & aloha.

Bruce sat in the easy chair in the den, waiting for the police and thinking. Upstairs there was silence, followed by fits of screaming and crying, followed by silence again. The two remaining pieces of this shattered family were dealing with their grief. They had moved to the guest room, leaving little Tommy’s body in the boys’ room to await the authorities.

He couldn’t get the picture of the body out of his head. The child had died from strangulation, but there had also been blood. Apparently Jeremy had stabbed his son through the stomach with a knitting needle, getting a good flow of blood going, painful but not fatal, before he had proceeded to squeeze the life out of his youngest offspring.

How could the man have done such a thing? It just didn’t make sense. Brainwashed? Some kind of demented extortion blackmail conspiracy? It was just too much of a coincidence that this had happened the same night as Theresa discovering Jeremy beat to a pulp, dumped in front of their house.

The sickest part, the image burned deepest in his mind, was of Jeremy with that big shit-eating grin spread across his face as he released the neck of the boy and dropped him to the ground just as Bruce & Theresa had burst into the room. Then he’d started laughing, eyes looking directly at them, but through them, seeing yet unseeing. And Jeremy had kept right on cackling maniacally as he smashed his way through the upstairs picture window, as he seemingly bounced off the concrete driveway 20 feet below, and as he ran off into the night.

How could someone so sick, so evil & demented, live in your midst for so long without giving away any clue as to his true nature? What kind of monster was so good at concealing itself that not even the ones it was intimate with had any notion of the evil festering below the surface?

In the middle of one of these desperate thoughts, the police and ambulance showed up, and Bruce was caught up in explanations, anguish, and all the requisite emotions of the situation yet again. The police quickly took charge of the scene, interviewing both Theresa and Jeff, analyzing the crime scene, and what not. Throughout all the procedures, Bruce’s mind could not let go of that vital question. How had such evil hidden itself for so long? It gave him a very defined chill, and he realized that he would never be the same again.

originally posted at a dog named clipper

Tuesday, January 27, 2004

Happy birthday lewis carroll.

Fukn pervert.

So Vegas was a fukn blaaaaaaaast. Superdope. Lost more than I won, but not by too much, so it’s all gee.

Tryin hard to get motivated on shit today, but fuck, I’m tired, my dawgs.

Speaking of my dawgs, was good seein em, one & all, peace to those that made it out for the anniversary of an old fart’s entrance into this plane of reality. One love.

Shiznat, that’s some fukn, um, crizap with a sleestack action. Farken shite.

Peep this audio shit over at muscle’s if you wanna hear some moron’s profanity laced tirade about it.

Somebody told me that eddie van halen told some interviewer or some shit like that that if randy rhoads were still alive, he’d blow everybody away, him included. And that randy shredded way harder than him back in the dizzle. I thought that was pretty big of him, considering that eddie doesn’t exactly suck, but fuck, randy rhoads, pretty sure his ghost was chilling in the wayne Newton theatre this weekend, cuz wayne, contrary to popular belief, wasn’t around, Chicago was up in the bizzle instead.

But fuck Chicago. The city too. Why not. I’ve never been there, so don’t take it too personally.

I saw rip taylor in the hotel lobby. Unfortunately he wasn’t throwing glitter all over the place. Wait, not glitter, confetti. Plus we saw eddie griffin in the back of some club. Well, I didn’t, but my friend did. So that means we’re pretty famous now, yadda yadda, Pringles backup dancer, dogshit acres, etcetera.