Tuesday, May 29, 2007


 "Drink up, you dumb dick!"

 I'll admit my nerves are worn to nubs over the impending moped rally. Perhaps I'd been hitting the sauce a bit too hard. The Buttwipes, an infamous rival gang from Finland, will be in town. And I've got a mark on my head.

 My father, Captain Napkin, disgraced their previous leader, Oye Papi Daddy-O. During what should have been a standard old fashioned hair auction, my father asked Daddy-O's best gal, Chesty Dom, for her hand in marriage. The Captain and Chesty were in bed before Daddy-O had a chance to shave his eyebrows.

 "They're going to get you for what your daddy did, Kro-gar!" Chesty rose halfheartedly from her beanbag chair, the malnourished twigs she called legs barely able to support her distended belly. Inside that tank, a thing grew.

 "Shut up, Chesty! Shut up!"

 "I know what they're going to do with you, Kro-gar. Hee hee hee."

 I knew Chesty knew what they knew they had to know. To do.


Sunday, May 20, 2007



 you asked why I left the table unexpectedly at Aunt Terri's '05 Thanksgiving dinner. Since Terri is your sister -- and your honor was at stake -- I feel you deserve an explanation more than anyone else.

 To be honest, for the longest time I couldn't remember why I left to use the bathroom that Thursday (after all, you didn't bring it up for nearly two years). While walking your Jaclyn last January, I remembered: I was crying about going bald and shit myself.    As the walk ended, a poem came to me. It was dictated to Charles who graciously transcribed it for me:

Boo hoo hoo
Your coiffure is spoiled
So let's play Caligula
I'll bring the petrolatum

 You'll be happy to hear that the poem won a number of awards and made me rich. Terri and I have since made-up and even got together for flutes of mineral water.

 If you ever want to see me again, bring $1,000,000,000 to the old warehouse with the wishing well out front on October 30. You're going to have to wish the whole thing away for a chance encounter at the very least, you old asshole.




The staff made excellent waffles. Totally bloodsugarsexmagik.

Thursday, May 10, 2007


 Samuel tore the tire iron from below the driver's seat. The left leg of his bluejeans had been ripped wide. Below the knee, the blue fabric turned black from the wound. The jeans could not be mended and the leg would need to be severed, but he was in rapture.

 "I'll give you the motherfucking of your life," he screamed. "You sweet bitch!"

 Samuel pounded the tire iron into his palm. Ten feet away, Clinique held a chrome toaster at neck level, every muscle of her frame taut with violent anticipation. The straps of her black gown had fallen to her arms and pulled; a red line will appear across each bicep by morning.

 "Cunt. Cuntflap! Puny." He cursed her.

 "You don't have a schlong, Sam," she said. "You have a schlort!"

 He cursed her.

 "You oaf! You boar of a man!" Clinique howled like a devil dog and gleaked a sour brown stream at Samuel. He was now holding himself upright with one hand on his sweet Jag. He dropped the tire iron and grimaced as he wiped the gleak from his reddened cheek.

 "I'm not a man, Clinique."

 "No, you're not," she whispered. "You're worse." She lowered the toaster. "I hope you hated toast," she rasped. Raising her gown to her hips, she took a big ol' turd on the toaster. "You never gave me your LSD hook-up!"

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


 "Rubbing toes with Fred Savage, sexy encounters with other celebrities."

 "Whistling at all the attractive ladies. 'Hey, honey.' I know all the tricks."

 "I fear a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle stealing my beer!"

 "I love making friends like I love making money. It's like, 'It's the eighties again,' baby!"

 "My girlfriend says I look like Richard Gere if he were a Green Beret."

 "...that's why Japanime did so many... brilliant... [noise] uh...."

 "Yeah, I help my sister wash her dishes. Sometimes. AND FUCK YOU IF THAT MAKES YOU THINK I'M WEIRD!"

 "Yeah, I sold my cat for dope. AND ---- YOU IF THAT MAKES YOU THINK I'M WEIRD!"

 "Damn! Damn, man! ...Was that the sacrifice? [noise] Cuz, dog...."

 "I put my rubber shoes on and get kind of sloppy!"

Monday, May 07, 2007


 Sammy's knee cracked and shifted on the rock. He tripped on a vine near the edge of the ravine and now lay trapped before the creature. Tony turned around to see his friend shriek. And then cry.

 "Tony--please! PLEASE!!" Tony raced over. "Tony...rub a Whatchamacallit on the wound.... There's one in my snack pack!"

 Searching through Sammy's red-and-yellow fannybag, he knew something was wrong. He'd passed out the night before, drunk on Thunderbird and Buck Bunny MD 20/20. Before his lids shut, he'd set the Whatchamacallit on a Foreman Grill under his bed. He didn't remember shutting the grill off. He didn't remember shutting the grill off!

 "Tony, it's in my... Wait a -- wait...!" His eyes widened and he took a deep breath. "...Tony--I found the Whatchamacallit on a Foreman Grill under your bed last night!" His eyes were now crying again. "I hope it wasn't mine, Tony! I hope it wasn't my WHATCHAMACALLIT!!!!!!!!!! AHHHHH!"

 "I love warm choc-- SAMMY!!!!," yelled Tony!

 And then the creature ate Sammy.

Thursday, May 03, 2007


 On his death bed, Jeff's granddad revealed that he had stashed money away under a floorboard. The money was in a back room of the house that Jeff had played in many times as a child. Jeff called me over. "Bring your tools," he said. "I don't know which board it's under. We may have to rip up the whole fucking floor."

 "War on the floor," I said.

 Upon entry, we noticed a 4" x 4" red 'X' painted on a board in the center of the room. "I didn't notice that before." We stuck seven pencils between the crack of the 'X' board and the one next to it and hammered at them until the board came up. Undearneath, we found the loot his granddad stashed: twelve very old dollars.

 "Twelve bucks!," said Jeff. "We're 'woman rich!'"

 "Dood, we could buy anything we want!" A string of saliva greased out of my mouth. "A cassingle! Hostess pies. Magic (tm) cards!"

 "You're right," he said. "Anything we want...." Jeff fanned and slapped his face with the bills. "I've got a better idea.
We put the cash in one of the shoes my granddad died in and hide it. In two years, $12 could multiply to $300 in that shoe. We could buy a Nintendo then. Imagine the advancements in Nintedo technology the next two years will bring."

 "Fucking pagan!," I said.

 Later, we dug up the body of Jeff's granddad. I cried into the night:

 "You're buying us a Nintendo, old man!"