Sunday, August 24, 2008

Sunday (0)

did i do it? i know i skipped some.
i know i missed some numbers here and there.
there were real reasons- but there were no excuses.
it doesn't matter.
what matters is that it's another Sunday night. i spent the weekend being creative, feeling at the top of the world- living off the fumes of the art.
and now its Sunday night again, the worst night of the week. the night that i have to prepare myself for the day job. Sunday is when the creativity ends. Sunday night is when i realize that the things I've done to escape the toil of the unfulfilled have a shelf life of 48 hours.

it doesn't have to end, though.

eventually the creator finishes the world he has been building, and the denizens that he created take on a life of their own.
they may or may not know that he exists. they may or may not believe in him if they do. but he is there.
they came from somewhere...

and they live on, in the universe of the memories of the people that have allowed them into their brains. the universes grow, maybe, or cease to exist.

the worlds splinter. the creations die. the worlds live on. the creations wait patiently for instruction.

but, nothing is really that deep, is it? everything dies. and eventually, Sunday night will arrive again and the process will continue.

I mean hell-

there's always monday...

Friday, August 22, 2008

Merlock and Earth Prime- The first/Last Riot Act story (3)

Earth Prime.
located on the edge of the Milky Way, third planet from the sun, calender year 2008.
Merlock and his others travelled through a conduit created when he and the female version of himself, The Duchess, mated and created sextuplets.
Each one of the children had the power to open up bridges between the worlds.
Four of the children remained, two had escaped and become Johnny haunted House and Dwarf Toss- but that's another story.

Somehow, upon arriving on Earth Prime, the all the Merlock were absorbed into a single body. Merlock thought that this would lead to a more powerful existence, but soon realized that he was near powerless in this form- on this Earth.

this was of no consequence to him. he would still do what he had to to destroy the Riot Act of this world.

Merlock began to search fr Riot Act, but found no leads- no clues. was it possible that they did not exist on this earth? he knew that they were hear- he could feel them.

he was being drawn to them.

for ten years, he conducted his search until he was nothing but a crazed shell of a man, traveling the night and sleeping in dumpsters. He was a man possessed. he had to find the Riot Act. He felt them. they were here, somewhere...

Soon, he would succumb to the elements, to the insanity, to death.

Merlock died without ever knowing the truth- that Riot Act did exist here- in the thoughts and dreams of they're creator, in the form of comic panels that had never been drawn and in the shape of a film that had never been written or filmed.
The Riot Act that Merlock sought here was only a dream, though a strong one, in the brain of a lowly writer.

The writers dream had created and destroyed worlds. The writer had made heroes and killed them with little more than a stroke of the keyboard.
Whats more, he had made Merlock, then killed him before he could ever realize his potential.

But Riot Act would live on, somehow, somewhere because ultimately, the writers brain was the only Earth that mattered.

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Merlock (4)

Doc Merlock, Necrosis, The Dutchess, Sin Simian, The Surgeon- each a twisted version of the same man from different worlds.
The plan was as simple as it was insane: they'd destroy world after world, reserving one as a hell that they'd bannish the people that refused to worship them to, and the last, Earth Prime, would be a Heaven remade in their image.

They began on Earth Three, where they already had a member of their strange family implanted in that worlds greatest super team, Riot Act. Once recruited, Sin Simian began a killing spree that was soon joined by the other members of the Merlock. Earth Three was an earth inhabited by both man and intelligent ape. Simian used his mind control powers to turn the apes into an unstoppable beast army.

The Merlock swept from earth to earth, doing battle with each worlds champions, and ultimately besting them all-
Until Earth Prime...

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


what are you going to say to the man upstairs? he knows everything you've ever done, and whats worse, he knows the things you've done especially when you knew they were wrong. that's the difference between stupidity and ignorance- and stupidity is not the way into the pearly beyond.
this is it, now.
it's all winding down. you've done things you're not proud of, but you've made some heroic choices as well.
whet you do now, though, is your defining action.
how will you go out?
like a real man? like an ass?
how will you walk into the big mansion, kid.
what is your game plane?
what happens now?
how do YOU die?


Hud Gamble isn’t his real name.  It’s not Clyde or Marv Lindeman either.  All this shit he’s been feeding you over the past year?  Lies.  It never rained nails, there’s no girl in 202 and he never dreamed of bees.  The shit about him being the kid in the barrel?  Lie.  That racist barber story?  Never happened.  He never cried to Bill Withers’ “Grandma’s Hands.”  He didn’t have an Uncle Frank and there’s no such thing as the Clean Six or Whacky Pack.  He never cruised the Parkway and he always envied the ‘first chair’ in his high school band, regardless of what he might have told you.  Most of all, there’s no Preston’s Discount Auto and there are no bands named Usurper, the B-Rad Boyz, Carcass Cakewalk, Queasy Yakuza or Closely Watched Trains.  I looked it up.  They don’t exist.  Most importantly, he did move out of his hometown, only to return on certain occasions.  Where he moved to?  Your guess is as good as mine.

None of this shit is real.  You think all the time traveling shit or the superhero fluff he came up with was legit?  Not even. 

He’s a fake and a liar.

His real name is Sam Landman and he’s probably having a good laugh about all of this horse shit that he’s concocted.

But I’ll tell you one thing.  One of these days it won’t be so damn funny.

(goodbye for now) 

Tuesday, August 19, 2008


we went nto the Waffle house and had a seat.
all of us were trying hard not to laugh.
we ordered, and dave walked over to the juke box.
he put in "Revolution #9" 8 times. that cost $2.

after the first play, the other patrons seemed relieved. when it began again, some assumed that the song had just not ended yet.
by the third time, they were seething, and we were cracking up.

the waitress walked over to the juke Box and unplugged it.

"you owe us $1.75" we said, as she returned with the ketchup I'd requested.


Mop your floor with Knutzen’s and you’ll never see a better shine. A shine that will change your life.  A shine that tears open the inter-dimensional fabric of time and space.  Knutzen’s is the only floor wax that makes this promise.  It’s also guaranteed to fight off the Brainmen of Earth F.  And not only the lowly drones that live on the surface of Earth F, but legitimate Brainmen.  Those that rule the masses with metal fists and electro-rods.  With Knutzen’s, you’ll find a way to get exactly what you’ve always wanted out of life.  A streak-free shine and the power to crush Brainmen on their home turf.

Knutzen’s.  Perfect shine.  Kills Brainmen.

Monday, August 18, 2008

They saved Dracula's Brain! (7)

Oh God, Oh God, Oh God!
Gotdammit, Johnson, what's going on out there!?
Sheriff! The town, it's completely overrun with- call me insane- vampires!

You're not insame, and they'tr not just vampires.
Who are you?
I'm professor VanHelsing, and I've dealt with this before- though not to this magnitude.
Cut the ballon juice, Prof., and tell us something we can use!
well, it seems that someone was cloned the master of the night, Dracula- and they are overrunning the town!

Let's assume for a second that I believe in vampires, and thet they are led by the baddest fucking bloodsucking fucker that ever lived- who would clone that fucker, and why?

the army. they thought that they could control an undead army through manipulation and weapons, but all that they have done is damn us all. Dracula is stronger, deadlier, and more insane than they ever imagined- and now there is an army of him!

So, what do we do, VanHelsing? you seem to know so much!

Well, i do have an idea...and it's so dangerous, and insanely pyrotechnic that it just might work!

to be continued...


          Derelicts roamed the streets.  And not just in the bad parts of town.  Several houses in prominent neighborhoods were hit pretty hard.  Mostly with toilet paper.  And even worse?  Two-ply.  The Brentwood area, for example, looked like something out of an 80’s Brat Pack movie.  That tacked-on scene where some outrageous party is going on?  That’s what all of Brentwood looked like.

            If the derelicts weren’t ‘rolling’ yards, they were performing an even more despicable act.  The dreaded ‘Perils of Damocles,’ where a swarm of them would encircle a car and give it a buff job with bare asses.  Then they would try to ask for payment from the driver.  And they only took Discover card.

            All of the derelicts were soon apprehended, but not before half of the houses were rolled and a quarter of the cars had been ass-waxed.

            My childhood world of orange sweet pies and watching girls gymnastics on cable were over.


Sunday, August 17, 2008


you know what? it may sound stupid, but you never write about the store in the paper.
uh, why would i do that?
when the shop closes next door, we're going to really be busy.
and i need to know you're on board.
I'd fell better if you wrote about us.
that's a conflict of interest.
well, how do we fix that?
what do you mean? we don't fix that. it just is. it's a conflict of interest.
you aren't a team player.
I guess not.


The shrill squeal had been going on for nearly two days and none of the tenants bothered to complain to anyone, much less each other.  On the third day, the shrill was unnoticeable to them.  By that time, it had seeped into their consciousnesses and prepared them for the change.  The shrill got louder, though nobody noticed, even when it spread from the three story walk-up beyond the city limits and eventually into the rest of the Western Hemisphere.

The hope is that the shrill can be heard through space.


Saturday, August 16, 2008


i dropped a sample of my own seed on the way to the clinic. it had been a busy morning, so i was completely tapped.
my only choice was to pay a hobo to jack off.
this was my lowest point.


                   Erase boards and shit.  The fuggin’ dry erase boards.  Y’know what I mean?

            Heh-heh.  Yeah.  Right on.

            I got nuthin’.  ‘Cause fuggin’ fat cats.  The White House.  Touchin’ every penny, they gotcher’ fuggin’ fingerprints.  Erase boards.  Shit ain’t shit.

            I hear you.

            Don’t know you, but I truss’ you.  Y’know?  S’like big, big, big fuggin’ bitches tellin’ me what t’do.  They’ll take yer’ dick in their mouth and it’s like it’s meltin’ off.  Fuggin’ asshole bitches.


            Yeah.  Yer’ the man.  You know why?

            No.  Why?

            Fuggin’ dicks tryin’ t’push you down, but s’like yer’ not takin’ shit.  But I’m a Christian man out in the world, y’know?


            Fuggin’ serious!  Fuck wit’ me, I’ll go scripture and verse on their asses.  Erase boards fuggin’ messin’ wit’ people’s . . . kid’s minds up.  S’here?  Zip!  S’gone.  S’like black magic.


            Shit s’right.



Friday, August 15, 2008


can we talk?
whats wrong?
how do you mean?
i mean, you seem unhappy.
what can we do to make you happier?
end this conversation.
besides that
a raise?
you know, i have to tell you- i'm a little pissed that you never thanked me.
for what?
i opened and closed the store when you were gone.
and you never thanked me.
wait- you're saying that you're pissed that i never thanked you for opening and closing your OWN STORE while i was at home getting over 4 strokes?
well, i didn't know!
who else did you think would do it?
i don't know, one of the other 6 employees that work here, maybe?
well they didn't.
i guess i'm sorry then.
okay. i just want you to be happy.
you're welcome.


                                          Hey, it’s Larry Deerdorfe.  Need your approval and signature on this stuff before we can move forward on any of it.  Good news is we’ve got final approval from clients on most of the shit I talked to you about last week.
            ‘Kay, so on the ‘go list’ – the shit I need your approval on – ummmmm, what am I looking at here?  Oh, toothbrushes.  Prexx signed off on your likeness, not just the insignia.  Underoos people have a cartoony version of your uniform ready to push through.  Oh, and Fat Taco Pizza okayed the idea of the Killjoy weapons for their kids meals, but they had a little problem with your ‘Gut-Splitter.’  I don’t know.  I’m thinking make it more kid-friendly or just change the name.  Soften it, you know?So, those are ready to go out the door.  On the ‘maybe list,’ we got the animated series on the table.  Every member of the Freedom Committee is a whore, so of course they agreed.  But ADDTV won’t commit unless you’re involved.  Now, I told them we won’t move forward unless it’s called “The Killjoy / Freedom Committee Adventures.”  I know!  I know!  You were never on the Goddamned team, but we did market research and the public tends to believe that all you guys are all lovey-dovey, so let’s take a look at it when you come into the office and sign this shit off, okay?
            Alright, that’s it!  Come in soon, bud.  Okay?  Oooookay.  See you soon.
            Oh, if I’m not in, Geneva’s got the paperwork.  


Thursday, August 14, 2008


i'll never get exactly what i want.
i may come very close, but never get exactly what i want.
but that's life.
all rubber chickens and broken promises.


The last vestige of hope had deserted us.  The Ries Catnip Company had backed out of the deal.  And now the giant kittens were playfully mauling people on the streets.

It was going to be a long weekend.  Everyone tried to stay indoors, but there was shopping to be done, for Christ’s sake.

The general consensus was that when the kittens tired themselves out, they would simply take naps.  And maybe – just maybe – we’d have enough men to transport the enormous ball of yarn from Wilkes-Barre.


Wednesday, August 13, 2008


the first version didn't work.
he didn't have scissors for hands, he just had regular hands. but the regular hands were boring. the story faltered. Anthony Michael Hall called bullshit, told the cast to take a week off, and started o rewrite the script.
during that week, he hit his wife and she left. his son fell from the roof trying to fly with an umbrella and a towel for a cape.
his daughter was attacked in the park by a man trying to sell fraudulent cancer medication- but he trucked on. he wrote until he started heroin again. he wrote until he needed prostitutes to blow him underneath the office desk. he workes until he lost his hair.
at the end of the week, he had finnished the rewrite. he assembled the cast, slapped the director across the facde, and the filming began.
the film was Analyze That. and it su-UCKED!


Our lives are a Cosby sweater of emotions right now.  It’s like both Michelles from Full House are jumping up and down on my chest.  Every pore in my body is screaming out like Urkel.  For every Fonzie moment in this relationship, there’s an inevitable Schneider.  I feel it slipping away with no way of knowing which Lionel Jefferson we’ll encounter along this crazy world.  My hope is that the next diner we walk into won’t have anybody but Flo behind the counter.


Tuesday, August 12, 2008


i could pick either door.
the left or the right.
i had 30 seconds to choose.
one door hid a lion that had been genetically altered to always attack the testicles first, as well as a cybernetic implant that caused it to explode whenever it attacked nuts.
the other door held the antidote to the poison i'd injegested, as well as a check for $78.50 and a hand job from a big breasted and eager, yet buttafaced mexican girl.
i only had ten seconds left to choose. the laotian held the rifle to my temple and counted down.
this choice, this choice i had to make...
this job sucked.


Sequoia grasped out as he fell and the only thing within reach was the shower curtain, which braced his fall a bit, but didn’t keep his trick knee from thumping the porcelain surface.  The water still rained down from the shower head as he braced himself to get up.  That knee throbbed worse than it ever had.  Even worse than after the Bouzereau fight.  The throbbing consumed his mind so much that he didn’t even notice the shower ring beneath his foot.  As the ball of his foot came down on it and it cracked open like a fortune cookie, he let out a Wildman howl and hopped over to sit on the toilet seat.  Massaging the bottom of his sole, he caught a glimpse of the shattered ring on the black bathroom rug.  A sliver of paper snaked out of the broken plastic.  The knee pain vanished immediately.  His foot was miles away.  He slowly knelt down and picked up the shower ring shards, freeing the slip of paper from within them.  He held it between his finger, squinting as he tried to make out what was written on it.  Arabic.  He couldn’t decipher it, but he knew Arabic when he saw it.  All he had to do no was break open the other shower rings and find himself an Arab in this motel.


Monday, August 11, 2008


Who would have the nerve to question what they were seeing as those kids spit into the face of gravity, defied physics, and navigated the stairs as if they had been raised on them?
Their mother emerged from the house to once again admonish them, and she saw us watching the kids. She saw they way we looked at them- the way people watched beautiful swans or gymnasts- quietly, almost afraid, but enthralled.
She saw her kids defy the law of not only her, but of man, their God, and the universe.
She wanted to yell at them again, but she could not. Something deep inside her kept her from destroying this beautiful thing that had begun. Something inside her knew that it would be a crime to stop this.
Even with all that damn noise the kids were making running up and down those damn stairs it was a crime, she thought, to kill a unicorn.
So she simply rolled her eyes, and went inside.
Sure it was beautiful, she thought.
Sure they were pioneers, she thought.
But perhaps it was best if she let them continue until one of them fell. It was the only way they’d learn, she thought.
They never fell, though. Never. They ran all day. And they never fell.
Not today.


We can’t condone those kinds of actions, sir.


What kind of actions?


You’re having relations with a pastry, my good man.




It’s out in the open.  This is a bake sale.


What better place?


A bake sale at a church.


I’m sorry.  I’m horny and I’m neither religious nor picky.


And it’s the 17th century.


Oh.  I see.


You’re going to have to come with the constable.


Wait!  Where are you hanging me?


Well, from this tree.  Do you prefer hemp rope?


What are my choices?


I’m not giving you a choice.  I’m just asking if you prefer it.


In that case, hemp is fine.


You know, I’ve often wondered what kind of person could conceive of making love to a long John while at a church bake sale.


Well . . . ta-da!


Rope too tight?


No, no!  It feels nice.  Very soft surprisingly.


Yeah.  My father’s a ropemaker.  Made this particular one this morning.


Well, tell him he does very good work.


I will.  I will.  Um, I’m sorry.  What’s your name?




So, Tarquin, any last requests?


Well, I’d really . .  Oh, no.  Forget it.  It’s a little . . .


No, go on!


No, no!  It’s a little too much.  I mean, it’s in keeping with my character and all, but no!


No, really!  Tell me!  I’ve heard a lot of last requests and, believe me, I’ve heard them all.  Yours can’t be that bad.


Alright.  Um, would you mind eating that long John?


You mean the one that you just had your willie in?


I know.  Forget it!  It’s too much.  Just hang me already.  I’m so embarrassed.


Oh, come on!  What kind of society would we live in if we didn’t honor last requests?


I don’t know.  Let’s just do this thing.  God, I’m blushing.


It’d be chaos.  Anarchy.  Tell you what.  You stay here and I’ll go get it.


I’m tied up.  Where would I go?


Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ha!  Ahhhhh.  That’s true.  Be right back.


Boy, is he going to be surprised when he finds out that I have leprosy.  And I passed a stone in that thing.  Ah, life.


Sunday, August 10, 2008


the light just went out, just this moment. i thought that it was something bad- maybe something was happening.
but it was just a blown bulb.
i should stop reading into these- another light.
and another.
something isn't right...


Deadmen swarm the streets again.  If they’re supposed to be this city’s protectors, they shouldn’t wear such morbidly creepy outfits.  I can’t say I condone their fashion sense, but at least they’re doing some good around here.

Last night they stopped a bank heist, two purse snatchers and a domestic disturbance.  Again, I’m not ridiculing their actions, but they scared the shit out of that bastard’s wife.  She actually hit two of them with a lamp not long after her husband had broken three of her ribs.

They did all that in one night.  Must have some high-tech Bearcat or something.



Saturday, August 9, 2008


i tried to finish the episode of the show in peace.
it had been a long week, and the weekened was almost over. i know that it's sad, but all i could ever think about on saturday night was how much i didn't want to go work on monday.
but saturday night was alway the same: i watched my show and tried to chill out.
that didn't happen this time. the cable box kept blinking out.
they had claimed that the new and improved boxes would change our lives, but they didn't they were only changing them because one company had bought out the other, and now i had to suffer when the box decided that it would rather turn itself off than to let me have my one moments peace.
so, i didn't get to see my show. i saw the first ten minutes, and the last three. then it was over. sometimes, i guess- i don't know. i really don't want to go to work monday.


That which is cherished in childhood cannot be sustained as cherishable beyond a certain age.  The pop group, the TV show, the movie or the book that one deemed the pinnacle of the upbringing years will decrease in value the older one gets.  The nostalgia of it all will not be lost, but the redeeming qualities through the eyes of the adult will not hold up.


Friday, August 8, 2008


there were so many reasons that to night shold have ben awesome, but it was only almost awesome.
my girl couldn't make it because of completely infuriating reasons, but that were totally out of her control.
the big brother couldn't make it for reasons that were completely voluntary, but unacceptable.
the cousin made it, and so did the artistic brother, but he got some butter in his food by mistake and got sick on accot of his intolerance to lactose.
all in all, it was only a partially decent, almost awesome time...
but the spring rolls were dope as shit!


                    Apparently, the ‘No Trespassing’ signs do the trick.  No need for the bear traps anymore.  Or the Rube Goldberg machine gun configuration.  All of the alarms can be deactivated.  Tripwires clipped.  ‘Keep Out’ and ‘This Means YOU’ are more effective than any landmine.

            Got enough bread in the freezer.  And cold cuts.  Should be good for a while.

            And the explosions are waning.  White flashes are still strobing out the window.  Flies still hover over the hummingbird’s eye.  And the rat’s.

            Time to go out soon.


Thursday, August 7, 2008


it was getting hot
i took my time and read the instructions
there were no instructions for this heat
i could hardly breathe
she was getting closer
i was becoming afraid
it was...


Closely Watched Trains is one of those bands that is hard to describe.  And not in the way that a teenager’s garage band tells you that it’s impossible to categorize their sound.  Closely Watched Trains is the musical territory between The Bee Gees’ “Cucumber Castle” and Slayer’s “South of Heaven.”  They are the missing link, as if hardcore stayed interesting.  They’re Glenn Branca’s guitar symphonies played in a blender.  If DEVO had a kid, that kid would get beaten up and sodomized by Closely Watched Trains’ kid on the playground.  At times, the music lets up and you’re actually able to hear the retarded, rambling lyrics.  But not clearly.  If Closely Watched Trains lyrics are a road map, we’re all lost.  Closely Watched Trains will never be understood, lyrically or musically.  At least I hope they never will be.


Wednesday, August 6, 2008


how do you fold the unecessary into something that people are convinced they need?
thats the question of entertainment.
me? all i need is a dream, a smile from a nice young lady, and a bag of mortimer's promise Sunflower seeds.
Mortimer's promise are made from the best sunflowers on earth, Michigan Sunflowers (trademark)
they grown with thr finest dirt, the best manure, and just a hint of stem cells for that Mortimer's snap you've come to know and love.
and every bag of Mortimer's promise sunflower seeds you buy , a dollar goes to the foundation for clean living.
the foundation for clean living is devoted to ridding America of all those brownish nonenglish speaking types that have muddied up the gene pool for far too long.
Mortimer's Promise- make a load of happy in your mouth today.


Heel, Jonesy!  Heel!  Shite!

He’s not a very smart dog, is he?

No, he’s bloody well not.  Have you got a dog here?

God, no!  I hate dogs!  Despise them.


Why are you here then?


Well, it’s a good way to meet people.  And actually I don’t fancy them very much either.


So, let me get this straight.  You attend dog and kennel shows . . .


Oh, I wouldn’t miss one!


. . . to be surrounded by dogs and people you can’t stand?


Well, I’ve met you.  And you seem to be upping my averages.  On the people side, at least.


I’m Lucrecia.






Bit of an odd name, isn’t it?


I don’t know.  What’s your name?




Hmmm.  Yes, my name must seem quite unusual to a punter named Hubert.


Steady on.  Hubert was my father’s name and my grandfather’s name before him.


Well, Lucrecia was my great grandfather’s name.  So, there!  Lineage doesn’t make your name any less unusual than mine, Hubert.


Alright.  Fair enough, then.  Look, I’ll just be sulking under this German Shepherd’s hind quarters to hide my shame, if you don’t mind.


Don’t mind at all.  Fitting, I’d say.


Tuesday, August 5, 2008


he couldn't win. he'd trid all the pills they had given him, but he still couldn't use his crazy powers.
the powers to speak, to hold his bladder, to remember things.
these were the dreams of the dead man.
he couldn't wait.
this was what would happen when he'd dream.
he couldn't speak. he couldn't read.
he was dead.
he could create, though.


The blonde wears black.  Always.  When she’s at home in the summer heat.  Windows propped open with shoes.  All the lights ignite her living room on the second floor as if she were bathed in a spotlight.  A blonde tail is held onto the back of her head by the same, hard black that she wears.  Workout clothes usually.  No one to impress.  She could be folding clothes or lounging on the red couch or simply watching TV.  It’s all the same to the smoker who watches her from the rooftop deck of the apartment next door.


Monday, August 4, 2008

from Cinese to Japanese: The Sightless translation circle is nearly complete! (22)

As for that mother what?
Ya' As for ll it is necessary to abandon!
That mother that muthafuckin' Brain!
What' It was s?
With what! ?
Mother! ?
The human now goes with those anything! ?
It exceeds the mother?
His et. al those stop dying brain and the stand!
Just a little, the mother!
Mother! Mother?
Your yo stops dying brain, the mother and the stand!


Yeah, I play the ‘yuke.’  No, the ukulele.  Hawaiian word.  Means “tiny tear jerker.”  Seriously.  Been playing it all my life.  Used to catch hell from my friends.  Well, them and my family.  Friends were into that rock ’n’ roll garbage.  It was the 60’s, so I don’t really blame them, I guess.  Was all about electric guitars that sounded like screeching napalm back then.  Can’t hook a ‘yuke’ up to an amp.  Unless you want a loud, distorted ‘yuke.’  Family didn’t get it because it’s not really an instrument of my people.  No, I’m Native American.  Choctaw.  No, Tiny Tim was an asshole.  Didn’t even like it, you know? The ‘yuke.’  But he was a dick.  Kind of stole my thunder.  Really stole my whole act.  These days?  I build bombs.


Sunday, August 3, 2008

Sightless J'Mel see's the mummy:Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, translates it into Chinese, than back to english.(23)

What that mother does?
Ya' ll needs to give up!
That mother his muthafuckin' Brains!
What' You said s?
Anything! ?
Mother! ?
The human, goes they now anything! ?
Surpasses a mother?
Their they mess with the brains!
Mother! Hey, mother!
Your yo messes with the brains, the mother!


The technology set in too quickly.  Before we knew it, everything but can openers were controlling our lives.  Most people embraced it, standing in long lines for hours just to be implemented into the system.  Brains off, consciousness logged in and downloaded. 
His wife made one hell of an MP3 player.


Saturday, August 2, 2008

Sight impared J'Mel sees Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor

What that Mummy doing?
Ya'll need to quit!
oowee! That Mummy out his muthafuckin' mind!
What's that you say?
Man, what they gone do now!?
more than one Mummy?
They out they Got damn mind!
Hey, Mummy!
You out yo Got damn mind, Mummy!
You need to quit!


Maddy shot films.  Were they good films?  Who knows?  What is a ‘good film’ anyway?  It’s anybody’s guess.  It’s subjective, right?  It’s like asking, ‘What’s a good cat?’  Fundamentally, every cat is the same.  Most people would say that their cat ignores them.  But those same people would also say that their cat adds some greater element to their lives.  Like the cat enriches their lives, even though all it does is ignore them until it’s time to eat.  We’re getting a little off-topic, but you get the point.

Maddy’s films weren’t groundbreaking, but again, is that the sign of good cinema?  No.  Did they fulfill the obligations of having solid characters and a strong plot?  Well, no.  Were they ego-centric, laborious, unevenly paced, overbudgeted diatribes?  Okay, yes.

Maddy shot films.  And that’s all she ever did.  They could have either paid her more or paid her nothing.  I guarantee the results would have been the same.


Friday, August 1, 2008


i couldn't wait until she got home so that I could tell her.
so i didn't


     What, do you think this place isn’t insured? I mean, sure, they got wall-to-wall action figures and comic books and role playing shit, but you can bet your sweet ass that every bit of that geeky shit is insured. And if you think that insurance company knows the difference between ‘mint’ and ‘near mint,’ you’re sadly mistaken. Okay, say the Overstreet Price Guide claims that “New Mutants #1” is worth $125.00 mint.

     Actually, it’s only worth $80.00 mint.

     Fine. $80.00 mint. The one copy these mutherfuckers have, wrapped in mylar, has been in the window and is probably sun-damaged as hell. It’s what? ‘Good’ at best.

     Depends on how bad the cover is. If it’s just bleached out, it’s probably considered ‘very good.’ Or ‘fair.’ Really depends on the condition inside.

     And do you really think these assholes are going to report ‘fair’ or ‘very good’ condition to the insurance company? That’s a $30-40 loss to the store, right?

     Maybe more, depending on the condition inside.

     The store will report . . . $80.00 you said?

     Yeah, $80.00.

     An $80.00 loss because that’s information the insurance company won’t be privy to. You see?

     Yeah. I still don’t know. Doesn’t seem right, ripping off a comic shop.

     Sure, I dig you, Sal. Though I’ve got to say, your boys played you up to be the comic book king. So, don’t mind me if I’m taken aback, you know? They really said you’d be up for this, but that’s alright. That’s cool. To be honest, you were just one name on a long list. You don’t want to do it, that’s cool with me. We’ll just call up what’s-his-name. Bill. Yeah, Bill will do this, no question. But don’t you worry about it, Sal. Really.

     Bill??!? Are you sure?

     Sure, sure. Sal, I have to say this. Seriously. I admire your whatever. Your . . moral compass.

     Listen, Neil, I don’t feel right about doing this, but if it’s between me and Bill, I guess you can count me in.

     You’re sure? ‘Cause you’re our first choice.

     Yeah, sure. Why not, right? I mean, since they’re insured and all.

     To the gills, Sal. To the gills.

     Almost like we’re doing them a favor by doing this.

     Exactly, Sal. Welcome aboard.