Well, I finally sent a nasty letter to that guy who's dicking me out've a fine velvet painting. Just thought I'd share with the rest of the group my "Collection Letter".

Augustus -

You have three days from today's date to reply to this email.

If a response is not made, I will be taking actions via Paypal's Buyer Complaint form and eBay.

What this means to you:

$10.00 Chargeback fee.
The closing of your Paypal and eBay account.

The resolution for this is simple, you may contact me on or before 12/23/02 via email and supply the following information:

* An agreement to electronically refund the amount paid.
* A USPS tracking number verifying the item has been sent.
* An agreement to send the item, if not yet sent, and a USPS tracking number to verify the date, destination, and delivery status.

Thank you,

- David Biastock

I dunno, I was pretty proud of it. Hopefully this butthead will mail it before I have to drive to San Jose to pick it up myself.

Oooh, goodbye sweet Shizzolate... hello Miguel translator! Yes kids, that's right, now everything I say can sound like Miguel! Creative genius behind Fat Chicks In Party Hats.

ARGH... you guys. I'm sorry for the lack of updates, but I've been so friggin' insipid lately that I don't feel I ought to waste anyone's time writing about it. I believe that my lack of shenanigans and those who inspire me to do so have caused me to become muddled and uncreative.

I think I wanna have fun without getting drunk. (Man, I can only imagine the synchronized double take this statement has made to anyone whose reading this.)

I'm mildly excited about Christmas in the giddy - starry eyed way, but with it comes a vague sense of guilt and anxiety.
Guilt because the only family member that I give two rats about is my Mom, and honestly if I don't hear from her until my thirty second birthday, I'd be pretty cool with that.
Anxiety because... well, I need to buy a bunch've crap this weekend and am now realizing that I don't really know anyone that well anymore and it's weighing heavier than I'd like it to. Imagine the house you grew up in was bought by someone else who left the outside exactly the same, but redecorated the hell out've the inside. For some reason this is how I feel about my friends and loved ones right now.

But let's move on to good things..

Yesterday was good. Alicia and I went Christmas tree shopping. I'll be goddamned, but I had no idea that a Christmas tree shorter than me would be sixty five dollars. Instead of picking one up we headed on back home and invited Donnie and his lady-friend over for mulled wine and gingersnap cookies.

Saturday was good. Visited with Wade and had sushi. Yes, that's right Wade, I'm coming clean and I'm coming clean right now. Alicia, me 'n' Wade didn't have India Oven for lunch... we had Todai's. It's been weighing heavily on my soul and I thought you should know the truth.

It was good and I have no regrets.

Plus it was completely Wade's idea.

In other news, I have won a mild victory. Due to my seniority, I managed to win my shift bid at work. I will not be moved from my current schedule, but shall remain working Monday thru Fridays from Noon until Nine. My ability to oversleep shall not be hindered.

I also fear I have lost a minor scurmish. One of my eBay paintings has yet to arrive. I feel that I've been dicked out've sixty odd dollars without the complimentary dallop of lubricant. Anyone have a suggestion for cruel and unusual punishment befitting for such crimes?

Hey kids!

Thanks to my good friend Joshua, I've added the coolest most awesome feature to my Blog. If I may kindly direct your attention to the link over on the left hand side of your screen, you will now notice the Shizzolate! option. Basically, I have added this feature for your benefit. Whenever you find a post of mine boring, shizzolate that shit!

You may not have known this, but Snoop Dogg works tirelessly twenty four hour a day personally reading and then re-editing web pages. He's actually capable of typing 1,945 words a minute and he has eight arms with fifteen fingers on each hand.

"I got somethin' better than love"

AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH.

I'M FREAKIN' OUT AND I DON'T KNOW WHY!!!

There's a dance party in my head, and everyone's invited! EVEN STINKY UNCLE STAN!

HE'S SO STINKY! BRING 'IM ALONG!

I'VE GOT CHEETOS AND A HALF RACK OF BEER AND MY CAPS LOCK IS UNCONTROLLABLE! It's walkin' down Compton with a chip on it's shoulder and a vanilla milkshake screamin', "HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW?"

HOW YOU LIKE ME NEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW

Ebay has taken hold..

Witness the spectacle that is my frenetic purchasing.

BEHOLD!

1976 Pabst Blue Ribbon Calander
Arabian Women On Velvet
Pabst Blue Ribbon Neon Light
Painted Clipper Ship On Red Velvet
Huge Tiki/Polynesian Painting

Keep breathin'

Well, the time has finally come. Last nite, after what was probably my worst rendition of Hell, I've decided to retire it from my Karaoke repertoire. It's a sad day that's come, but I haven't sung the "hell" out've it since my first drunken attempt.

I'm listening to Street Spirit for the first time in awhile and remembering how I'd listen the hell out've it when me and Alicia broke up for a whole day and a half. Reflection on past melodrama makes me smile.

I'm adjusting more and more to this whole full time gig. My new supervisor is wicked awesome. OH YEAH... when I answered the phone today, some jackass from New York asked if I was from Canada. What the fuck? People, those who know and love me, c'mon. Do I sound Canadian? For some reason I was viciously offended by the inflection of his voice when he asked.

Jackass.

I'm kinda weirded out by the comfortability of my current relationship status. I've been with Alicia almost two years... I don't think I've ever spent two consecutive Holidays with any one girlfriend. I came home ungodly loaded a few nights ago. Every other word out've my mouth was "fuckin' bullshit". Now, for those of you who don't know Dave when he's had about four pints of vodka and cran plus countless pints of beer, I tend to say "fuckin' bullshit" a lot. Your average conversation tends to wind up like, "mumble mumble mumble.... FUCKIN' BULLSHIT, MAN.... mumble mumble mumble". I never mean it in a truly negative connotation, I just use it like a sort've period in my sentence structure. Anyway, I was in fuckin' bullshit mode when I came home, and apparently I told Alicia, and I quote, "When we get married, we're gonna have lots've babies". Well... it probably came out more like, "Wheh we geh mahrrid, we'z gonna have lotsa b*hic* lotsa b*hic* lotsa babies". I recall none of this conversation, and would still be skeptical of such things if it wasn't for the fact that I don't think Alicia is capable of telling me such an outlandish lie. Therefore, it has to be true. Anyhow, you know it's impossible to be sly or secretive when you're drunk, and your more honest (and usually misguided) thoughts tend to spill out like some kind've subconscious leak in your brain. But, I digress. It's good. Things are good. I worry sometimes about marriage, but y'know what? That's fuckin' bullshit.

Ravyn is my hero

I have been shown the way... the truth... and the light. Homestarrunner.com is the revolutionary work of genetically enhanced Flash animators, whose oversized brains will give you such tantalizing delights as Email Strong Bad. These things will make your day 99 1/44% better. Just like Dove soap... in the butthole.

Cabin Fever

Day two: my bathrobe is making me itchy. I may have developed bed sores. I keep hearing the voice of my dead grandmother calling out to me.

"Daaaaveeey.... it's time to get up."

No... NO.... NO! hALLUcinations continUE.

I am still sick... I am still mostly bedridden... ridden with bed... I have almosted finished Stranger in a Strange Land... I have almost grokked it's entirety... except for the hippie love bits... I am still trying to grok those.

Normally I detest these little online tests... bah... bahahah.. detest the tests... tests I detest..... but my weakness of will let my boredom take over... I have come to find:




"Which Donnie Darko character are you?" by Shay

I'm not too sure if I'm surprised with this result at the moment...

True story... today... while I was alone in my house... I was pooping... and I swear on my Gamecube that I heard someone typing on my keyboard. I'm just really glad that I was already pooping when I heard it.

Oi vay...

So, I'm at home nursing some yogurt and wishing my nose would stop running. The floor next to my side of the bed is covered in wads of kleenex. It looks as if a tiny army was trying to raid a castle using catapults filled with soggy tissue.

Alicia was kind enough to loan me three dollars before leaving for work today for the purpose of purchasing soup from the deli next door, but I've decided to opt out. Anything that requires me to get out of my bathrobe doesn't seem worth the effort.

On another note, visited Yur's over the weekend. This bar quickly wormed it's way into my heart and layed it's eggs. The waitstaff was helluva friendly, and the Pabst was exceedingly reasonable in price. I hear the jukebox is free plus they have two tournament sized pool tables. All this I never got a chance to visit since my ass was lovingly caressed by one of the many overstuffed black vinyl booths, and the siren song of PBR was drawing my full attention. Four star drinkin', baby.

Well, that's 'bout it for now. Think I'm gonna go dose up again on Robitussin and watch The Wizard of Oz while listening to Dark Side of the Moon.

Ode to Donald

So, I know this guy who goes by Donnie.
He's a friend to you and a friend to me.
Once long ago, when Donnie was wee,
Donnie was bitten! By a monkey!

Bit on the thumb to the monkey's delight!
Bit on the thumb, such a terrible sight!

His mother shrieked and his father yelled!
They called the cops, and the monkey was jailed.
Thrown in a cell under lock and key,
he dreamt of bananas and those days carefree.

And then came the day for the monkey's release.
He had a tattoo and four types of fleas!

He hopped on a bus, bound for the train.
He looked out the window and sighed this refrain.
It was something he learned from Father O'shea,
a poem to walk the Lord's path without stray.
"A monkey I am, and a monkey I'll stay.
There ain't no cure for a wicked monkey's way.
I bites me some thumbs when I gets the itch,
but time in the hole is a sonuvabitch."

Wanna get high?

Ever have a conversation with someone and realize just how much you don't know about 'em? How a sentence or two can completely deconstruct a previously built (and up until then previously infallible) image of someone's personality? And how quickly we are to assemble a new representation to replace the old.

Like busy little ants after someone threw a car tire on their home.

Random thoughts for the day.

HEY! Quit looking at porn! Look at this instead.

Now mister hand down his pants, how is this going to change you?

Will it?

Should it?

I guess maybe it's a little late to not seem preachy.. sorry, guess I was doing some mental spring cleaning and found my soapbox.

Autumn Twilight

I'm feeling quietly content today. I don't have much to say, but I'm smiling a lot.

Things are good.

Butterflies

So, I'm both a little excited and a little nervous. I don't deal well with change.. unless it's hugely, dramatically out of my control. I've been comfortably working part time from five to nine Monday thru Friday with my little alternate Saturdays of doom. This is a very warm and familiar rut I've dug myself into.

-Work
-Drink
-Sleep
-Treat Hangover
-Repeat

But recently, I've come to the conclusion that I'm po' white trash. I specifically came to that conclusion when I couldn't even afford a twenty five cent game of pool exactly one week after pay day. So yesterday I put in a shift bid for full time.

And today I got it.

Eight hours a day. Eight hours a day that I will never have back. And I'm nervous about it. Pretty much anyone, even if they're as lazy as me, can do a part time gig standing on their heads.. but I have serious commitment issues with employment. Sorry, but I just don't like to deal with corporate bullshit. I don't like having to watch executives run around in circles for three months just so they come to a decision that they can save money by switching to non reusable, non biodegradable coffee cups.

And it's everywhere! Rampant! I bet ditch diggers get middle-managed to death, too..

Anyways.. for those of you who know and love me, I'm sure I'll be reading a few comments that sound a bit like, "It's about time" or "don't kill yourself" and I suppose it's true nuff and well deserved...

But deep down I think you're all jealous.. ;)

Poop!

Okay... while randomly surfing I found this... and watched it twenty nine times.

Coffee And TV

So, I'm up late last nite watching the Terminator on TNT, when I'm reminded of a past scientific discovery. Check it; this chick in the movie who's about three and a half minutes away from being killed by Arnold (Who, upon reflection, shaved his eyebrows for the part) is in the kitchen dancing around in her undies listening to some god awful music on her headphones (I think it was Casio keyboard selection #182). What is the reason for this prancing about half naked in the kitchen? This unordained using of celery stalks as imaginary drumsticks while her boyfriend is quietly snoozing?

She just had unprotected sex.

"But Dave!" you may say. "I get sleepy and slip off to dreams filled with leggy Swedish women bearing pitchers of Pabst!"

Ah, that's because my dear friend, you are male. And based upon my theory you are having the natural reaction, which is to drop your sweet drooling face into your pillow eight seconds after orgasm. Now, the basis of my theory is such: sperm is loaded to the gills with a very highly concentrated form of caffeine. Ever spent the day masturbating to Mary Kate and Ashley videos and just feel so worn out you can barely hit the slow-mo button again? It's because that pile of kleenex on the floor is housing the only form of motivation we as men posess.

Now, once again, this is a simple fact. After the male orgasm, said male will generally fall asleep. Which brings us back to our original case study. The girl with the teased hair that's roughly *checks his watch* 45 seconds away from being shot in the back by a cyborg from the future.

Why is she so vibrant? So alive? The answer lies in the powder keg of seminal energy that's being burned off by her body. As she's dancing around in her Marky Mark undies, her body is doing it's best to break down this influx of added stimulant and trying to regain a natural balance (Side note: look into why she is making the peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Peanut juices may be an undiscovered sedative used to help negate the natural chemical reactions). Simply put, she's high on the love.

Now ladies, you may ask me why you don't leap out of bed a-tap tap tappin' your way to the fridge after you've had unprotected sex. This is due to the common male affliction known as "lazy sperm". You may have heard that term from "thirtysomething" or some other equally melodramatic television show where one whiny bitch is complaining about not being able to knock up another whiny bitch. Lazy sperm is sperm that is not heavily fortified with this distilled form of caffeine. It's sperm that likes to watch TeeVee with it's hand down it's pants and an open bag of Cheetos.

Uh oh.. our case study is running down the hallway and.. ooh, yesss, there's the shotgun blast to the spinal column.

And so this concludes our case study into the stimulant known as spermatoza, please check back with us tomorrow when we take a look into bedwetting. Fact? Or gnomes who like to put my hand in warm water?

Wait, I mean.. no, not my hand... I only meant...

Shit.

Bang On!

So, in case you all hadn't noticed, I haven't seen a movie in a "movin' pi'ture thee-atur" since Signs. This is due in part to the unyielding power given to me by my bank through this little piece of the future known as a credit card. I haven't had an account with a major video conglomeration for awhile now, and as I'm sitting around at home one day it dawns on me. Since I'm also a proud part of America's debt, I can use this to my advantage and open a Hollywood Video account.

Bitchin'.

Saturday - I choose to throw away my antisocial behavior, and take Alicia out for the classic dinner and a movie. Swung by Country Bill's Restaurant and Lounge for an pretty awesome meal. The Lounge is highly recommended for it's dark, woodsy, overstuffed red leather interior. The wait staff was super, super friendly an' quick with the water refills (I swear, I'm part camel.. and because of this genetic defect I'm constantly storing up water for something like a nuclear fallout).

So, with a fine meal out've the way, we cruise over to the Century 16 to see what we could find in the way of Hollywood's table scraps. Arrived five minutes before the seven thirty showing of Red Dragon.

Bitchin'.

So, belly up to the booth and order two tickets.

"That'll be sixteen dollars, sir."

At this point all of the Jewish blood in my right arm has spiraled upwards into my brain, making it both physically and mentally difficult to remove my wallet. I quietly panic and my brain races to calculate how many new releases I could rent for sixteen dollars at the Hollywood. After about five seconds of silent deliberation and a quick glance at Alicia's expectant, shining, radiant-with-the-love-and-anticipation-for-a-serial-killer-slash-cannabal face, I carefully remove my credit card and hand it over.

"Sorry, sir. We don't accept credit cards, however there's an ATM at the other end of the lobby."

Not Bitchin'

Basically, what our young employee just said roughly translated into my brain as, "Listen, dick with the Visa. Not only do I hate your kind as much as I hate my job, but I'm going to make you get out of line and pay a fee at the ATM just so I'll know in my heart of hearts that you'll be the stumbling-in-the-dark idiot stepping on old ladies' feet and spilling peanut butter m & m's while trying to find an open seat on this, Saturday, day two of the opening weekend."

I think I may have muttered something about how his mother looked like Moby and wandered across the lobby.

Okay, I know that credit isn't accepted everywhere. Prostitutes don't take Visa.. even if it's slogan is "Everywhere you want to be." And I know my friendly neighborhood bodega won't accept American Express. These are things that make sense to me, and I understand that they work off the now outdated concept of physical currency. But, correct me if I am indeed wrong, but we live in the year two thousand two. A year, according to scientists of the nineteen fifties, in which we would be arriving to work in flying cars after a hearty breakfast of something that came out of a toothpaste tube. A year where the American movie multiplex, with all of it's vast technological achievements in the entertainment and recreational industry (Such as cup holders.... and... umm.... reclining chairs...) one may expect to use a form of payment that has in fact been in affect since the time of those scientists back in nineteen fifty one.

I JUST WANTED TO CHARGE MY FUCKING CREDIT CARD. I WANTED TO SEE A FUCKING MOVIE AND NOT PAY TWO FUCKING DOLLARS FOR AN ATM FEE. I COULD HAVE RENTED THREE FUCKING MOVIES AND BOUGHT A PINT OF HÄAGEN-DAZS.

...

Umm... sorry 'bout that...

... Umm...

Well, Red Dragon was really good. Damn that Ed Norton's a sexy bitch.

Please be to visiting engrish.com, it bring you much joy with small boys and girls.

So, Alicia's sick in bed at the moment and mildly delusional from taking Robitussin... I was slightly awake at about 10 this morning when she stumbled out've bed, grabbed the bottle and kicked it back like some kind've Gatorade commercial. At the moment, I'm considering the idea of quietly playing some Grateful Dead while she sleeps.

"Man... I had the weirdest dream about Jerry Garcia nude inside of an indian sweat tent... eating a pint of Cherry Garcia... hey, that sounds good.. can you run up to Safeway?"

Dammit...

So, on Friday nite I went to attend the Sleater-Kinney concert over at the Crystal. I'm... pretty sure it was a good concert.. however:

2/3 a pint of Jagermeister,
1/3 pint of Sky Vodka and a
1/2 a pitcher of Fat Tire

Is a pretty good recipe for not remembering much. Afterwards went back to my friend Dave's 'n' picked up some PBR Light... and... then... called... Ryein... and.... something something.... DV8... something.... picked up mixers for long islands... something was closed..... got back to my place and made long islands... no ice... something Pulp Fiction.. something puke.. something pass out.

Yay!

This prequel story is all leading up to another point.

So, on Saturday went over to Madison's to have a couple Bloody Mary's and shake off a very evil, evil hangover. Got to feelin' pretty good an' went home to meet up Wade for our weekend supper date. So, here I am. Haven't bathed yet from the concert, hair is uncombed, the only clean shirt I managed to unearth was my blue and bleach stained hair dying shirt, I can barely walk because I was very bouncy during the three hours at Sleater-Kinney, and probably stank a bit of liquor from the four bloody marys.

In other words, I'm dead sexy.

"Hi Wade."

"Hi Dave.. feeling a bit hungover are we?"

*Some kind of prehistoric animal noise*

We end up going to Newport Bay down on the waterfront. And me? I'm thinking Newport Bay, the same shit located in a strip mall across the street from Club 205. I'm thinking restaurant chain, dime a dozen, faceless cloned employees in white shirts and ties... even the women... I hate that. If you need a body to fill a shirt and tie, put a man in it. Anyways, here I am, hair akimbo and glassy eyed staring at various water fowl as we sit out on the rolling, weaving deck of doom. Part of the charm, I'm sure, of being located on the waterfront.

Tell that to Heir Jagermeister.

Alicia is as hungover as I am this day, and she looks to Wade, then to me, makes some kind of universal gesture that states, "If I don't get off this floating crackerbox I'll puke on a goose."

Needless to say, we move inside. This is where it hits me, this is where I'm taken aback. On the deck we were fairly alone, but inside.. inside I thought I'd walked into a Seventh Day Adventist Church. Couples in their thirties dressed in polo shirts and slacks, old ladies in purple suits with paisley neckerchiefs. A prejudging man in his forties sits alone with only a glass of white wine and his comb over to keep him company. Located around the corner was the icing on the proverbial "Newport Bay is actually fancy" cake... There were four young men and their dates who look like they may very well be on their way to or from some kind of fancy High School formal... dance... thing.

Everybody was dressed nicely. Not necissarily fancy (Except for those lucky prom dates), but nicely. As if they were standing in front of their mirror, spraying aqua net on their hair mulling over if the Alligator polo would go better with the lobster bib, or the Old Navy one...

During my meal (Which, in hindsight, meant eighteen dollars less I'll have for Bankok whores) I exchanged several eye squinting glances with the gentleman alone with his comb over. He wouldn't stop looking at me, and after a while, it became sort've this childish game. I would stare at him until he turned my way, and then innocently study something on the ceiling.. or a passing mallard. We would continue this stare-glance away stand off until he finally left, leaving his blanco vino mainly untouched. As he passed by I hoped for conflict. I salivated more for the possible middle aged scrap fight, than I did for my blackened catfish. But, the only thing that I was confronted with was his five dollar aftershave... c'est la vie.

Anyways, this is turning more into a pointless recounting than anything else really, so here goes. When a restaurant chain is located on the water front, that means it's fancy. It doesn't seem to matter that the river is fairly vile with pollution, it's prime real estate. And as long as there's old ladies with paisley neckerchiefs and rich kids with no clue, these establishments will continue to thrive. Feeding the corporate pig, and in turn, feeding the corporate whore.

Want to hold up a bank in Latin?
"Catapultam habeo. Nisi pecuniam omnem mihi dabis, ad caput tuum saxum immane mittam."
(I have a catapult. Give me all the money, or I will fling an enormous rock at your head.)

NW Natural Gas is employed by geniuses..

GENIUSES!

Super geniuses who are grown in modern laboratories, and birthed from the age of science and reason. Carefully cultivated from the NW Natural bunker located in Sioux City Iowa, they are subconsciously force fed all the information they need to learn a la A Clockwork Orange. Once weaned from their habitat, and properly nourished on foods enriched with vitamins and minerals, they are armed with the the most up to date technology. No amount of money is spared for their streamlined instruments of customer service wonder. Here now is a transcript documented at precisely 2:12 post meridian, September twenty seventh. Ironclad proof that only the elite of the elite are hand picked, and rigorously prepared for their task at hand. Let's listen in.

Rep: Thank you for calling NW Natural, my name is Debbie, how may I help you?

Me: Hi Debbie, this is Dave.. I, uhh, well. I'm not too sure what's the matter, but my only piece of gas equipment is my water heater, and my water isn't heating...

Rep: Huh...

Me: Yeah, I went downstairs and tried to light the pilot light, but it wouldn't catch. So, I was just checking to see if everything's okay with my account?

Rep: Okay! Can I have your home address?

Me: Sure, it's **** SE **th Avenue.

Rep: Okay... this'll be just a minute.. my systems running slow.

Me: Sure, take your time.

....

....

....

Me: *cough*

....

....

....

Rep: Okay... well.. looks like we had a request to turn off service today by... a David? Was that you?

Me: Me? Ummm..... nooooooo....

Rep: Well, it says here that David called in last week to cancel service... and that you're moving to 16th Avenue?

Me: ...umm.... no.

Rep: Huh...

Me: Huh...

Rep: So, you're not moving to 16th avenue?

Me: Not unless you know something I don't.

Rep: *Laughs uncomfortably* well... then I'll just get someone to turn your service back on.

Me: That'd be awesome, thanks!

Rep: *Type type type* This will be just one minute *type type type*

Me: Uh huh...

Rep: *Type type type*

Me: ....

Rep: *Type type type* (pause) *type type type*

Me: *quietly scratching nuts*

Rep: So... umm... do you know any David?

Me: Excuse me? You mean besides myself?

Rep: Yeah, like a neighbor...

Me: Ummmm... maybe my next door neighbor.

Rep: *Suspicious intonation* Hmmm... this is all very strange.. and what would their address be?

Me: Are you asking me to look?

Rep: No, I just thought since they're your neighbor you would know.

Me: My girlfriend might know, but I couldn't tell you.

Rep: Hmmm... and you do live at **** SE **th Avenue, correct?

Me: Right.

Rep: Okay, well, you should be all set. The guy will be there in the next few hours.

Me: "The guy"? Okay.. will he be here before seven?

Rep: Shouldn't be a problem. I'm not sure how many gas leaks he has, but it shouldn't be a problem.

Me: Well, okay.. I guess that'll do it.

Rep: Well, I really appreciate your patience Mr. Couseu. I'm not sure how this happened, but I'll tell you it doesn't very often.

Me: Excuse me?

Rep: What's that?

Me: Umm... I'm David Biastock....

Rep: Oh! Hah! Hahahahah! Looks like I found who was supposed to have their gas turned off!

Me: ....that's.... good..?

Rep: Yeah, you're fine Mr. Biastock. Just hang tight and the guy will be there in... well, in the next few hours to turn your gas back on.

Me: Okay... well... thanks for all your help....

So, just to clarify in case my point was lost somewhere, these are the people that are in control of highly explosive materials. Highly explosive materials that are coursing through your house right now. These are the monkies clambering underneath your floorboards with a flashlight and a lit cigarette trying to find your gas leak. And here I sit... waiting for someone to visit someone elses house to turn on gas that's already on...

Well shite...

I had written this huge apologetic post, and then accidently closed my browser. In a nutshell, here's what you missed:

Dirty Line Dancin'
My submersion into geeky hobbies.
How Animal Crossing has stolen away what little social life I ever had to begin with.
My observations on intellectuals who have entertained a half a semester of philosophy and think they know everything.
Blatant obsession with Adult Swim.
And lastly, artistic acts of vandalism.

Unfortunately, I don't have time to expound on any of this at the moment, but stay tuned! There's more to come after these messages from our sponsor.

Ooookaaay... so 'bout that caption contest... (Heh... heheheh...) Well, looks like I'm smokin' that cigarette. In all honesty, I've given it a week and I no longer have any hope that netcomments has gone anywhere but tits up. I'll still keep checking back with them, and if I can salvage the comments I will.

As a peace offering, I give you a picture of Charleton Heston making out with a monkey.

So, yesterday I was talking to Brandon on the phone, and he made a passing comment that reminded me about a previous post he had made. In short, his property management had kindly asked him to stop going to and from the mail room in his robe and boxers. Now, I've played resident in many a shared living habitat, and this sort of behaviour was a fairly normal occurance so I decided to probe a little deeper. As it turns out, the robe that Brandon owns is the same piece of history that he's had since he was eight years old. Further investigation led me to find that the majority of his underwear consists of boxers without the handy button fly. Now, for those of you who are having difficulties painting your own mental image of a twenty three year old man in an eight year old's robe.... I have saved you the time, and produced my own depiction...

I call it... flapping in the breeze

Nostalgia is running thick this Saturday morning. I was randomly doing searches on Google for things related to my past. Previous AOL or Yahoo! screen names from eight years ago, friends, etc; here's what I dug up.

A Badtz Maru skin for Yahoo! Messenger when I used to go under NyteKroe.
Found out that Dr. Gamewiz, father of my first online crush and founder of one of the first video game message boards for AOL, died of cancer.
Kuru
Lord BBH
Random pictures of my first girlfriend (Yuffie).
Amy! Oh Amy... wow... she's married.. and pregnant.. and owns her own home...

Can't find Klazies, found dWoh (Even remembered his last name), can't find NOATravis.

Wow.. this is kinda depressing.. it makes me wonder... who am I now? I was:

The Qwert, CopperCrow, NyteKroe, AquaKroe, BlindRook, Sandman, RocketBoy... so many faces.. and those are only the ones I can remember...

Hulk MAD!

wELL THIS.. oops... caps lock.. okay, strike that, rewind.

*Ahem*

Well this is lame! For one reason or another, Yahoo! has decided to take me off their search engine! Mostly, I'm kinda peev'd cuz by nature I'm a lazy, lazy fellow and instead of writing down my blog site or reciting the address only to be forgotten, I tell everyone to just do a search for my name on the 'net. This is great for at least two things.

A.) Curious people whom I haven't heard from in ages can easily find me by simply searching my name.
2.) I never carry a pen.

/\-------You sunk my Battleship!

Crap. Anyways, I guess I'll have to resubmit my page... maybe this time I'll spam every search engine with my good name. On the flip side, I found out I was linked by a complete stranger! That just made my day. Somehow, someway, someone stumbled on my POS and thought it was kewl enough to link from their site.

*Sniff*

Okay.... O.K...... oh-kay....

I'm takin gf ive MInutses to pUTd own the GAMECUBEcont roller and taki n g c a r e oF tHe eSSeNTialsbeforeipass o u t.

eeeeeat
sMOKE
PeeEeEEeEeee

Well isn't this a fine how-do-you-do. How the !@#$ am I supposed to decide upon a caption contest winner if my freakin' comment server is down? Looks like the deadline has been extended indefinately folks, so if you were drunk when the deadline hit like I was, looks like you've still got some time to enter for that free cigarette.

Today I will be fullfilling my destiny and stopping by Electronic Boutique for Super Mario Sunshine. OH HEY! I was playing Resident Evil last nite, and Jason, if you're reading this: BURN THE ZOMBIES. Torch those mutha efferz whenever possible. The rotting bags of feces come back like a heart attack and start leapin' around to chomp on yer face. It's really annoying. If you're already well aware of the mental anguish they induce after they turn into red headed... meat.... headed... bitey things, lemme know if they still come back after you kill 'em with a handgun, or if that's their last hurrah.

A Haiku!

Super Mario!
Pint sized Italian plumber,
can't get no action.

So, the new installment of the Mario dynasty will be hitting stores in less than a week. I, being the sick addict I am, plan to visit my local Electronics Boutique the day of launch. I imagine I'll have to wade thru a fair share of twelve year olds and pasty geeks such as myself to pick it up, but it'll be well worth being punched in the nuts by a screaming Japanese kid just because I took a Chinese cut in line. Prudence dictates I should wait until I've at least finished Resident Evil before spending more money on new video games, but I'm gonna have to go with my heart on this one. And my heart sayz, "Charge it."

In other news, I spent Tuesday evening drinking heavily with my friend Matt. We started out at Jimmy Lee's, completely unaware that Tuesdays are Marconi's nite to drop in and overtake the bar with himself and his followers. I have absolutely nothing against the guy, honestly he seems fairly nice and he touched my ass that night, so I can't hold too much against him... but we were just trying to have a few quiet drinks and his sauced cronies were getting on my nerves. Plus Anna Nichole Smith's TeeVee show was on... I've woken up a city block with my night terrors induced by the retinal burn caused by the flapping fatty tissue of her ham-like arms.

Uh oh... clam chowders ready. To make a long story short, we got drunk at my house and played Super Monkey Ball. The end.

I'm just a little disturbed about the, "I'm sure a lot of men will be looking at Sooty with envy" part... is there a great deal of beastiality involving Guinea Pigs in South Wales?

I'm almost this happy. Rumor has it that I will no longer be doing outbound collections as soon as Sept. 11th.

Please God, please God please God.

Okay, so yesterday I received a few more pictures from my birthday party a few weeks back, and I would like to throw out a "Caption Contest" of sorts. If you live in the Portland Metro area I will offer you one free cigarette, or the fourty five cent equivilant to those non smokers who would like to enter. The above picture needs to be captioned, and you can submit your entries via the "Comments" field located directly beneath. The winner will receive one cigarette and the hearty appreciation of those small people who enjoy making fun of me. The deadline for this will be Friday, August Twenty Third, so put on your thinking caps kids!

Bahahaha!! Treasures! Even better than the Amazon.com Gold Box, I have found priceless memories from a costume party thrown at my old house last October. Here, for your viewing.. umm... "delight" are those very pictures.

Yay! Sweet, sweet productivity. Spent some time today making the ol' Blog look a li'l' better, as well as sprucing up the house an' doin' a little laundry. Shall round out the day with a twilight walk along the waterfront and mayhaps take a go at Resident Evil.
Things that I wish were free:

A decent vacuum cleaner.
Strawberry milk.
Shipping and handling.
Advice.

Finally got a little work done on Four and 20 Blackbirds. I have an entire page written. It may not seem like much, but goddam it's a start.
I'm training at work for a new system that won't be implimented for at least 30 days... this seems a bit illogical, but hey, I don't have to make any phone calls for a few days.
My Mr. T. Chia head has begun to sprout!! Oh joyous day, if my mental calculations are correct, he should have a full head of hair in roughly one week and three days.
I can't believe I haven't posted in nearly a week.. honestly, I think one of the highlights was mid Sunday when I realized, after finishing a bottle of Night Train, that I was indeed drunk.. and it only cost two ninty nine.

Here's a poem about how hot it is today.

I went outside today, and what did I see?
A pan-fried squirrel lookin' back at me.
He wasn't really lookin', cuz he didn't have eyes,
and he probably was stinky cuz he was covered in flies.
Oh it's hot as fuck and I just want a beer,
it's hot as fuck but there's no beer here.
Yes it's hot as fuck and quarter past eleven,
said it's hot as fuck and I ain't in heaven.
No i ain't in heaven, said I ain't in heaven
I'M IN HEEEELLLL I'M IN HEEEEELLLL SOMEONE FUCKING SHOOT ME

More of my weekend is filtering thru my brain as I sit here and space out. Went to go see The Vines Saturday nite over at Dante's. The show was quite kick ass, and they did a bitchin' cover of Ms. Jackson by Outkast, but I have to say I really, really enjoyed the opening band. They're called OK go and inspired an idea entitled by my friend Joshua as "Rock Market". It's a sort've play on the stock market. If you find an up and coming band that you like an' think'll go huge, you buy Rock Stock. If the band gets huge, you make money. If they don't, well.. you don't make any money but you're supporting a band you love. Huh? Huh? Friggin' genius.

There's a light at the end of the tunnel.

Good news was issued at my place of employment. I'm listening to "Joyride" right now by Roxette and feeling giddy with anticipation. As I've mentioned in previous posts, I hate making collection phone calls. I hate it so very, very much. However, last week it was announced that the call center I work in will no longer be making outbound phone calls. It's scheduled to be phased out towards the end of the year, and we will be replacing those jobs with process and research stuff. Basically what this means is that I will no longer be talking to customers, and that makes me so, so happy.

There's no actual news that's happened to me, per say, but you need to check out this most amazing encounter my friend Megan witnessed one day along the Portland waterfront. She was there with a few friends, one of which had a recording device and another happened to have a digital camera (Which has convinced me to never leave the house without these things). Anyways, whilst they were out and about enjoying a wonderful summer day, they encountered a certain individual who was either an alien visitor from another planet or completely torqued on methamphetamines. You may visit this wonderful transcript of events here.

Man, what a slow week. Time is just kind've oozing like cold honey. I need to begin writing for Four and Twenty Blackbirds, but I keep getting sidetracked with friends and booze and drugs. It's hard to type with a beer in one hand and a bong in the other.

My friend Dave tried to give me a good idea for a story... something about a terrorist who joins the foreign legion... I just can't make it work in my head. Pretty much the only idea I think I can work with is a kleptomaniac who works store security. We'll see...

In other news, I finally freakin' beat Fatal Frame last nite. God-DAMN I love/hate playing that friggin' scary assed game. I'm going to take the wretched thing back to Electronics Boutique today and trade it in towards a copy of Resident Evil. Zombies I can handle. They can't walk thru walls.

Tomorrow I will be cleaning out what's left of the beer from the party on Saturday. My trusty friends Dave, Ryein and Eric will be put to the task of this spring cleaning alongside yours truly and Alicia. It needs to be done. There's a pony keg left that hasn't even been tapped, and by GOD... it will be drained.

Many braincells fought valiantly and died last night. I will be spending the duration of my day doing absolutely nothing so the little guys can mount their forces once more. For blackmail evidence from the previous evening, click here.

Tonight I am going to set sail on a voyage of unimaginable drunkeness. I fully plan to do much harm upon my person in the form of various unstable liquor concoctions. If I don't black out, someone better bean me with an aluminum baseball bat.

I'm gonna do the best I can to capture the true, distilled essence that will be my 24th birthday party. Plans include a stationed camcorder, digital blackmail camera, and my blog left open to be used as a sort've message board of sorts for friends and loved ones to blather drunkenly about how I can make being passed out in a puddle of barf look damn sexy.

I can barely wait.

It's good to see that MST3K still lives in one form or another. Check it.

[Man sits at the bar in cafe nowhere with a dirtied plate and a cup of coffee reading a newspaper]

"Hook me up with another slice of happiness pie, Margie?"

[Camera follows pieplate as carried by "Margie". Camera continues slow pan to headline of newspaper as the new plate is set down. Headline reads, "Lost man from Minnesota washed up on Oregon coast"]

"I'll be damned..."

I just drank a half a pot of coffee. I'm listening to NOFX.. and I'm freaking out.

Alicia and I are throwing around the idea of purchasing two Sugar Gliders. Not only are they really, really adorable, but they can glide like a flying squirrel.

"Go long!"
"Sqweeeeeek!"

I've recently become horribly addicted to the 1960's Batman TeeVee show. It's so uber-camp the mere thought makes me dance the Bat-tusi and fall down repeatedly until I hallucinate about Batgirl.

That's about it for now, kids. The cap'n is off to make some cajun chicken Top Ramen and help Adam West battle hippies and beatnicks.

Hung over again.... I'd like to take a moment to promote the goodness that is Alka Seltzer Morning Relief. If some super genius hadn't invented it, I don't think I'd be quite the alcoholic I am today. It's rewarding, and at the same time comforting. You can drink and drink and drink the night before, and still feel okay with yerself. Cuz you know there's gonna be a nice bed to pass out in, and some Alka Seltzer to wash out that taste of used kitty litter from yer mouth when you eventually wake up.

The Camel representative was at the Silver Dollar last nite. All of my non smoking friends got me cigarettes ::wipes away tear of joy:: I now have seven packs of Camel Lights and Turkish Royal to work thru.

Spent my Amazon.com gift certificate already. I've never played this game, but it looks hella fun, 'n' someone said it was kinda like Marble Madness, which was a friggin' kick ass game. Click around the website, too. I'm not sure if they did it on purpose, but it seems the Japanese to English translation is so bad it was fed thru Babble Fish a couple times by a dyslexic eight year old hermaphrodite named Cleatus Sue. For Example:

'"Amusement Vision" have always been seeking to achieve the reality in our creations, but this time, cute monkeys and lots of fantasy taste appear in
the game. Let's get into it in arcade.'

Or:

'Only "Banana Joystick" is you need to control to roll the ball with the monkey inside it to reach the goal.'

And a final note on playing with your "Banana Joystick":

'The camera also shifts to face the direction ball is rolling, so be careful not to feel giddy.'

Today is turning out to be quite a glorious day of ass-kicking goodness. I must be brief, for I will be going out to drink away a few braincells.

Finally got the ball rolling for party songs.
Made my infamous Mexican Casserole.
Won a $25.00 gift certificate to Amazon.com.
Received my copy of Amelie in the mail.
Heard from one of my oldest friends.
Will be pickled in gin in T-Minus twenty minutes.

Nuff said.

Well, didn't start on the music selection as planned, instead watched The Hollowheads... which finally came in the mail after almost a month and a half after winning my bid on eBay. Alicia was so excited for this movie she almost forced her atoms to shift into another dimension. If you'd like more information on the movie, it's out there. I, however, am at a loss for once on just how to describe this movie in ways easily imagined by the reader. I suppose, simply put, it's a three way blending of Brazil, a circa 1950's "Father Knows Best" TeeVee show, and a modestly toned down Tromaville presentation.

And with that said, here's one result from today's Altavista Image Search Database Thingy Of Doom. Secret word: Spanky

Enjoy.

My birthday is drawing closer and closer.

Here's something me and Rebecca were discussing once: why aren't birthdays a celebration to our mothers instead of Mother's Day? Wouldn't that make more sense? What the hell did we (those being born) do except evacuate?

Anyhow, I'm not sure if I'm going to make this very complex. I'm thinking just drinkie-poos, music and what-nots. If anyone wants to help me define what exactly "what-nots" consist of, just email me. At the moment I could use the help. My last party thrown was quite a success, but there was also quite a bit more room (housewise) to work with at the time and my friend Ravyn tending bar. I think I'll start work on the music selection tonite when I get back from the salt mines.

Woo-Hoo!!! (Note multiple exclaimation marks indicating large amounts of excitement)

Post, dammit... for the love of god... post.. and publish....

I think my job is sucking away my soul. In case I've never mentioned it before, I'm in collections.. and it goes against everything I believe in. I feel as though I'm helping slop the great corporate pig, and it makes my skin itch. At this point, I honestly think I'd feel more at ease with myself if I had a nice back breakin', labor intensive job. Something where you can feel proud with yourself for coming home tired and cracking a beer. Sometimes it's spiritually confusing to come home after a long day of sitting on your ass for more ass sitting.

"In the city of the future, it is difficult to concentrate.."

I loathe the Saturdays I work... for me, it's difficult ordering a pizza, and here I am calling people up at eight in the morning to manipulate them out've their money. It's madness. The world needs to get back to basics, dammit. Anyone seen Omega Man? Charlton Heston flick? Apocolyptic disease turns everyone into these zombie vampires with afros, and Charlton Heston is the "last man standing in a world gone horribly wrong". If ya' have, ya' know what I'm talkin' about. Runnin' around stealin' cars from dealerships, ransacking grocery stores for food and army surplus outlets for bitchin' weaponry to fight off jive talkin' vampires...

Maaaan.... that'd be sweet....

I just saw some twenty-something year old guy pedal by my house on a Runt Bike while I was smoking.

Sometimes I seriously wonder if the world around me has gone mad.

I made this picture for work tonite.. I'm not sure if it sucks or not. Awhile ago, when we were first being introduced to our 3rd supervisor in about as many months, we were asked to pick a name for our team. Again, another one of those examples of the corporate kindergarden mentality. I had to rally hard against the popular vote, at the time being it was the "Superstars". I finally pulled thru with one of my suggestions, that being Squad 8:59. See, we get outta work at 9, and we all stand around at 8:59 waiting for it to be 9 and... and when you get a phone call at 8:59 it sucks.. and.... stuff.... yeah...

Am I boring you? Sorry, it's kinda late.

I've become recently addicted to putting random names into the Altavista Image Search Database Thingy Of Doom. My selection for the evening was the name Curtis. I was wonderfully rewarded with a site about Mr. Gary "Elvis" Friedrich. I will say no more. This is something one must check out for themselves.

Dear god I'm retarded... honestly, I must be somehow mentally retarded. I joke about how bad my memory is by making offbeat comments like I've got a teflon brain (Nothing sticks), but I seriously, seriously must have a fourty eight second memory span. I think maybe I'm going to start carrying around a notebook just so I can stop pissing people off when they tell me something and then ask me about it fourty nine seconds later only to get a vacant, drooling response.

Today is employee appreciation day at my job... I can only speculate on the kind of corporate kindergarden malarky that I'm going to be forced to endure for 2 hours. Why is it every company has to show their appreciation for employees by ordering pizza. Every friggin' time. And it's always presented by some mucky-muck in a suit in a sort've Iron Chef way. With a gracious sweep of the arm, encompassing the large array of artery clogging shite that they bought with their corporate discount, they open the gates for a herd of mindless drones to be ushered in. It's always the same.. paper plate, napkin, pizza, repeat.

Hey everyone, remember Brandon? Brandon has a problem. Unfortunately it's not one've those movie problems that can be solved by throwing a bikini car wash. Brandon recently lost his virginity (Well, since even Brandon can't remember the last time he got a little wink-wink, nudge-nudge, know-what-I-mean, we might as well just wipe the slate clean). Unfortunately, the individual said winking and nudging happened with.. well, may raise complications to Brandon's life.

For now, I'm just going to leave it at that. More news as it happens right here on KKFP.

A Haiku!

Beer is good for you!
So is smoking cigarettes!
I miss the 50's.

Busy busy busy! Spent my 4th of July moving my loverly new furniture into my house and cleaning it. My haul includes two green velvet chairs, a gold velvet couch and matching gold velvet chair (It rocks back and forth!). The problem being it smells quite a bit like old ladies and their decrepid one eyed cats. Rented a Rug Doctor and bought some Febreze, so now our house reeks of cleaner while the couch and chairs still smell a bit like Petco. Alicia says they just need to "air"... if that's true, I picture the air molecules ganging together in frightened clusters like the turtle paratroopers from Ernest Goes to Camp.

"I'm scared, Sarge."

Ravyn and Steve dropped by an' we let off illegal fireworks by the Jolly Inn alongside many drunken patrons that were doing the same. Dood, lemme tell ya, nothing makes for a better combination than beer, fire and gunpowder. I was feeling so patriotic I crapped my pants.

Stars 'n' stripes forever... *brrrp*

Honestly tho, the best thing about the fourth has got to be the 48 hour Twilight Zone marathon. I'm taking a moment now between episodes to try and realign my mental equilibrium. Every now and again I think I catch Rod Serling out've the corner of my eye, but he disappears when I try to focus on him.

Man... have you ever wanted to take a big bite out've a burrito from Taco Bell, spit it across their dining area and scream, "There's shit in the refried beans!!"

Yeah, me too.

Today is a bright and shining Monday.. Almost too much so. The air is so electric and the sky so clear I don't feel as if I'm in Portland right now. It's one've those days where you feel that almost anything is possible, and the idea of a clean slate makes your skin itch with repressed enthusiasm. All in all, it's very helpfull for me right now to try and clean out the mental cobwebs of my Gran'ma's death.. or "Passing Away", to make the listener more comfortable with the concept of finality. It seems to me that the term Death when used in reference to someone you know has a thicker, more solid term.
I.E.; My brother died.
But if you were to use the same sentence and changed "died" to, say, "has gone to a better place" or some such crap, it sort've has the mental reaction of cigarette smoke blowing against your cheek as apposed to having a camel non filter stubbed out in your jawline.
I guess I just don't understand why humanity feels the need to sugar-coat certain inevitabilities.

Nicky, Alicia's sister, moved out've our house yesterday. This has been something a long time coming, and now that it's here... well, I guess we're a bit lost on what to do next. It feels foreign at the moment. The walls are pretty bare, and we can't really move my furniture in until this Thursday. In the meantime, the house is pretty skeletal. Hopefully once we get things decorated, it'll feel a little better on the soul.

Hey! Guess what! I might be Jewish!
See, my mom was adopted without any past knowledge of her family lineage. So, as Alicia put it, I'm sort've like Lonestar from Spaceballs. Every once and awhile I get this neat fun fact about my geneology. Unfortunately, I didn't inherit a medallion that makes me a prince, but.. cest la vie.
But, back to the subject, my mom recently got a copy of her birth certificate and her mother's maiden name was Weitzel (Not sure about the spelling) which is, as I'm told, a relatively common German/Jewish name.
Maybe I'll go rent Schindler's List... I wonder if I'll get a little farklempt...

Shit....

My Gran'ma died yesterday...

Shit....

I have to go sign her cremation papers in 3 hours...

Shit....

Randomness.
Wanting to Go Go dance.
Shaved my head.
Wanting to go see the Jim Rose Circus.
Wonder if I'll ever stop dropping the playstation controller in fright.

A Haiku!

Fatal Frame Scares Me.
My Pants Are Filled With Feces.
I Love/Hate This Game.

Only have a few quick moments to blog before I lay me down to sleep. I have spent most of my evening clutching my beanbag chair in utter horror. Fatal Frame has me whimpering like a whipped puppy. Ye gods, it got so bad I actually had to make Alicia play while I quivered and twitched for the sake of my wee little asian heroine. I mean, seriously.. I was so freaked by a video game that I couldn't play the video game.... the video game. I have to keep telling myself this. It's unreal how effective turning off the lights are to play.

One other noteworthy piece of news. My friend Jamie was drinkin' at the Jolly Inn by my place an' I saw 'im whilst I sat down on me back porch to have a smoke. Well.. some dood drove up an' flipped us some shit out've his car window, an' Jamie promptly kicks his ass. Now, the last time I got into a fight, it wasn't even really a fight... altho it did involve a shovel... but since then I've had the most mild mannered of drinking experiences. So.. anyways.. it was pretty rad, altho Jamie did break his pinky finger... eh.. I had just posted the graphic underneath to promote the Seanbaby.com website... but, honestly, that's a pretty good look at what Jamie was doin' to that guy'z face against his own Toyota 4runner.

Wow... what can I say? I'm sorry? It's been over two weeks since my last entry and quite a lovely bunch of coconuts these past two weeks have been. I am now straddling the interweb on my super slick cable modem. Sort've an executive decision after my old ISP finally, almost 3 years after I quit, figured out I was still using one of their employee accounts. (Insert impish cackle here)

Recently I procured a copy of Flash, so hopefully soon my blog is gonna start lookin' a little more "Hip" for the kids of today. Maybe I'll add some of that "Wicka Wicka" music they like. I honestly have pretty much no clue how to run the program, so it'll be a miracle if I can actually create something that doesn't look like a pile of dog crap sliding down the side of a crack house.

In other news..... it was recently brought to the eye of this websurfer that Susan Powter, infamous for her "Stop the Insantiy!" series of weight loss cassettes, has upgraded from flat chested butch lezbo to really hot flat chested butch lezbo. This has me both emotionally and sexually confused... the only way I can possibly communicate the way I'm feeling to you is thru this picture of Mr T. and Joey Lawrence looking at the very same website.



That's all for now, kids. Godspeed.

*Silently staring at the back of Alicia's sleeping head*

Well, the idea was that she go to work an hour early today so we could go see Quasi t'nite... I'm thinking she's not going to be able to shit, shower & shave in about 12 minutes. She is, after all, female.

I really need a hobby or a project or something. I find myself spending more and more time just spacing out, staring at the texture of the ceiling. I've got two new video games I've hardly touched. Maybe I could teach myself magic, or card tricks or something. Oooh, or pick up a book on Photoshop and actually learn how to use it instead of guessing my way thru.

Ramble, ramble, ramble.

A Haiku!

My girlfriend sleeps on,
and we will miss Quasi. But.
Quasi won't miss us...

Oi vay... did I drink too much last nite... 2 vicodins, 3 pitchers of beer and a shot of tequilia... all for Dave.

Today is the traditional Thirsty Thursday, but methinx some time in bed would be best..

~No more beatin' my brains, with ah-liquor and drugs~

However, before the evening started, I applied and was accepted for my very first Visa! Since it's thru my bank, I can charge stuff on the card and then simply transfer funds from my savings account to the card to pay for it! $500 limit, and only 12% interest! Finally... finally... I can purchase goods and services off the internet!

Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.... we love you, but we don't know what to do with you.

This picture is the result (Cause?) of Brandon's longstanding celibacy.... celibacy that was in no way intentional... celibacy that's not even close to intentional. I haven't really done the math, but I don't think Brandon was of legal drinking age the last time he actually inserted "Tab A" into "Slot B". We've been visiting various websites tonite trying to find a nice alternative grrl for Brandon. His problem? He doesn't feel very comfortable emailing women he doesn't know. Instead... well, I have this horrible notion that he places personals... and uses somewhat unflattering depictions of himself (See photo above)... and waits for a girl to contact him... to use a play on a band name, "Godspeed you white leper!"

In other news: I was gifted a car. I feel it may explode at any minute... At least if the cops try to pull me over for driving too slowly, I can hide within the cloaking shroud of the ever present smoke screen it produces.

Richard Cheese was absolutely amazing. The man has as much presence as a fart in an elevator (But in a really good way). Simply astounding vocal talents that honestly made me a little choked up during his rendition of Rape Me by Nirvana. Dante's was filled to the gills, and their only form of notable circulation was the front door. I felt a bit like a hamster in a microwave. Despite the daunting heat, burning lights and full tuxedo, Dick sung like a champ and left everyone howling after each song. It was magic...

And then... there was Dustin...

Honestly, if he had simply walked on stage, said, "Hi, you might recognize me as Screech from the international hit Saved By the Bell", performed some sort've strange feat of physical impossiblity and left, the crowd would've simultaniously shat themselves nanoseconds before dying of exposure... exposure to the kewlest evening ever. Instead, Screech started off way too slow with his routine and everyone was impatient due to the hellish temperature (No pun intended) of Dante's. This caused several drunks to start heckling very early on, causing mass uncomfortability thru the crowd and little to no laughter. Dustin's main retort to any particular heckle was one of two things, "Hey! I played Screech for 10 years, I have no fear!" or, "I have 500 dollars in my pocket right now for anyone to beat the crap outta that guy". Needless to say, since he was shot down so quickly out've the gate, the audience was lost pretty fast. He had some pretty good material if he was left alone for 5 minutes without having to defend himself, but I started to lose my interest when the John Wayne Bobbitt jokes started coming out. Seriously people... this is an event that happened June 23, 1993. That shit stopped being funny eight years ago.

Celebrity Boxing II. Dustin Diamond made Horshack cry. Maybe he finally realized just how futile his bobbly headed life is. No John Travolta to tag you out on this one, buddy.

Rebecca, a bartender for the Jolly Inn, came up with what I think may ultimately be the best idea ever that will never be applied: A drinking permit. In short, hand out drinking permits, if you get in trouble for drinking and driving you don't suspend the drivers license (Which does nothing if you're really wanting to drink and you still need to drive home.. it'd be great if a suspended license meant your car wouldn't start.) you suspend their drinking permit, thereby cutting off the problem at it's source. Conceivably you could lower the drinking age as well. Which I think makes sense under any condition. When yer under 21 you don't swipe a beer just so you can have something to complement your meal, you do it to add to the pile of cans you're planning to shotgun with your buddy Steve while watching porn on the Spice channel while his parents are gone. The temptation of forbidden fruit plus uneducated drinkers new to the field equals unhealthy drinking habits. Lower the age limit! Another thought Rebecca had was to offer drinking training (Which I kinda think should be two part, one part held in a classroom and one part held in a bar). You could teach newbies how to drink responsibly and maybe teach 'em about bar manners or taste test various different kinds of drinks so they don't have to guess their way thru ordering.

"I'd like a cocktail"

"....so... what do you want?"

"I'd like a cocktail"

"Ummm...... what kind of mixed drink?"

"I want a cocktail!"

*sigh...*

A Haiku:

Excitement abounds.
Screech and Richard Cheese unite.
Sunday. At Dante's.

How freaking kewl is that? Seriously? The one and only Samuel "Screech" Powers and Richard Cheese together for what could possibly be deemed the "Better than Sex" tour. Actually, speculation is still open as to what the hell Screech will be doing. Consensus leans towards a standup routine. I think he's been travelling with the Jim Rose Circus for the past six years and wants to try and take a shot on his own. I hear he can chew bubble gum and blow the bubble out his ass.

"Stay away from my Juicy Fruit you juicy fruit!"

Ah... sweet Jesus... finally.. normality. I feel a great weight has been lifted from my back. This whole thing with the image hosting has been totally gay... and I don't mean gay in the normal San Francisco way or the "Singing in the Rain" kind of gay but the "Welcome to cellblock D, you're my new bitch" kind of gay.... but, to make myself happier, I shall just gaze intently upon the tarsier. My wonderful html equivalent to a canary in a mine shaft. I love you tarsier. I love you because you signify that everything is going to be all right... and I can keep on blogging with the aid of visual stimuli.

*sniff*

Sorry.. I need a minute to get a hold on myself... I'll be back with more later.

Bah... bah hah... BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THE TARSIER IN THE HAT IS WORKING!! IT'S WORKING!! I am one step closer to getting my images hosted.. I may leave the picture of the tarsier up.. it is way cuter than me... and it has a hat!
stay tuned

Arrrrrrgh! Qwest.net finally caught up with me! Now I need to find a new server to host all my piccies :(

Barbequed ribs today made me think of my uncle Jack.


How do you become the black sheep of the family? Does it happen all at once, or does your integrity slowly flake away like old paint... leaving only black wool behind. Random thoughts…


Today was the 2nd annual Pug Crawl in sunny Portland Oregon. I did not attend.


I think I like small breeds of dog best mainly because they can’t reach your crotch or your ass to sniff it.

Today was good. The day started off with a little Noho's w/Alicia (Neverbefore mentioned, but my fiancee) and Wade (Friend from my days as a QA bitch for CyberRep.com). I got to pop their proverbial cherry with some hot 'n' spicy pan fried chicken an' ginger garlic chicken. Mmmm... now, so far my favourite part of the day happened whilst Alicia was in the bathroom and my mind was wandering from shiny object to shiny object. I happened to glance down to the wrapper that held her chopsticks and this is what I found printed in the corner (With punctuation and sentence structure kept in tact as found):


Welcome to Chinese Restaurant. please try your Nice Chinese Food With Chopsticks the traditional and typical of Chinese glorious history. and cultural


Simply breathtaking. Along those lines, this link will whisk you away to a fantabulous Japanese sex catalogue from the 1930's.


Spent some quality bonding time with Victoria. Got high on white chocolate mochas and about two dozen pixie stix then went to play in the mall. Our righteous cause was to find Spiderman wrist-webby-shooty-outy attatchments and fight crime, but the Toys R Us was closed (Along with most of the North half of the first floor) due to some funk whacky power outage (Which may have been prevented had we Spiderman wrist-webby-shooty-outy attatchments). So, alas we spent some time in the Christian Supply parusing the various Bibleman action figures and the Mr. T blockbuster Judgement.


Did you know that the mall, when under the influence of legalized drugs like sugar and caffeine, can make you loud and obnoxious? Now I finally know why I hate 96.3% of all mall patrons... Please, for the sake of others, get the decaf frappucino and something with nutrasweet.

Christ on a crutch! It's already been three days since I last posted? Ye gods! That's madness! MADNESS! So what's new... well, for one thing, I went to go see Star Wars before YOU. Hahahahaha. Whilst you were slaving away at 10:00 at your underpaid job, toiling under the glare of your supervisory figure, I was watching people trying to act. I mean, they were really really trying to act. In one scene, you can see Anakin actually break into a sweat before he can push a tear out over the death of his mother. But still, I must say, way better than the first one. I wasn't keeping track, but I was told the minute count for Jar Jar is only about 10-11 full minutes of onscreen presence.... I think maybe George Lucas finally took notice of the rivers of blood pooling down the isles of America's theaters from the limbs gnawed off by it's patrons in an attempt to more quickly escape another "mee-sa".


Rant Rant Rant.


I lost a pool bet last nite and I feel really badly about it and I can't figure out why... we were betting on pool, and I blew the hell out've my shot. That's a bit expected because I was completely wasted... but my friend Jaime was sure I could make it and put five bones down. I think that's what made it stick in my mind. The fact that I lost Jaime's money and not my own. Man, and with such a drunken style and grace.. completely missed my shot and sunk one of my opponents balls.


I'll just have to take him out to Noho's


I guess my final thought for the moment is of a man I rode the bus with the other day. He was completely obsessed with McDonalds and McDonalds related trivia. Such as:

Glassy Eyed Passenger: What was that?

McDonalds Stalker: I said, do you know where the biggest McDonalds in
the world is?

Glassy Eyed Passenger: (Makes every attempt to look thoughtful and
only manages to look more bored) No.

McDonalds Stalker: (Trembles slightly as he can feel the word about to
ejaculate from his tongue) Moscow! Can you believe it? Now why do you think
they'd put the biggest McDonalds in the world in Moscow? It takes up 2 city
blocks and has 48 cash registers! I counted them! Y'know, I waited in line for
over an hour and a half just to get a Big Mac. (Laughs inanely to the
tune of a nasal hemorrhage)

Businessman: Well, that's why.

McDonalds Stalker: (Brought quickly back to earth from his dream world
of quarter pounder pillows and french fry slippers) What? What's why?

Businessman: You just answered your own question. They built such a
large McDonalds to satiate the demand. Imagine how long the line would've been
had it only been as big as a normal American McDonalds.

McDonalds Stalker: Heh, yeah... (Obviously ready to either scurry away
abashed like a startled spider, or kill this bobbly headed fool who dares to
question the only conversation he has to offer to anyone anywhere at any time.)

I feel badly for these people, and a little bit sad.... you know who they are. They're brothers.. sisters. They're Aunts and Uncles. They're delivering your newspaper. If you know one of these people, please... just give them a hug. In the middle of one of their precision tuned stories you've heard five million times since you accidently first made eye contact with them.. simply hug them. I just know they'll cry. They'll cry like big relieved bobbly headed babies. And if they do? Punch them right in the eye.

Not much time to blog before going to work, but I would like to voice my undying love for Noho's. I don't know how they do what they do to their chicken... but I'm so glad they do it.


*brrrp*

Jason X.... Where does one begin?


It's been awhile since I've felt that the booze I snuck into a movie theater was needed more to take the edge off than to simply have a drunken good time. In Jason X, the movie begins with Jason held as a prisoner of the government, to await the outcome for one of two decisions. A.) find out how an unkillable man ticks and make super-soldiers for the Gub'ment's delight and fancy (Soldiers, one could speculate, used mainly to focus on the mindless killing of horny co-eds in warring nations... or a really, really buff olympic hockey team. Bet those kanucks wouldn't see that comin'!), or B.) freeze his monkey ass like a Hungry-Man dinner until they figure out a way to kill 'im for good. Naturally, we are rooting for option B because it's backed by a hot chick... err... scientist. Push comes to shove, hack comes to slash and Jason, like a machete wielding Houdini breaks out've his chains and kills every scientist on site except for previously mentioned hot chi- I mean scientist. Well, she manages to lure him into a freeze tank with the ol', "Hey! I'm helpless an' me boob iz 'bout to fall out!" before givin' him a taste of lead salad. Wham, bam, he's flash frozen and goes completely forgotten for four hundred and fifty five years. Anyhow... that's how things start off. The bulk of the movie is a cross between an episode of Star Trek written by Larry Flint and a three legged dog trying to pee on a fire hydrant.

Drinking Rules:
Drink every time there's foreshadowing.
Drink once for every pun.
Drink twice for each gratuitous boob shot.

Before the end of the film you too will have had a half a 5th of Jack Daniels and the accusing stares of your fellow movie goers.

Today my hangover decided to wake me up early as opposed to sleeping in. Actually, it wasn't the hangover that woke me up so much as the stench of my own beer farts. Sadly tho, this is not an uncommon occurance.


**Sigh**


I honestly should curb my drinking. Some days I cut thru life like the proverbial knife thru butter... other days I sort've.... wade. Is it possible to drink yourself retarded? Can I get a grant to find out? For science, of course.... hey... is science spelled right? Isn't it supposed to be I before E except after C? Unless, of course, it sounds like A... as in this rhyme is gay..


But back to my drinking habits..


Thursday, or more commonly termed "Thirsty Thursday" around my neck of the woods, always ushers in an enjoyable evening of cocktails and good hearted camaraderie. Last nite was spiced up by a little karaoke (Pronounced "Carry Yolky" like a swear word from a rather sleepy sumo wrestler who stubbed his toe.. and perhaps smoked a bit much in his life. In order to give the proper emphasis on the word by means of text it will hereby be highlighted in bold) at the Galaxy. Last nite was not my best performance.. I had a hard time getting into it and was singing pretty flat. As I am still pretty new to this whole karaoke experience every song I try is new and, I'm beginning to realize, completely hit or miss. So far I know I can sing two karaoke songs with some bravado from the crowd. "Hell" by the Squirrel Nut Zippers and "Add it up" by the Violent Femmes. My friends support me, but secretly behind their eyes I know if I sing either one of those songs "just one more time"... I may find the karaoke mic inserted into uncomfortable regions of my body..

The blog is not yet perfect, but it'll have to do. My "friend" Victoria sent me this link earlier in the evening. I put the word friend in quotation marks simply because I'm not sure if this website has entertained me... or made me slightly more mentally unhinged. I have watched it 3 times. I am still as unsure of the outcome now as when I first watched it. You may judge for yourself.


Along with the link, she extended to me a gracious offer to a very auspicious event. I will attend a private screening (Thanks be to Spiderman) with three of my friends (Victoria, her boyfriend Jason, and my boyfriend Jack Daniels) to the new smash hit "Jason X"


Expect full reviews and details this weekend.

The asthetic details of my blog are nearly complete. I am drunk with power

Listening to the Gorillaz and burning some nag champa whilst I try and figure out how this crazy space toaster of a website works.... I knew I should've taken those html classes.

Ye gods, my own personal Blog... I have no idea what I'm going to do with myself. **dances like a monkey** Yay! That helped...