Argh, the pictures are gone again! THIS WILL NEVER DO! Today, being a blissfull saturday of lay-z-ness, I shall begin the rejuvination process of ye olde blog! I have some pictures and articles that I feel must be documented and shared with the world.

THE WORLD!!

::Listening to Nancy Sinatra::

"I updated my blog today..

I typed a lot with little to say..

Bang. Bang.

I wanted a Coke..

Bang. Bang.

I stubbed my toe..

Bang. Bang."

Okay, so I check my Blog religiously (Mmmm... maybe as religiously as a struggling Catholic.. about once every month, and only when I think there's something in it for me) to see if there's been a random comment or whatnot. Y'know, peek in just to make sure all the dustbunnies have happily gone forth to multiply the lands. Generally I have no ambition to post. This is partially due to the fact that my image server had apparently gone tits up, and I'm much too lazy to attempt to find a new one.

For some unexplainable reason this is not the case anymore.

Today I make my monthly spot check only to find that the pictures I had so lovingly placed ages ago had somehow magically reappeared.

As if by Satan.

And if Satan put 'em there, it's gotta be time for me to jump back in the saddle, right? I mean seriously, we're talking about Satan here. Whose going to argue with Satan? Not me! That's for damn sure!

So, over the next few days, I think I'll make an effort to update this blog. Mainly to give those who might still have it bookmarked a reason to feel good about their hopeless lives as a useless packrat.

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.