Friday, April 02, 2004

so, the important thing to remember, no, wait, not like that, I won’t start another, um, shit, I won’t even degrade it with a descriptive term. The problem with this much prattle is eventually you’ve uttered every utterance, shit, even that one, to the point where everything you say, every little nuance and segwayed interlude is yet another practice in not just futility but overwrought verbal excrement, ok, not shit, seriously, not like that, but even that, shit, that last bit, where I say seriously, I mean, who overuses that as much as I do? Nobody, zero my hero, even that, used, abused, tattooed on the ass of infamy for all to observe and understand. Or not give a rat’s asshole burger about.

Fuck I could really go for a bob’s big boy big boy burger right about now, not that I’m hungry, but just like one bite, one little smidgen, just to get that taste flowing, and then, just a dollop (used – the term not the dollop) of, well, ok, a little more than a dollop, (massively overused, the ok thing interspersed wither nither all through the hither) of that classically classical chocolate ice cream shake, but like that thick ice cream, na mean? (used, big time) the og style shizzles (used not just by me and mine but a nation of snoop dogg wannabees with gin & juice backstocks throughout southern alabama, oh, no, not that, even the random state reference, which you’ve never even been too) that just kept you going when you were a kid, amazing what those treats and momentoes with doctor dumento can do when a little of the mental scrapplesauce salad comes flying your way.

Oh, used beyond any natural ramifications, the ending of a paragraph, and then a whatever you call it, with some sentence that doesn’t mean jack shit even if you’re driven a sedan through the sudan.

Thursday, April 01, 2004

I feel like Kenny Banya after an all-night fucking ovaltine binge. Ovaltine laced with angel dust and percodan, the high dosage shit. kool-aid in the walls style. Leaking faucets of un-ancient wisdom. Sheeeiitt, what a psychosomatic load of asscrack. But, serially, the banster might just have a little cup of cake for all of us that doubted a playa, I mean, shit, we’re just spouting off to the negasphere and he was an object of derision on the main stage, network fucking idiot box, el numero uno cosa en el televizeeyone.

I won’t even weigh in on this whole howard stern dillio thang just cuz it’s a horse and my name’s mr. ed, but serially, fuck janet Jackson. Fuck her straight to hell, with a burning carriage of oui magazines flickering and splattering embers of blackest darkness (great, shitbag, blackest darkness, then why don’t you have some of the coffee-est coffee, jerkoff), as it billows recklessly into the lake of dead souls.

But seriously, janet, fuck you. and fuck you again. Cuz, fuck, I mean, you fuck all this shit up, and blow up, and everybody else is fucked, and you just stick a fukn bathroom blower to your goddamm balloons of bestiality, and giggle, and fukn write a check to Tito, and call it a night, and we’re all left holding the fucking bag. Bitch.

bah! april fools. fuck april fools. fuck april and fuck fools and fuck wal-mart

Wednesday, March 31, 2004

so like why does anything have to make even the slightest sense in all of astromedallionville? If you ask me it’s all just a big blatant and obliviated bloglossical dollop of donkey shit.

yup, so, uh, back to the topic of Murphy brown someday meeting rza and ghostface on the astral plane to do battle over a jar of grey poupon, yes, it’s set for 2:30 on Thursday. Next Thursday.

So yah, there’s a bunch of shit going on, but there’s this one seemingly minor annoyance that could turn out to be the most majorest, like in d minor. Officially.

And then don’t even get me, fuck, no, can’t go there, like, not the place, ie destination, but the avenue, ie thouroughfare, you know whut I mean, oh, shit, that is, well, not exactly, but seemingly related to what I was going to say, or well, ratherly, didn’t say, at least not in notoriously obvious wherewithwhat factoid analysis.

There are now 15,542 words in the master thesis.

I still got a ways to go, but shit is percolating again.

Matter of fact, I step right back into that shit and it’s like I never left.

The words flow easy as hell, I just get tired and zoned after a while.

They’re good words, though, I think, hopefully not too pretentious and dependent on dogshit sleight of hand wordplay.

Ok maybe a little, but cut me a break, norman mailer I ain’t.

Not that I’ve ever read him. As usual, talking shit.

Seriously though? And not to toot my own horn? But I think I’m on to something;

I’d offer a taste spoon, but, really, I’m not ready. Not ready for anybody’s opinion on it. Or lack of opinion. Or praises, thanksgiving, degradations, any of that shit, it’s too personal, too stark, too, fuck, I don’t know.

But it ain’t dead, and I won’t let it wither away, not in this day and age my peeps.

Anyway, sleep tight and aloha.

Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Could someone pleeeeze let me know if the jurk storr calls, cuz I’m expecting like the most important message of the 21st century.

But seriously folks, you’ve been great, and for my last number, I’d like to do a simplified yet updated version of general patton’s speech at little big horn in 1872, the funny thing being that few if any people know he was actually there cuz he like did a time displacement jump with that guy from quantum leap.

That guy’s hair always bothered me. And the way he came on Murphy brown and thought he was so cool. I mean, we’re talking Murphy brown here, she’s like the fake babwa wawa, you gotta rep the lbc a little harder than that if you’re gonna get your playa’s card. Chuuuch.

I’m thinking that new dmx movie looks kinda interesting. Saw taking lives with collagina jolie this weekend, and you’ll never guess the surprise ending!!!! Hold on to your oops I crapped my pants diapers cuz when you see that doowhop hit the wizbang it’s like ooh-whee. Ok maybe not so much. It was aiight though, actually good in a not so bad way. I also wanna see that jim carrey drug movie where like he wakes up in snow banks with Kirsten dunst. Fukn Kirsten dunst seems like she’s on serious drugs, I mean, at that whatever awards show, mtv, she was like all scattered.

Dang and a skibble, though, if spidey part deux doesn’t look dooooooope. Like, super dope. Lots a folks think they shoulda busted venom out for this one, but fuck that. green goblin then doc ock is just about perfectamundo, even if your name isn’t JJ.

Fuck, who the fuck am I, fukn gene siskel? I mean I don’t even have scrotum cancer or whatever the fuck he died of. Ok, that wasn’t nice, don’t speak ill etcetera, but, fuck, just cuz he’s dead means I can’t give him a little ribbing? That doesn’t seem fair on either end of the astromedallion spectrum.

So I was watching the first couple innings of that yankee game in japan last night. Being in Hawaii, it actually started around midnight for me. The fact that that makes me infinitely better than you is besides the point. Not that there is one, but, fuck, fuck the Yankees. Nah, not fuck em, but, eh, whatever. The announcers kept jizzing their pants about what a “traveling all-star team” they are, and how “there’s never been a line-up like this before” and how “oh, peter gammons, come over here and slurp my johnson under the microphone stand,” I mean, it was almost that much of a jerkoffosphere moment.

And does peter gammons have to fucking know EVERYTHING about fucking baseball? Fuck, be wrong every once in a while you arrogant fuck. and jeez, do you and conan o’brien hang out at the same barbershop or whut? Oh, snap. Oh and is it me or is alex Rodriguez like 80 times the pretty boy he was already now just cuz he’s mr. yankee? Jeez what a fucktard. “hi I’m sacrificing so much to play 3rd base and help the team and BLAH BLAH BLAH, fuck you.” end quote.

Speaking of conan, he was really funny last nite, even though it was a rerun. He was like jumping around and doing his little shenanigans with the band, and, oh me oh my oh it was muy precioso. And that guy from that 70’s show was on. He seems like a dork but in a good way, like a guy that you could hang out with and he wouldn’t be all “I’m a big star, now kiss my pinkie ring” not like that ashton kutcher demi bangin mofo. You know who I mean, mr. topher, the main guy, “dumbass”. Oohh, carlton, I’ll get you for not letting me edit this part out. Daredevil may have only killed you in an alternate universe, but trust me, when I get out from under the legal entanglements of this contract, your ass is grass. Long beach.

PS: much props, respect, and thanks to sam ruby dot com for theoretically allowing me to post the above spidey cover despite the fact I never asked Sam Ruby, if in fact he is a real person, for the permission. I’m kind of known for doing shit like that. If you’re any kind of spidey fan, you owe it to yourself to check this site out, super bad ass to the bone with a shitload of info and high quality scans of just about every fucking comic spider-man ever squirted a web in. hmmm, that sounded vaguely weird. Oh well.

Monday, March 29, 2004

Yo, so whutsup. Bleh. Don’t really feel like writing shit. um, wait, ok, yah, I do. Bleh. So, um, just a smidgen hung today, in more ways than one, well, in that other way, I’m way hung, heh, you know the game, your bitch chose me, so says snoop dogg, so get your pooper scooper etcetera.

I wanna be the anti-braggart, like, sayin whut a piece of shit I am. But, sadly enough, I’ve done it before, and others have done it better than I, and, um, yup. So, shit, yup, whatevs.

As Harvey the rabbit drove me home from Hawaii Kai last nite, I stopped over at the side of the road, at the high point of that hill part, you know, like after you drive past sandies on your right over that ridge and come out the other side and there’s that phat view of rabbit island and the ocean and all that shit? yah, that part. And then I took a piss. And it was, like, surreal, cuz I was a little tipsy, ya heard, and I could see the headlights of the car and hear the engine, and I had this thought as mr. lizard got drained, like, what if somebody just pulled up and stole my car, I’d be fucked, out in the middle of nowhere, like, the closest civilization from that spot would prolly be the sea life park, and the prollem is I don’t think there’s really some adam sandler guy that lives there and talks to dolphins and shit, and even if there was, he’d prolly be asleep, but at least it wasn’t that cold, not that it happened anyway.

Nah, I got back in the car, and on second thought, I mean, Harvey was at the wheel, and wouldn’t have let shit like that happen in the first place, but you never know with that fucking rabbit, you know, you just never fucking know.

peep it: a punisher blog

PS: fuck carlton