Saturday, January 15, 2005

Hey wuddup, I, um, shit, gotta stop saying um, well, er, writing it at least, I don’t really say it that much, well, shit, I derno, maybe I do, whatevs, you know if it’s clever hit that lever. I think I’m gonna try to steer the ship so that I eat ribs tonite. In fact, that’s the goal. That and the you know whut. No you don’t. you only think you do. Shit, you dunno. Ok, maybe you do. It’s actually the most obvious dillio of which you prolly have tried to educate yerself on, I’m by no means the or even a expert, but shit, you know how it goes, fuck it all to hell and hope that you get a late pass on the next level h-town style, I mean, scarface, neither the Italian nor the popolo one is gonna give you the freebie to skate through the scene, so don’t even think that, I mean, you gotta earn whut you get, in any and every thing, truss me, so, um, I guess that’s it for now

Friday, January 14, 2005

The clippers WON tonite. So, uh, how bout those clips? I mean, double overtime against shaq daddy and the heat, and they still pull it out. You know? This is shaq’s first loss in LA since moving to the eff ell aye, fa sho. Ya dig? They beat the lakes on xmas. The clips however was another story. Maggette with the clutch shot at the buzzer. Don’t get much bettah than that.

In other news, I just got my ticket for my homeboy’s, my MAIN homeboy’s, wedding in end of april slash beginning of may. I will be there if in fact or even if I am not square. It’s all inevitable. Like the degree to which the quickness exists to which I write this crap. It’s like a hummingbird, ya heard? Werd to officer bird.

If you didn’t know you already gots ta realize that the pee to tha gee has got that shit going on. Ya hear? Werd.

In other news, I’m stoked that I’m gonna be kickin it like chiken on the mainland. I am determined to hook up with anti & m68. we’ll see if it really happens. And possibly tony? Nah, he’s too big a celeb. Maybe xtx could come out for some blog summitage? You never know whut can happen until you drop the skillets. Chuuuuuuch.

The only way I could be more slammed at el trabajadore is if akeem olajuwon and clyde drexler walked in the door and did the h-town shuffle all up & down my spine, and not the h-town yer thinking, er, well, maybe yah, the real h-town, not the one on an island, the one in the vast resorvoir of hickness that is texas. Yup. Texas is cool. At least the airports. Fuck I don’t know whut I’m talking about. Lots of time in dallas airport, some in Houston airport, never walked out the door though so couldn’t tell ya. Fuck. Sidetracked again.

I got a really insanity acred mix cd from my holmes, not Sherlock, which included two songs of note. The first is a duet with paul barman and mf doom. You do the math. The 2nd is a classic sneaker pimps jam, that “find yourself” one, which I played out in the 90’s until I couldn’t listen to it anymore, and I was surprised, pleasantly, to find that the expiration had expired on its played outness and it was fresh and new again and surprisingly unique and non-dated. I’d highly recommend if that shit is in your cupboard collecting rust and or dust you liberate it and pop it in the nearest music playing receptacle and hit play.

I’m discovering that some things, this included, that appeared to be a ward on the wheel of progress are in fact greasing the sprockets and inhibiting that which I thought inhibited me. And these items vary in ways you could not or possibly could imagine. It’s almost like stimulating the mind follows through in other avenues to generate revenue, not just in the monetary sense, but in the complete wherewithal sense, that was not up until said point observed.


Wednesday, January 12, 2005

yoooo. Wuddup. Well, the clippers won. And, uh, I took a couple dogs for a long walk. And, uh, I’m drinking water.

Any you don’t give a shit about any of it.

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.