dr. doooom's answering machine

Normally I’m the last person to care about such things, ok, maybe not the last, but 2nd, 3rd, to last, fuck, I don’t know, but, the dodgers scored ten (10!) runs in the first inning tonite in a win versus the reds, former team of Charlie hustle and marge schott, two of the most maligned yet at the same time iconic symbols of cincinatti, a city to which I’ve never been.

Have I mentioned how much I love LA? A lot. Not nearly as much as the degree of the love for which I have my wife. Not to be big simpin up in this piece, and that’s the last I’ll say about it, but let’s just leave it at, I have an amazing life, I have an amazing wife. If luck were astromedallions, I’d have a million plus.

So I was just in the city of angels last week and had a fucking blast. Big congrats to my man on his nuptials, for which I was overly proud to stand at his side as the best hombre, the biggest honor since lil’ cease toted the chroners for biggie, shit, bigger, and, well, I’m at a loss for words.

Yes, I’m a little tipsy. I’m loving the world. Even you. That person sitting in the closet playing gin rummy. It’s all good. There’s some form of master plan which will present itself someday. That has been the key to my success, if that’s what you’d call this, (I do), believing in the better things to come, in the darkest days, well, shit, that’s just the opportunity to have the biggest turnaround and show those mofos just what kind of gangsta you are. The kind that bushwick bill would be proud of. That otha level style. You know what I mean.

Fuck, I’m blabbing. But it’s beyond good. Not because it’s literature, which it’s not, but because it comes from the heart, which is why I started this shit in the first place, cuz, fuck, it’s for the fucking kids, man, the fucking kids, only it’s not, it’s for every person who ever felt like a total fucking piece of shit and knew they were unredeemable and then one day they saw a rainbow and realized, shit, this jurk storr shit, this could work, it could mean something, it could be like that plastic bag flapping across the back alley, it could be that one moment in whateverville, the time where you knew the ultimate feeling of ultimateness. Whatever, if you don’t know what I mean, you will. Or you won’t. either way it’s cool. Figure your own philosophy out, not that that’s what this is, this is, fuck I don’t know what this is, but it’s good, at least for me right now.

Shit, man, I almost cried when I gave that speech. I’m an emotional pile of donkey squat. Nothing wrong with that. I’m finding my inner deuseldorf. And I like him. He’s not a bad dude. Not half bad at all. And you’re pretty kosher yourself. Well, probably. You might be an asshole. Work on that, will ya? I’ll do the same. Peace & aloha.

Posted 1:55 PM by Alfred

Howdy pards. Not sure why I’m writing shit, not sure why I’m not. Every time I usually sit down to prattle lately it’s master thesis related, disjointed as said project currently is, and in a strange way it’s making it better, I’m finding different voices, different ideas, but I’ve gotta meet the ways of where they become twained in a soon time capacity, and crank the braces out in between the areas and get the names straight, although the identities are easy to identify. In fact, fuck all that, editing is a beasts job to be left in a cage, I’m gonna feed that bitch about 53 pounds of crapsterpiece and see what it spits back at me, but trust I’ll keep a copy for the files. Always keep a copy for the goddammed files. The book of this shit is gonna come out soon, too, I just need a cover and a spine. Truth. It’s all set, I even printed it all out, it’s a thick manuscript full of fucks and shits and half truths and not quite completed thoughts and it’s gonna jump to 85 million on the best seller lists within at least the next 127 years, by which time the only part of me that will be alive is my brain stem sitting in a puddle of radioactive chloroform in a back alley entrance only basement in Anaheim. And fuck Anaheim, that’s gonna really suck, but, well, time and tides, etcetera.

tony pierce

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Posted 6:44 PM by Alfred

The things that I say add up to zero anyway so I’ve come to the idealized or lack thereof conclusion that why bother typing blather in this here espacio, why not complete the circle of nonverbage since it’s all just a circle jerk anyway. I mean jurk.

But I won’t. I don’t have the guts nor pinache of say, a supervillain, to just call it quits and blaze all the bitches in a blaze (yup, double werd score) of glory. I don’t have the cojones to shoot all the cokeheads up and jump from the third floor balcony.

Nope. I’ll sit here and type a boatload of bullshit and you’ll read it, or not, or you’ll accidentally stumble onto it and then most likely strangle yourself or even more likely click immediately to the goat porn you were actually looking for.

It’s funny there used to be a time where I was hoping to regulate myself and limit my crapsterpiece expositions in this here, and now it’s like decades pass and I look and it’s still FDR wondering whut his d feels like sitting on a boat in Hawaii likely thinking who gives a flying fuck anyway, then realizing he’s gotta get off his ass, well, just metaphorically, and save the world. Or something like that. Fuck it.

Well, the master thesis is going along, not smoothly, but progressing, actually maybe it’s theses now, the nature of the way I’ve been doing the shit is that it’s split between various sectors and I’ll just open a window and think, ok, where was I, and then just write from there, so the editing job is gonna be monstrous, but I kind of liked this one part where the main dude is at his grandfather’s funeral's afterparty, and his dad starts telling the tale of the darkest horse in their family, this guy who decided to get a sex change back in the late 60’s, if that even is possible, and then after years of rejection from every end of society eventually found some semblance of happiness as a bearded lady in the circus.

And here I am thinking that’s original; it was probably on an episode of matlock or some shit like that and I’ve been repressing it all these years. Oh well.