Sunday, January 09, 2005

It is nigh time to write some random ass crapsterpiece dogshit acre type shit. I really do want to crank the book out, er, the blook, and like, shit, I mean, it’s basically done, you dig, like, the, um, shit, what was I gonna say, you know, like verbage part, it’s just like making the cover & the back cover & the spine and all that shit & paginating that bullshit, and shit, mr. Pillsbury is calling.

It’s all good. He didn’t burn. Don’t worry. Did I tell you that was my nickname in jr. high? Pillsbury? Don’t ask. And fuck you by the way for wondering. Bastard son of a bastard sword. Fucker. Anyway, I’m drinking cheap wine.

Where was I? Oh yeah, cheap wine. Well, fuck that subject, nowhere to go with it really. I guess I could tell you the story of how the night before I flew out to Hawaii for the first time, one way ticket ya dig, I drank a lot of wine, not sure if it was cheap, with my grandma & grandpa. That was some cool shit. My grandpa’s dead now, but he’s in a better place. I guess I shoulda said passed away. But that’s just like a, um, hmmm, what’s that word? Euphemism. Anyway, it was weird, when he died, he’d been getting blasted with the alztheimers for a long time, at least a few years, and it was like, in a way he’d been dead for a while before the body actually caught up. Yup, this is a nice happy subject. That’s why my motto is “fuck wine.”

Not really. Hmmm. I shouldn’t put this on this shit. Eh. Hmmm. Hope my Mom doesn’t read it. Well, maybe she will. Hi Mom. Sorry to be so blunt. I miss grandpa a lot. I really do. I miss him more than anyone I’d say that I know that has passed this mortal coil, which for someone who has lived over three decades is a surprisingly low figure. All that clean living, I guess, heh heh. The first person I remember dying was a kid named Tray when I was seven years old. He got hit by a car. I was in Indian guides with him. He was a twin, fraternal, with a girl. He had a lot of brothers & sisters. My dad told me he wanted to talk to me. He took me outside and sat me down and told me what had happened. I was a little confused and, when the reality dawned, extremely sad, especially at the part being of which that he wouldn’t be around anymore. I got sadder thinking about his family and what they must be going through. Indian guides wasn’t really the same after that.

Sorry for being such a depressing piece of shit. I’m really in a good mood, and, actually, still, after I write this all, still in a good mood, ah shit there’s mr. Pills again. He’s aight. Burnt a little on the bottom yet still not done inside. Arent’ we all like that? Maybe not. Uh, ok, probably not. Well, actually, maybe. Eh, whatevs. Nighty night.