Friday, July 30, 2004

“I check cheddar like a food inspector.” Jay-z penned that, but it was ghost written by officer bird, who I just found out, after all these years, is actually officer byrd. Thanks paxgitmo, radiohumper, pseudonyms wrapped in an enigma, for both the info, and the fond dedication to he that rides bicycles yet might fly, the bird you can’t smoke, the almighty O.B. that ain’t a tampon, chuuch, aka Jackson black, son of five, father of a thousand. Cummin’ strait outta muthafuckin’ riverside, and that ain’t no muthafuckin’ joke, despite cube starin’ at me all funny in the corner.

Whut else was I gonna say. I already said, um, that. Hmmm. Oh yeah, I finally met my niece day before yesterday, and she is all that the press clippings have portrayed, plus a bag of biscuits. Guy smiley ain’t got half the facial expressions as this future whatever she decides to do. I gotcher back baby girl. Play on playa. Chuuuch.

Let’s see. Big ups to jack daniels for keeping me sated. Big ups to my better half for keeping my mind on my life and my life where the strife ain’t keeping a flip flapped cracker jack on front street, and big ups to my fam from the g-town for comin’ out and representing like the biggest most notorious whatchacallit since the h-town posse first scarred a face, big ups to my sis out in nyc for droppin me a line and reppin like the 83rd section. It’s real in the field, and don’t even think for a sec it ain’t. werd to OFFICER BIRD. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to think of him as a byrd. It brings images of a paralyzed football player whut they make made for tv movies about, and I know the original anti-nerd ain’t ever going out like that.

Whut else? G-unit, fuck y’all, I saw that pair a jeans up in demo, you copied my fade, don’t think I’m not up on the beeswax, but it’s cool, the reaper comes to reap and I come to sew, an even better pair of pants that will kick your tail up with the crips, bluds, all those fools, laughin they ass off at some true suckas, crime rate going up, down, whatevs. Sparks fly. Reggae music, elevatorized, ensues. Peeps know. Aloha.

Thursday, July 29, 2004

Howdy pards, I’mma write a lil something something, wrote a song about it, like ta hear it? Well fuck you. So, yah, the jurk storr called, but just as I was about to pick up, they hung up, but I knew it was them, ya know, call waiting, so I’m like sitting there considering how to approach this problem, I mean, there’s all kinds of things I could do, I could call them back and totally throw it in their face, but that would be mildly retarded, cuz prolly they just dialed the wrong number and then I’d look stupid for being so obsessive about it, you know, like I care more than they do, or I could just ignore it, prolly the best option, but then it might be bothering me the rest of the day, ya know, wondering what the dillio was, or third I could fly over there in my, um, jetpack? Yah, jetpack, and like jump through the, uh, ventilation shaft, and kill everyone in the building. Or, nah, just beat them up really bad, and take all the high quality cheese from out their fridgerator and sell it on ebay and then with all that money start up my OWN jurk storr, and then they, party peeps, will be effed in the mezzanine, as we are wont to say.

Ok that was all bullshit.

Do you ever look for something but you don’t know whut you’re looking for, which makes it that much harder to find, and then you just go back to blah blah ville, to fill up the whatistat with graham crackers? Bleh. Bleh, double bleh.

I said that I don’t give a rat’s bastard sword about the democratic convention and the election in general (well, I didn’t say that, but now I’m saying that I did, another lie) well, it’s not true. (echo?) uh, and places that are real good to get info on said things, if you’re like me and you never watch tv, not due to some higher empowering theory of life, but simply cuz I don’t have cable, you should definitely click on more resorvoir than tarantino (for which I sometimes submit, be it ever so humble, material) and then another source lately that I have found is good is Mr. Tony Pierce, who has been providing lots of interesting insight into said event. It’s kind of ironic in an unironic way that I would mention both sections of the gigasphere in the same paragraph for reasons if you don’t already know I ain’t gonna tell you and just the fact that I’m mentioning it although it never really happened is prolly enuff to get my ghetto pass revoked but then immediately reinstated.

Uh. Yup. You could prolly just disregard basically everything I just said. Except the part that was insanely relevant. to, uh, your hamster. So, yah, fuck it. Aloha.

Wednesday, July 28, 2004

A very very beautiful thing is occurring in the blogosphere right now, one that brings tears of joy to this jaded rat bastard’s eyes, makes me think the sun really will come out tomorrow, and at various moments throughout the last few days has forced me to sporadically burst out into song, usually “the hills are alive” from Sound of Music or “fuck the police” by NWA.

What is this magical happening you might ask? Simply put, the almighty Super-Villain (aka ronny octavius) is breaking down the top 10, er, super-villains of all time, you know, like from comic books, complete with crazy critical analyses of said parties. This makes me wet my panties with unfloundering ineptitude. And that’s a good thing. It’s very well done & highly recommended. The supervillain list, that is, not me making wee-wee in my trousers. Although that ain’t bad either.

He’s currently on #6, and truss me, not literally with a rope & plyers, but in the sense of trusting me on an issue, it’s something you don’t want to miss. I mean, fuck the democratic convention. Bunch a piles jerking each other off if you ask me, not that that’s what I really think, but my aunt sally said it in a drunken rage the other night, so it must be true. She never lies after her 18th shot of Jim Beam. Unless it’s about charles in charge.

I agree mostly with everything on the list so far, except I’m kinda shocked at the lack of inclusion of the masterful mirror master, of flash’s rogues gallery fame. I mean, he could make you see a reflection of yourself. Like in a mirror. Brrrr, just thinking about it gives me the willies. I mean, a villain with a giant mirror? How can you go wrong? He prolly could even do coke off of his own ass, if he was limber enough. The possibilities virtually have no end. But, que sera sera, or whatever the Portuguese translation is of “who stole my crack pipe?”

Oh here’s a permalink to his latest entry, just in case you’re reading this like 87 years in the future, and you click over and he’s talking about like daffodils and their soil permutation relations to nuclear Armageddon, or if he’s, like, in a retirement home.

So what else is going on? Oh fuck it.

Monday, July 26, 2004

There are two songs that I seem to feel like listening to over and over and over again. The first is MC Chris’s hijack (click to listen) and the 2nd is that audioslave single with the killer guitar riff, I mean, the killahs, I mean, shit, that riff, it’s like, it should be in every song, but thank goodness it’s not, cuz then I guess it’d be played out.

Treacher linked him (mc chris) last week, but I don’t TECHnically have to credit him, cuz I had already heard of it vis a vis g-dog who had copped it off aquateen hunger force conduited via his character of sir loin, but, well, treach is the betch (that’s hoodie for best) and so, well, you know my steez. (steez is the word of the day, except not. The word of the day, er, phrase of the day, is charity whore. Write it down, but don’t propogate, cuz antonio’s got it locked, ie, patented.)

Uh, hmmm, yup, so, yah, so, fuck, I don’t know, tha jurk storr did NOT call and I was rather disappointed but in a good way, so yup, you know how that can go. Or you don’t. whatevs.

Nada to say and more time to say it. Stoked cuz she comes back on a jet plane today. That’s something. something good. Not to simp, I mean, don’t put me with vanilla ice in that phone booth, but, it’s like your killer tape, ya dig, and when it ain’t there, yer like, whoa nelly, yo, and, shit, wait, I’m not saying this, this is not airable material, this is like DL central, I gotta go back and codify it so you don’t understand it. Hold on. Eh, I guess It’s not too extreme sports, again, I’m para’s balls che Guevara steelo. WhatevS. Eh, I changed it anyway. If you’d like to sue me, my preferred lawyer for jim rogers the people’s lawyer to face off against is named officer bird.

How come no one besides me remembers officer bird?? I must be old and, um, regionalized.

Shizzle mcdizzle. So, uh, what about those, um, dodgers? They’re actually kicking ass now that you mention. Oh what, you didn’t? well eff you in the mezzanine, pliznosticater.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Darkness. Darkness complete and total, except for images, flashing in and out of vision. Visions of her. Laughing. Laughing at him, at what he felt, at what he said. Then, thankfully, sweet darkness again.

Later. Patches of light. Bits of sound coming through the haze. Pain.

Brendan opened his eyes and, thankfully, saw his bedroom around him. He didn’t even remember coming home last night. His head wasn’t pounding yet, but had a dull buzz surrounding it that would soon be a full blown siren.

The world began swimming. Brendan closed his eyes, trying to keep a grip on gravity, concentrating on where the ground was. Closing his eyes, however, was a bad idea, as the room began to spin and swim even more.

After several experiments with eyes open and closed and various degrees of laying down and sitting up, Brendan felt relatively sure he wasn’t about to puke. Jesus, he’d gotten fucked up last night. The last thing he remembered was the fourth free shot the bartender at the Shoe had given him. The drunken smile in the man’s eyes. After that it was just a blur. Maybe it would come to him later. Brendan decided not to worry about it for now and go back to sleep, now that his temporary vomit-scare had subsided. He lied down and was asleep in seconds.

Yo yo I don’t know why I’m still up. I had to get up like at 6 am on a Saturday to go werk which is the pile of donkey ass of all piles seeing as how I ain’t had a single day off since getting in Monday nite from a pair of long ass plane rides and 4 hour layover. Yah, whining, sorries. Wait, no, fuck that, only one sorry. Ok two.

Fukn gmail takes all day long to send pics to buzznet. I’m thinking I’m the biggest pile cuz I have buzznet but don’t even have a digital camera. You prolly hate me now. I just take pics that other people send me, usually from circumstances from which I was involved, you know, they’re being nice and sending me pics to remember shit, and I post it on the internet like a vandalous vandal, fukn mc ren style.

Oh that and I find comic books pics on the internet. Jesus what a tard.

Oh the gmail finally finished sending one. Ok I’ll send another. Just cuz I, um, shit, I don’t know why. Cuz I’m a donkey dirk digglin dig dug donkey kong addict? Fukn stupid.

Ok, gmail is taking like 83 astromedallion equivalent of years sending another pic. Yup. Um, except the pic’s not stupid, you are. No I am. No you are. Bah. Um, humbug.

So yah, you might think it’s really lame to like post pics from LAST year’s vacation when you just got back from THIS year’s vacation, but that’s just the way that the jurkstorr operates and if you don’t like it you can have your deposit back prick-yard. Yah! Prick-yard. That’s my new saying. If you hear someone use that, fuck that, I seriously just made it up, have never heard it, and, fuck, I’m going to the patent office tomorrow.

Fuck I’m tired. I’m going to bed.

Dood, did I tell you I was having the most insane dreams all night last night, and I knew I was dreaming, and they were nightmares, so in my dream I was trying desperately to wake myself up, but I couldn’t, like, I knew it was a dream, you dig, but I couldn’t wake up, (kind of like that KRS-1 song where he's a blunt) but at least I knew I was in a dream, so I could give myself super powers, cuz shit, I saw dream warriors, like I could put an invisible shield around myself and fly, but so could the vampire bitches, so, it was still kinda scary.

So eventually I was able to wake up, or at least I THOUGHT I had woken up, cuz I was in my house and in my bed, and then I go out into the living room, and there’s like people wandering around in this room beyond my kitchen that, like, doesn’t exist, and I’m like “what the fuck are you doing here?” and I forget what they said, but then I realized that I had mindfucked myself and was not awake but actually still asleep.

I did this like three more times, falsely waking up in my old apartment, my grandparents’ old house, and my parents’ house I think, and every time I was fooled, but only for a minute, and I was trying to roll around on the ground in my dream hoping I would roll out of bed and wake myself up.

Thankfully my alarm went off. Fuck I’m freaking myself out now, cuz my dog just walked in and scared me, I thought it was the demons again.

No more whiskey, thai food, and revenge of the overfiend before sleepy-time.

Ok now I’m really going to bed. but not before reading a little more american psycho. hopefully that won't have an adverse effect on my nocturnal subconscious adventures. aloha.