Friday, January 28, 2005

yoyoyo. So, uh, why axe why, bud dry, yadda yadda yadda, what’s the goddam point? Well, the point is to, uh, shit, that’s why I axe the muhfuckin questions, yah? Cuz I don’t know. Dummy.

So the clips have won 2 in a row and got 3 very winnable games before they head out on their monster 9 game east coast road trip. Shitty part is the road cool part is the east teams mostly suck so let’s hope for some dubs. And some dubyas. Not that kind, you know, yah, THAT kine. Yup. That’s it. You know, don’t ack like ya don’t.

Hmmm. Is this like so 1972 or whut? I’m trying to ascertain, um, digress, no, goddammitt, instigate? Nah, that still ain’t it.

I don’t know whut the fuck I’m trying to do with this shit. Fine, you caught me. Take that satisfaction and barter it down on 3rd street for like that kumquat slicer you always never wanted. Bleh. Welcome to over-it city. Population: like 80 grand. Plus the mice & muskrats. And fire hydrants. And, uh, chipmunks.

Thursday, January 27, 2005

I didn’t think anything could be more incredible than Deirdre the drunken dolphin in her original state, leaping frollickingly out of the blue ocean for her cereal, but then muscle68 blessed me with this wondrous creation:

Tears of joy obviously ensued.

PS: clips beat the lakers last nite. yes you read that correctly.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005

rejected breakfast cereal mascots

Monday, January 24, 2005

I’m busily taking care of “action items” and by “action items” I mean items involved with my vocation which require some sort of action on my part in order to puddle them through on to the next step in the process of becoming taken care of, at least for another day. Now stop fucking bugging me.

I’m telling myself today that I have to write a longer blah blah. I know lately all I’ve been doing is saying like “uh, the jurk storr called, out of halibut” and putting up some retarded picture and being like “hi, I’m still putting crap up, but it’s not like any kind of, eh, you know” the problem being that I just don’t give a fuck. I read blogs that seemingly care & I’m like “oh that is so 1972.”

Then I realized that fuck it, 72 was a hell of a year, so maybe I should try this actually typing crap until that Microsoft guy tells me it’s been a page. Then and only then will I do the etcetera dance. Eh, or not.

No, no, no, seriously, it’s gonna be meaningful, and truthful, and full of evil lies, corporate slogans, and wherewithalls that would make your head spin, but at the end of the day you’re gonna look back and think “dammit, when I read that one dillio on the innernet today, well, gosh darnit, that meant something, and I’ll carry that knowledge, of what I learned & what I hallucinated that I might have learned, with me until the day that I die.”

And then you’ll crack a miller lite. And then, well, you’ll sit in front of the tv and ponder all the imponderables. Like how that one thing you read on the innernet, despite being so beatifically grand, may have possibly and imperceptibly at the time ruined all other forms of communication for you for the rest of your life, reducing you to a quivering tub of jelly, forever wondering what could possibly top it. Ad infinitum describing to yourself the moment when you will even the remotest possibility of chancing upon something even half as epically poetic.

Sadly, the day will never come, you will get old & gray & withered, having read numerous quantifications on existence by joyce, hemingway, iceberg slim, all that shit, but none of it will have that jene say kwah of having all the meaning yet none of the substance, describing it all in the minutest detail yet telling you absolutely nothing, as the words you are reading right now. I wish I could say that there was still time to reverse this phenomenon but if you’ve made it as far as this then there’s really no hope. You are forever blessed and cursed in irretrievable tandem in that now you know just how inequitably unequible the world can be. Or something like that, depending on various etcetera acred ratios, and, you know, um, formulas. And stuff.