Friday, February 27, 2004

It is raining sooo fukn hard here you wouldn’t believe it. and the crazy thing about it is that it’s a true story, based on this Amish couple from New Orleans, jazz roots, and then, they went down to the corner store to buy some bread, right? And there was this old man there, and he was a little drunk, had at least 4, 5 beers, and then you know, not all giddyup type tarnations but something along the lines of a 2x4, wait, wait, wait, definitely not that, what the fuck, um, shit, so like, fuck, I made all that shit up.

Yeah so whatever it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyway when you really stop to think about it. cuz you KNOW the jurk storr is gonna call and then at that moment in which they call it’s gonna get hectic.

And at that precise moment, if you don’t know the true meaning of captain caveman or the furious five, Jackson five, five on five, five ain’t enough, do the running man, all that shit. ok I had no idea whut the matching coordinates of the first part of that sentence were in regards to the latter section, hmmm, well I’m listening to pink floyd’s more soundtrack and it’s like nice and mellow and happyville inside this little oficina is like official in many regards especially in light of the massive amounts of rain going on outside, I mean, it is iwo jima on a day when it was really rainy over here. Were talking perfect storm fukn mellow drama, but, fuck, no, shit is real, shit is fukn bacon with master channel all about meadowlark lemon’s 85 wigged out crazy insane betty girls were like on the juice metaphysically and atmospherically and all that other goofball shenanigans.

Fuck I have no, no, no no, don’t give up the ghost on the flavor crystals,cuz that shit is, like, totally foul, and like, fukn, all fucked up if you really think about it,which you’d probably be better of not.

Like literal quote, it’s fuckn pouring here right now, like seriously and in no uncertain regards with view to the gambino organization or any of the five families.

All respect.

Thursday, February 26, 2004

the clippers lost again. You don’t care.

This is a really interesting blog, by some girl who calls herself a “fag-hag” which apparently is like a girl that loves hanging out with gay guys. Muy interesante. She really likes glitter.

So, um, yeah, like, a whole lot of, yup, nothin’ going on. Ferreal.

Oh! But, gracias to True for reminding me, and getting me back on the horse, not the white one, but the, um, fuck I don’t know, blue one? Shit, anyway. Tonite I promise to get back to the master thesis. I was reading over the last bit I wrote like, shit, fuck, I don’t know, prolly a couple months ago already, I’m such a pile, and I was like, well shit, this shit ain’t bad, it really really ain’t. so yah, so that was nice.

And the degree to which you’re interested just hit about 80 million astro-medallions.

Maybe I’ll leak a little portion of the good ol’ master thesis for you one of these days, I would now but it’s on the home computer and that one has Microsoft works word processing and this one has fukn word, and I lost the fukn piece of shit conversion program which I downloaded somewhere in this piece of shit, and trust me, as fascinating as the story seems so far, that is the story of, fuck, whatever the fuck I was talking about, it all goes downhill from there.

And oh yah, I redid my links list, kinda. Fiddle dee dee fiddle dee doo. Don’t take too much meaning out of it. um, I was tired of like the little sections that used to explain how much you ruled in comparison to the rulons. I suddenly felt like, shit, if the rulons aren’t even a part of it anymore, than why is it still there. The section dillio, that is.

My brain is on a seirous fukn sabbatical this week for some reason. That’s it, I’m finding a picture of a rulon if it’s the last thing I do, posting this, and then putting a call directly into the jurk storr to find out just what the hell is going on.

I might settle for a picture of a romulan. Or anything else that strikes my fancy.

Why am I explaining this to you?

If not for Carlton, this crap would so not be getting posted.

Fuck yeah, now THOSE are rulons. Anyone who’s on that list, be happy, cuz you rule at least as hard as they do, and in fact, most of you rule much harder.

Sleep well tonite knowing that.

Update: had to take out that top rulon picture. wasn't coming up. I blame the man.

Wednesday, February 25, 2004

this is an excellent article on the clips getting their asses beat last nite.

I really thought you should know.

Worst loss of the season.

But we beat ‘em two other times this year, and shit, road woes. Fukn, um, their playin ‘nawlins next. You know you can’t control how much you care. It’s… taking you over, every little foggsicle. Like that, and that, but not that.

Shite. Clippers, c’mon down and find some nutsacks.

I think they’ll have an excellent game tonite. Elton Brand will go for like 30/15 if you know what I mean, and shit Q, shit Q will be bombin, son.

Shit. well, fuck whatever, I know its like all a bunch of dogshit.

So like, sorry if I’m , like wastin yer time, and there’z like a bunch of legit shit you were gonna do but I falsely diverted you for a while, I know it’s the time that’s the money that’s the power and I wouldn’t want to propogate on that shit.

Sooo, umm, yup.

so hey whutsup yah cruizin but not fo bruisin hopefully oh wait life alert, later hater, so yah, so anyway, so whatever.

So hey there howzit shakin or crackin or whatever echelon of consciousness is goin on in your mental at the moment. Forgive, or don’t, my inability to focus on any kine subject whatsoever, it’s like, the fingers require typage but the noggin has nothing to contribute to the process, so what you get, inevitably, is a large pile of something or other that is unidentifiable from any quadrant from which it may or may not be viewed. The only advice I have is to utilize all senses while checking for traffic.

Well I don’t want mi madre to think that I see her as some polish “darkly fantastic” artist with an unpronounceable name, so I better get it out there, happy birthday Mom. Thanks for everything I can think of and the prolly millions of things I can’t.

Tuesday, February 24, 2004

Happy Birthday, Zdzislaw Beksinski, born this day in Sanok, Poland Not sure if you’re still alive or not, but I’ll raise a drink tonite in the hopes that the ol’ tick tocker’s still tickin’, and that, well, you’re enjoying yourself and not plugged up to a bunch of machines waiting to croak or something depressing like that. unless that’s what your into. If so, then, carry on, don’t let an ass like me ruin your party.

I just or maybe um no was going to and am actually going to about to. And then I’m gonna go to the jurk storr, just for a second. I’ll be right back, I swear, wait, yes, I do. Then, and, if you’re going to have to be going around for spare change with the frollickin lands of make believe than in fantasy land. So, back to the jurk storr. I find it really, no, incredible, interesting that the legacy of the jurk storr goes all the way back to wacky al and his big green make-up kit, that he won in a national contest for all readers of 16 magazine, basically the central centerpiece of this generations wants and angst, so anyway, yeah, the jurk storr, it was heavy shit man. Heavy heavy shit courtesy of the jurk storr, they really delivered in the clutch, I have to tell you, I’d be repugnant in my duties as the head chambermaster if I was gonna even propogate any kind of knowledge that the inverse wasn’t in fact its exact duplicate.

Definitely and likely not so sure, if any chance at all, of finding the jurk storr in a slim summer breeze with foliage of amber waves and grain no the mighty might js is one in a million of riotous ass ass-rioters that are so ready to just bring the noize in your foeie de gras that yo, shit is raw.

Monday, February 23, 2004

Hey, what’s up. Oh, one thing: I’m not Kool Keith. Well, I am, but I’m not. I’ve been through this before. Too many times. Anyway, people keep asking me, and it’s cool, really, but well, there you go. Ain’t me. I ain’t him and he ain’t me. You know I ain’t slim and my brim is kinda tilted, but not like that. not like you might think. Seriously. And Ced-Gee, c’mon, loc, I can’t get you back up in the game, you gotta call life-alert to hook that shit up. Serially, though, homey might be a multi-millionaire or one foot, shit, two, inna grave for all I know. Really doe.

You might think, well, shit, Alfred, that’s pretty fukn kool keith of you to SAY that you’re not kool keith, so, um, shit, maybe you ARE the genuine article. Whatevs, think what you like, it’s up to you to figure out what to believe and what to call bullshit on. Sad to say, I can’t really help you there, because, in all honesty, it’s prolly close to a 50/50 ratio, the real vs. dogshit that is, up in here, ie this here space. If you can’t handle the heat, turn off your tanning booth. Chuuch.

There are a lot of theories as to my true identity, most of which are imagined and fantasized about by me myself and never forget I. The idea of people wondering makes me ponder the variants in name rank and serial number that could possibly be devised to cause the fans friends and foes hallucinations based in multiple realities. Don’t forget that this is all just a fabrication of the little boy living in my throat, feeding me lines and verses and options by which to confuse and titillate, if I may be so bold, and if I may not, well, shut this bitch down if you got that kind of clout.

Fuck, maybe I am kool keith. Nah, just kidding. I’m not. Seriously. I’m just some dude. Some California kook. Some Hawaiian soul brudda with no soul and no brothers. Some mack cruising the mall looking for bells to rock. Some joker from okeefenokee, my glasses strapped with croakies, hollerin at my peeps and kickin’ okey dokeys. Ya feel me? Then try and find me. But good luck, cuz I ain’t in the book. The good one or the bad one or the yellow one. I am in the red one, well, actually, I answer a red phone, and yah, it’s the cops, but I don’t work for them and they don’t work for me. We help each other out when it’s mutually convenient. And yeah, when shit gets hectic I gotta go on the lamb, cuz if justice ain’t flowing then I ain’t mowing. Your lawn, that is.