Choking On Candy

Crater Face

2011-06-25T07:02:00.001-07:00

"Dude you gotta go up and talk to that chick, she is eyeballin' you big time."

"Dude I saw her here before, forget about it!"

"Whattayou nuts, dude she's hot!"

"Through a telescope maybe, up close it's a different story!"

"What?"

"Dude, she's got more craters than the sea of Tranquility!"

"No!"

"Yeah! It's true! I heard in five years Nasa is planning a manned mission to her face!"

"Ahhh no! Get out!"

"Forgettaboutit! She takes her makeup off, half the guys on her block turn into werewolves!"

"Ahhh you're killin' me dude stop it!"

"Naw naw dude, serious now, she used to date Neil Armstrong, for real! He went in to give her a kiss goodnight, almost ran out of fuel looking for a place to touchdown! Yeah! Yeah dude, Buzz Aldrin wanted some of that but Neil got there first!"

"Dude stop! I'm gonna puke!"

"Nah, I'm just playin', dude, she's a nice girl. If it wasn't for her there would be no high tide, know what I'm sayin! But for real, my buddy got with her once."

"No really?"

"Sure, when he was done they gave him a ticker tape parade down fifth avenue! No, dude, I'm just fuckin' around they had a real nice dinner together."

"Really?"

"Oh sure, for desert they had some Tang and freeze dried ice cream! After that she let him stay at her place, long drive home though, 240,000 miles! Know what I'm sayin'."

"Dude stop here she comes."

"Whoa! She has a killer body though."

"Yeah dude, I never noticed that."

"Dude, hang out I'm gonna go say hello."

"YO! what the fuck!? I saw her first, dude!"

No Custom Pies!

2011-06-24T05:40:00.000-07:00

The customer shuffles slowly up to the counter with his hands in his pockets and a grimace of intense concentration on his face. Never taking his eyes off the menu just above Tony's head he says, "Howyadoin'?"
"What can I get ya?" Tony says rubbing his hairy hands together in the slightly flickering fluorescent light of the pizza shop. "Ummmm, gimme a large Tony Special", shrugging his shoulders like there was nothing else he could order.
"You got it." says Tony punching the dough with the well rehearsed movements of a prize fighter. "Actually, throw a few pineapples on that" the customer says as an after thought. "Tony special don't come with pineapple." Tony says looking at the customer as if he were a grade school student.
"Yeah, yeah, just throw a few on for me, I like a pineapple with my jalapenos." He began to take a large stack of napkins from the metal tin on the greasy table behind him.
"No custom pies" Tony says dropping the dough into the light dusting of flour on the counter. "What?"
"No custom pies, I said. You want pineapples get a Hawaiian deluxe, or else no pineapples." Tony now pointing up to the menu without breaking eye contact.
"Whoa, take it easy, I'm not askin' for a custom pie, I'm just askin' if you can take a few pineapples and throw 'em on there."
"Look, you take a handful of pineapples throw 'em on a Tony Special, it aint a Tony Special no more, it's a You special, and since You don't make pies here you don't get to make a special, only I do, you know why? Because I'm Tony, and this is my place, that's why." He begins pounding the dough again shaking his head in disgust.
"So what's the big deal?"
"The big deal is this, I make your pie YOUR way then everybody's gonna want that. It will be in the New York Post, on NY 1, John Stewart on the Daily Show will be telling the whole city 'Hey, go to Tony's! He don't make is own pies, he's just some fuckin' idiot standing behind a counter waiting to be told how to make a pie by every Starbucks drinkin' fatchalagots in the city!' I'll be a clown, a laughin' stock, I'll lose my business, my wife! I got three kids in school!" Tony began to become dizzy and had to steady himself on the counter. He was sweating profusely and the large veins in his neck were pounding.
"Do you know how stupid that sounds, Tony?" the customer says, smacking himself in the forehead, sending long strands of greasy hair into his eyes.
"No, no I don't! If I DID know how stupid it sounded, I wouldn't have said it, now would I?" Tony was beginning to regain his composure.
"Well, you understand how stupid it is now dontchya?"
"Yeah, I understand it NOW, but that's only because you told me."
The customer now looking at Tony with a confusion in his eyes that said "I don't know where this conversation is going".
"Hey" Tony said, "I know a lot of things, I know that light is both a particle and a wave, I know that the Earth day is increasing by .oo18 seconds a century because the moon is drifting away at a rate of 3.8 centimeters a year, I know that 142857 is a cyclic number, i.e., its digits are rotated around when multiplied by any number from 1 to 6. Like this:

142857 × 1 =  142857 
142857 × 5 = 7 14285
142857 × 4 = 57 1428
142857 × 6 = 857 142
142857 × 2 = 2857 14
142857 × 3 = 42857 1

But just because I know that shit don't mean I could have come up with it myself, alright.
Now, I ain't gonna tell you again, NO CUSTOM PIES! Got it?"
"Yeah Yeah, alright keep your fuckin' pineapples, I'm going to Luigi's!"
the customer says waving Tony off and walking out.
"Alright, say hi to your mom for me, Chris." Tony says going back to punching his dough.
"Yeah, yeah...ok Tony, see ya."

The Amazing Mr. Kitley: The Final Chapter

2011-06-19T05:24:00.000-07:00

Walter slowly opened the door to Mr. Kitley's room.
"Misstah Kitley?" He whispered in a kind and slightly condescending voice. "Mr. Kitley, you in there suhh?"
"Yes Walter, I'm here, over by the bed." A weak voice drifted out from the stale air.
Walter poked his head through the door, one hand on the door knob the other on the handle of a twelve inch, razor sharp knife he picked up in the kitchen.
"OH! There you is Mr. Kitley! How you feelin' now? All good? Ready to go to the zoo? Ready to go see that panda bear that's there waitin fo' us?"
"Yes...yes Walter, I'm ready to see the panda bear." Kitley resigned.
"Oh! Missstah Kitley! That's great, that's just wonderful news! I'm just so happy!" Walter strode into the room beaming, the knife still clearly out of sight, pressed up against the back of his white jacket.
"Alright Mr. Kitley, let's get you dressed!" Walter walked over to the wardrobe, threw the doors open with one hand. He examined the the strange collection of hanging garments and pondered for a moment what the panda bear might respond to the best. Perhaps something casual...an ascot and a pair of chinos? Or maybe some formal attire, something black and white.
"So what should we go with Mr. Kitley, something casual or something more appropriate for this momentous occasion?" Walter swung his head around with a huge smile and lightly closed eyes. He was met with a heavy brass paper weight across the chin. A hot white flash of pain and shock shot through Walter's face and settled in the back of his head. His legs buckled, and he dropped his knife. It slid across the floor and under Kitley's bed. His face hit the highly polished floor and three teeth, roots and all, bounced out across the floor leaving little tippy toes of blood in their trail.
Walter, stunned, tried to get to his feet, but in a moment Kitley was on top of him with both of his white bony hands wrapped around his throat. Kitley struggled with all of his strength to keep a hold. Walter, his eyes bulging reached blindly under the bed for the knife. Patting his hand around he finally felt the handle, grabbed it and smashed Kitley across the temple. Kitley collapsed and rolled to one side, instantly Walter, a much younger man, was on top of him, pressing the cold blade to his neck. Kitley's paper thin skin crinkled and began to give way to the blade.
"Don't make me do this Mr. Kitley! I don't wanna take your head off, but I will!"
Just as Kitley was losing the struggle the house cat, Theodora, entered the room and strode up to the two men. Her head was cocked to one side and she seemed to understand the contest afoot. Their six eyes locked. The two men were transfixed. Slowly the pressure of the blade began to give way and the both bodies began to relax. Walter started to whisper "Ninteen...sixty-two..." Then Mr. Kitley, "Forty-six...twelve...eighteen..."
The two men turned to each other and started to laugh. Theodora ran out of the room just as Katelyn Kitley appeared. "What on Earth is going on here?" She said, looking at the two men on the floor. "Oh, ummm, nothing dear, I...um...fell and Walter was helping me up."
"Yes, uh...yeeesss missss Katelyn I was helping your father up and then I done fell over too! How 'bout that!?" Katelyn shrugged in annoyance and left the room calling for Theodora. Walter turned to Mr. Kitley, "We's gonna be rich Mr. Kitley, you know dat!?"
"I am rich, Walter, I am rich."

The End

Static

2011-06-19T00:52:00.000-07:00

The only meaningful thing that you get out of television is the sentence you hear the moment before you turn it off. Because that bit, that kernel of knowledge, that fragment of an idea will cause your mind to work on its own. The television is a hijacker. It grabs hold of your mind like a wrestler. It causes it to spin and think but won't let you reflect. A mind thinking without reflection is an idle motor, burning up precious fossil fuels without going anywhere. The spinning mind is in a state of flux, malleable, susceptible, weak and exposed. Fertile. Any idea can be implanted and its evolution controlled. When the vile contraption is switched off you go spinning off on your own, reflecting, examining, you have time to digest instead of constantly eating...shit.

Calculus, Motherf@$#er!

2011-06-18T05:04:00.000-07:00

Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz squinted his eyes in the low candle light of his small study. The calculations on his parchment were complete. He tossed his quill triumphantly into its well and stood tall amongst his papers. "I have invented calculus!" He exclaimed to the heavens. "I am a genius!"
At that exact moment a loud crash came upon his chamber door. Then again, and again. Finally the door burst forth revealing a shining white, high heeled shoe and stocking clad leg.
"What the fuck did you just say, bitch!?"
Sir Isaac Newton stood in the doorway, a halo of white powder drifting around his wig and heavily made up face.
"I SAID I just invented Calculus" Leibniz gestured to his many papers, "And who you callin' Bitch, Bitch?"
"I'm callin' you bitch, punk! I invented calculus! And you're gonna need some mad differentials to calculate how infinitesimal your nuts are gonna be when I'm done stompin' on 'em!" Newton began rolling up his frilly sleeves and cracking his knuckles.
"Try it fool, and I'll smack that sissy-ass powdered wig straight of yo' head!" Said Leibniz brushing back his thick black curls.
"At least my wig don't look like some busted-ass jerry curl!"
"JERRY CURL?!" Leibniz grabbed a shining, curved blade that sat on his desk.
"Ahh Ahhh Ahhh." Newton said wagging his finger back and forth as he lifted up the lacy hem of his waistcoat to reveal the highly polished rosewood handle of a single shot, front loading pistol. He cocked his head to the side, screwed up his face and said "Oh, what? Not so big now, huh. C'mon big man, come at me your blade, I dare ya."
Leibniz dropped his knife leaving it standing in the floor with a twang. "We'll see what the Royal Society has to say about this, Newton."
"Yeah, we'll see." Said Newton as he slowly walked out of the room without breaking eye contact.

Read more about this and other historical events at your local library. For more on the invention of Calculus go to:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Calculus

The Amazing Mr. Kitley: Part Two

2011-06-18T03:39:00.000-07:00

Mr. Kitley rang his bell furiously, foam shooting from the corners of his mouth. Katelyn ran into the room with one hand on her heart the other in the air.
"What is it Father!? What's wrong!?"
Kitley began jabbering furiously while still ringing the bell. The foamy spit and words mingling together into a lost concoction of madness.
"Father, Father!" Katelyn yelled as she grabbed the bell from his shaking hand. "In the good lord's name what's going on here?"
Walter continued to make the bed ignoring the scene completely.
"It's...IIItttt's Walter! It's Walter, he's gone mad!"
"Mad?"
"Yes, yes, yes he is going to cut my head off show it to a telepathic panda bear and make millions, millions I tell you! Then he is going to feed my face to the lions! He told me all about it just a moment ago!"
"Father! what the hell are you talking about! Walter?"
"Can we speak outside for a moment Ms. Katelyn?" Walter said calmly with a slight peppering of concern.
"Yes, Walter" Katelyn said, a little shaken, the pounding of her heart clearly visible in supple pressure of her cleavage.
"NO! No, don't leave me alone Katelyn!" Kitley pleaded.
"It's fine Father, I'll be right outside the door. Please Walter, come this way."
"Yessum" said Walter leaving the bed undone.
The two made there way out of the room, first Katelyn then Walter. As Walter closed the door he glared back at Kitley with a demonic little smile then, click, the door was closed.
"What is going on, Walter? Is he ok?"
"Well Ms. Katelyn..." Walter's voice became low and serious, he took her by the hand and cast his eyes to the ground.
"He has good days, and he has some bad days too, today, ummmm might be one of them bad days."
"OH Walter!" Ms. Katelyn began to cry and collapsed into Walters caring arms.
"It's OK, it's Ok, child. He gonna be alright, I'll see him through this. We's gonna go to the zoo today and see his favorite panda bear, get us some fresh air it's gonna be alllllllriiiiight."
"But, but, didn't he say he was afraid of the panda bear?"
"You just leave everything to me Ms. Katelyn, he gonna right as rain by tomarrah, I promise you that."
"Ok Walter, see to it, please. I have to go lay down now, it's time for my medicine."
"Yes, yes Ms. Katelyn you have yourself a good rest."
"Thank you, Walter."
Katelyn made her unsteady trek up the long staircase for her long medicinal nap. Walter watched her drift up the stairs like a ghost and knew the minute she was in her her room she would have the door locked, medicine cooked and shot. She would be out for hours. Mr. Kitley was easy prey.

Tune in next week for the shocking conclusion!

The Amazing Mr. Kitley

2011-05-05T02:50:00.000-07:00

"'Monin' Mr. Kitley! Howdya sleep lass night suhh?
"Fine Walter fine! Now where is my paper!" Mr. Kitley growled.
"Right here suhh, right here fo' ya.", Walter said in a slow soothing voice as he snapped the Daily Examiner open with one hand and presented it to Mr. Kitley.
"Urrrmmmmmm" he replied, taking the paper as Walter adjusted the blanket over his withered and useless legs.
"Stop that, Walter! I'm fine."
"Now, now...don't be salty, Mr. Kitley! We's goin' the zoo today, and we knows how much you like the zoo.", said Walter continuing to tuck the blanket between Kitley and the side of his wicker wheelchair.
"Zoo! I think not, Walter! I'm an 85 year old man, I'm not going to any zoo."
"What now?" Walter plastered an over exaggerated look of shock onto his smooth brown face which slowly melted into it's usual pleasant grin. "Remember what happened last week Mr. Kitley? We went to that zoo, and we went up to that panda bear, and you remember what happend?"
"No I don't, Walter." Kitley said mindlessly paging through the paper.
"He looked right atcha! Didn't he?"
"He was looking at everyone, Walter, what else is he going to do, he's in a goddamn zoo for christsake!"
"But he didn't smile at everybody, did he? No suhh, just you!"
"What the hell are you talking about, Walter? I'm staying right here today!"
Walter's face froze, stuck in a grin so well rehearsed that it took no effort at all to maintain. But his eyes frosted over with a cool, calculating rage.
"You goin' to that fuckin' zoo Mr. Kitley if I have to roll your crippled ass there myself."
"What did you say to me!" Kitley's trembling face flushed pink, then red, then purple."
"I said you gonna see that panda bear, Mr. Kitley, whether you like it or not."
"Bu..but why?"
"Because last week when that panda bear looked at you and smiled..." Walter began to drift off, looking out the window and stepping away from Mr. Kitley's chair. "I could hear what he was thinkin', and the numbers six-three-eight-five-two popped right into my head, yeeees ssssuuuuuhhh clear as day, clear as a bell. And I played them numbers and won $1200 dollars cash money, just like that." Walter turned from the window to Mr. Kitley and knelt down to eye level, "And this time, I'm gonna win a million dollars, a million of them motherfuckin' dollars, and bitch, you gonna be servin' me that Cream of Kentucky Whiskey, ummmm hummmm." Walter bolted up and started making the bed.
"Well, suppose I won't go, Walter, what then"
"Then I cut you motherfuckin' head off, put it in a sack, bring it down to that panda bear, get them numbers and toss that shriveled-ass pink face of yours in the lions den. Whatchoo think ahh dat!"
Kitley grabbed the large bell from the breakfast table and began ringing it wildly.
"I'm telling Katlyn EVERYTHING!!" He yelled, frothing at the mouth.
"Go ahead." said Walter still doing up the bed.

Tune in next week for the shocking conclusion!

Dehab

2011-04-30T08:12:00.000-07:00

Let's end the war on drugs! Let's ease the prison population! Let's make the streets safe again! Let's make people happy! Let's legalize drugs!

The war on drugs has now cost the United States billions of dollars in cash and prizes, and the benefits have been absolutely nothing. So let's break it down and examine this problem once and for all.

People want to get fucked up, there is no getting around that. So unless we put lots and lots of money into making people happy we better put a little money into making them sedate. Drugs (by that I mean mainly Heroin and Cocaine) cost almost nothing to produce, but laws have driven their cost into hundreds of dollars a day for junkies across the globe. And when you add to that the cost of fighting the drugs it's more like hundreds of thousands of dollars a day. So why not just set up hospitals (any abandoned building will do, and plenty are available thanks to urban decay) where junkies can get their fix on at no cost at all!

Just show up, whoever you are, tie up and shoot yourself silly for no cost at all. Chances are they will stay in that place 99 hours a day, safely tucked away, and off the streets . All the needles and injections will be administered by qualified health officials with clean instruments and the most primo fucking smack this side of Kabul!

Sure they might stumble onto the street for a moment or two, but not long enough to hurt anyone, and why would they? No need to commit crimes, they have all the junk they need to stay cool in mainstream society. Perhaps bum a smoke or two off the passers by.

And when they finally succumb to the toxic substance building up in their bodies we simply toss them onto an ever growing pile of corpses 'round the back of the hospital. Oh! they won't mind the smell! And when the pile gets too high we will just toss them into the incinerator and generate electricity from their burning bodies. It would be a win win situation. Normal citizens get free power and the junkies get relieved of their useless lives. It would cost a thousandth of what it costs us today, and everyone would be so much better off. So I say let's do it! Legalize it and don't criticize it.

Why I Am TOTALLY Against Gay Marriage!

2011-04-12T01:54:00.000-07:00

I am totally against gay marriage for the simple reason that it is unnatural. It is so totally and completely as UNNATURAL as: Toxic waste, nuclear weapons, political prisoners, political parties, Coca-Cola, television, shopping centers, birthday cakes, Hollywood Super-Hunks, dentistry, automobiles, refined flour, cosmetics, bone marrow transplants, radiation therapy, space flight, digital photography, regular photography, umbrellas, monetary systems, sex toys, pollution, religion, ozone depletion, popular music, cartoons, trans-fatty acids, Las Vegas Nevada, iPhones, comic books, hair dryers, clothing, air-conditioning, Botox, open heart surgery, downhill skiing, artificial limbs, houses, cities, national boarders, electricity, LSD, McDonad's, ice cream, Mickey Mouse, guns, glass, running water, plastic, pizza, candy, higher education, Vodka and Red Bull, plutonium, sky scrapers, Viagra, sun block, SCUBA gear, GoreTex, fine art, running shoes, anti-depressants, penicillin, symphony orchestras, padlocks, Cesarean sections, childhood obesity, adult obesity, marriage, video games, velcro, the pursuit of happiness, liberty and justice for all.

Beam Me Out, Scotty.

2011-03-06T17:19:00.000-08:00

There are a lot of fun gadgets in the world of Star Trek. I'm sure anyone who is even remotely familiar with the show will find something on it that they wish they had. Whether it's a phaser, to do away with your enemies leaving nothing behind but some sub atomic particles, or something to fulfill all of your sick sexual desires, like the holodeck, there is something there that appeals to all of us.

I have always been intrigued by the Transporter Beam. Not for the possibilities of travel, or its power to cure all the damage being done to the earth by our present means of transportation, but more for the accidents. Who knows what's going to happen when you trust a computer (which, by the way only has three sliding faders on it) to keep track of every atom that makes up your body?

There have been a few slight problems caused by transporter malfunction. Captain Kirk was divided into two versions of himself, one evil, the other a mama's boy. One episode had the landing party transported to an alternate universe where Spock had a beard and the skirts for the female crew members were even shorter. Imagine that! Even shorter! But what about death by transporter, this scenario contains a strange paradox for me.

When you are killed in a transporter accident you simply don't materialize on the other end. Your atoms are scattered to the wind like the seeds of a dandelion. So I guess that means your dead. But aren't you in that state for a moment during every transport you do. Most crew members log hours and hours in transport over their careers, so were they dead during that time?

You could be listed as missing, except they kind of know where you are and there is no way of getting you back, so isn't that like death? And what if you are religious? How long does God wait for your transport to end before declaring you dead, and welcoming you into the Kingdom of Heaven or where ever it is you are expecting to go? You know, come to think of it, the transporter would be great for suicide cases, just climb in and disappear. Anyway if such a thing ever existed it would probably just be used as a weapon. I'll end here.

Ga Ga, Blah Blah (Blah)

2011-03-06T16:40:00.000-08:00

When you type the letter "L" into Google's image search the first word that comes up in the infinitely annoying list of suggestions is "Love".

The second is "Lady GaGa".

Now, never having heard her music it would be unfair for me to comment on it, but what I have to comment on is how I am constantly being updated on everything GaGa without trying...at all.

I am well versed in her many faces, having seen her radically different looks plastered on almost any surface that an image will adhere to. Her antics are described to me in one-liners at the periphery of my vision every single time I try to check my email. Seriously, every single time. All of her videos are controversial. How could something this popular be controversial? Record labels don't want controversies, they want as many people to accept their product as humanly possible.

It's getting to a point that I cannot remember a time before this creature existed. And a Lady GaGaless future seems like a far off, dreamy nebula of abstract thinking that I am having trouble comprehending. All of this and I have never heard even one of her songs.

I was utterly perplexed by this until I had a thought. If her music were any good at all perhaps they wouldn't have to sell her so hard. The worse a product is the better the advertising has to be. You know, I feel the same way about God.

Insanity...When Is A Good Time?

2011-03-02T04:56:00.001-08:00

This piece is actually about Charlie Sheen, not Aileen Wuornos (pictured) but they both bring up an interesting question for me...When is the most socially acceptable time to go completely insane?

Let's face it, insanity is tolerated under the right circumstances, but what are those circumstances? To find out I think we should work backwards on this question. When is insanity really NOT cool?

1. When you are poor.
Insane homeless people are pretty much unacceptable anywhere at anytime. Though they may be mildly entertaining when accosting other people, they are simply too unpredictable. Will they sing and dance for nickles, or smash your head in with a paving stone? You never can tell.
Charlie Sheen: Rich
Aileen Wuornos: Poor.

2. When you are violent.
Ok, Charlie Sheen may have smashed a few cameras in his day, and roughed up a few "nobodies" at his favorite watering holes, but he has not killed. Aileen Wuornos shot and killed seven men that picked her up on Florida freeways. Being a Hollywood badboy is one thing, but sending a .22 caliber bullet rattling around some poor john's head for sixty bucks and a beat up Buick Skylark is another.
Charlie Sheen: Mildly Violent
Aileen Wuornos: Extremely Violent.

3. When you are ugly.
The bloom may be a bit off the rose with Charlie, but still we all remember him from Wall Street and that carries a lot of weight. Plus men get more "distinguished" with time, women are unfortunately not awarded that luxury. The better you look the more chance you have of getting away with insanity.
Charlie Sheen: Good Looking
Aileen Wuornos: Ugly

4. When you talk too much (at the wrong time).
Incessant ranting and rambling on daytime television, fine. Incessant ranting and rambling on the stand at your own murder trial, no. Charlie knows when to behave. When you are talking to some shmuck on Fox News or Oprah Winfrey, sure, rant away. When the judge is about to hand down a sentence, shut up.
Charlie Sheen: Knows When To Shut Up
Aileen Wuornos: Don't.

Basically if you are rich, good looking, mildly violent, and know when to shut up, feel free to go insane. If not, try to hold yourself together because you won't be on Oprah Winfrey talking about rehab and what it was like to work with Michael Douglas, but you may wind up in Florida's lethal injection chamber.

Why I Shave My Head...Periodically

2011-02-23T04:38:00.000-08:00

When I was a child, perhaps 6 or 7 years old, my mother would comb my hair after my bath. I used to look down at the bottle of "hair tonic" my father had next to the sink, and tell her to comb it like that. The guy on the bottle had a classic comb-over, what they call a 30/70 in Japan. That means 30% on one side and 70% on the other.

Anyway, as the years wore on my hair follicles became permenantly frozen in this configuration. No matter how messed-up my hair became a mere flick of the wrist would send it flying back in order as if to the shout of a drill sergeant. So I had become more or less resigned to the fact that this is what I look like.

However, I began to feel that my personality was becoming too caught up in my appearance. That is to say, I felt that what I looked like was who I was. I found this profoundly disturbing. So in a fit I shaved off all of my hair, and it was absolutely cathartic.

Having no hair to comb, wash, run my hands though, look at in the mirror, check in the window of parked cars, apply gel to, mess up by wearing hats, or otherwise think about in any way was pure heaven, freedom. I felt totally liberated from having to think about what I looked like. The benefits of which were felt in almost every aspect of my life.

Everything had been reset. I woke up earlier, I chewed my food more thoroughly, my posture improved, my relationships with others improved, I had more energy and more sexual drive, I watched less television and read more, I was able to beat burly truck drivers in arm wrestling contests, I could run further than ever before, complex mathematical problems were done with the greatest of ease, and wild animals bowed before me, licking my hands and feet. I was like a reverse Sampson.

So for this reason when things are not going my way I rid myself of hair and am born anew.

Alone

2010-07-22T05:22:00.001-07:00

Kisses crept like lazy spiders

Across her neck

White as linen sheets

Blood flowed far beneath

A dead current

Television static filled her eyes

“Do what you want”, she said

While looking for the remote control

The Unlikely Adventures of Carlton Fitzroy, Man About Town: The Pirate Princess

2010-06-09T21:28:00.000-07:00

Benigno and Carlton walked down the road, their hands jammed into the pockets of their coats, shoulders raised in an effort to fight the cold.

“Benigno, suppose you tell me how it is that you are not dead. Last word I got was that you and Captain Snatchworthy were mauled by a Bengal tiger in the billiards room of the Raffles Hotel, Singapore.”

“Ahhhh, yes, it’s quite a story, Carlton. You see I noticed the tiger’s tail sticking out from under the table as Snatchworthy was lining up his winning shot. In an effort to disrupt his enevitable victory I stomped on the beast’s tail just as he hit the ball.”

“You don’t say!”

“I was so drunk I could hardly stand, but when the beast leapt toward me I…”

“Not now Benigno! Look there is the Tavern that I told you about! Dead ahead, mate! Come, refreshment awaits!”

Carlton kicked the door open, one hand pointing to the sky and yelled:

“Barman! Two gin and tonics at the back table!” The pair made their way through the crowd of bargirls and their companions, to the back of the room.

At that moment they were noticed by a mysterious beauty of Swedish and Japanese descent. Her eyes black as coal, her corset tied so snugly that the fruits of her womanhood threatened to break free at any moment. She stood to approach the two when a piggish looking man with gravy on the front of his ill fitting suit grabbed her by the arm.

“Well, a beautiful flower from the East, blown in on an oriental breeze no doubt! And what might your name be my dear?”

“Fuck off.” She said curtly as she pulled her arm away.

“Well my girl, you might be embarrassed to know that that phrase has a rather unsavory meaning in English.”

“I’m speaking English your gastropod, now be gone before you’re chasing your balls down the street!”

“Umm, yes, I think I will seek the company of a more well mannered lady for my evening’s company, good night.” And the man receded into the smoky dark of the tavern. With that she lifted herself from the bar and drifted silently toward Carlton and Benigno. When she reached their table the gentlemen stood up and straightened their collars. Carlton's face still covered with soil from what he supposed was Beningo's grave.

"Hello my lady!" Carlton said with much cheer.

He was greeted with a smack across the face so hard his tongue went numb and tears began to assemble themselves in his eyes.

"Usually, I recognize a woman who hits me that hard, but this time I am at quite a loss." he mumbled.

"You may not recognize my face, but perhaps you will recognize the name Norman Leibenstrasse!"

With that, Carlton froze. "Ah ha he, yes, yes...ummm...how is old Norman these days?" He said with nervous laughter dribbling from the sides of his mouth like the drool of a mental patient.

"He's dead." She said calmly.

"Ah, yes well, well, you must give him my regards." Carlton was now collecting his change from the table without looking down. Unaware that he was dropping coins onto the floor. Benigno, once again, was forced to calmly back toward the exit.

Just then Benigno felt a cold and foul smelling hand clap him on the shoulder. He spun around to meet the woman from the last tavern and a few of her disorderly companions.

"You again!" Benigno said with shock and a touch of fear.

"Grizelda, you know these two gentlemen?" The mysterious bargirl asked.

"Yes, my Lady, they interrupted my anniversary party earlier this evening."

"Ahhhh so it was an anniversary was it? Celebrating the day you escaped from the zoo? Carlton, said, trying to smile but his face now swelling quite badly.

"No, my first kiss." Said Grizelda.

"KISS! You don't mean to say that a man actually lent himself to the loathsome task of engaging your mouth with his own? I find that prospect nauseating at best."

"No, Carlton." said the bargirl, "A 'kiss' is how they refer to the act of biting off a man's genitals as he sleeps.

Grizelda leaned in and lightly kissed Benigno on the ear giving a wink to Carlton.

"Grizelda! Enough of this. Get these two idiots to the ship, we are sailing for the Island tonight!"

"Hear that Benigno! Get your tanning oils ready we are going to the Islands!" Carlton mumbled one eye now swollen shut.

"Oh I'm afraid you won't have any time for the beach Mr. Fitzroy." The girl said pressing her perfect form up against Carlton, caressing his swollen cheek. "You see the sun never shines on Death Island."

"We got our heads stuck in the pickle jar this time Fitzroy." Said Benigno.

"Indeed, Benigno, and worse yet, no gin and tonics."

How will our heros get out of this one? Stay tuned for the next installment!

The Unlikely Adventures of Carlton Fitzroy, Man About Town: Ladies Night

2010-06-09T04:29:00.000-07:00

Carlton and Benigno skipped arm in arm down a well beaten path to the door of an inn, which looked to be full of merriment and young ladies .
"Here we are squire! Drinks and company await!" said Carlton with much fanfare.

Benigno opened the door for his friend, removing his hat and giving a deep bow. Carlton passed through the door with his head held high, Benigno right behind. Both of them however missing the brown paper sign tacked to the door with the words "Ladies Only" scratch across with an aged quill.

"Hi Ho ladies! A drink for me and my Spanish friend here! Gin and tonics might do the trick I should say!" Carlton threw his coat tails out as he perched himself upon the stool sliding a note across the splintering bar.

His hand almost reached the end of the plank when he felt the note curling up before his dainty fingers. Sliding his glance down his frilly sleeve he noticed a large bowie knife, newly sharpened and standing in the center of his bill. At this point it became impossible not to notice a rather rough looking lady, several teeth shy from a smile, glaring at him from only inches away.

"Who invited you to my party?" She whispered into Carlton's ear, Benigno now slowly edging toward the door.
"I did not realize an invitation was in order, madam." Carlton calmly replied.
"Can't you not see there is a party afoot? There be music, dancing, and general merriment abound, be there not!" Her voice now growing sharp. Her breath, a combination of whiskey and tooth decay singed our hero's mustache. Carlton allowed one eye to survey the room, the other firmly planted on the razor sharp knife pressing against his well manicured fingernail.

The collection of ladies was a motley crew indeed. They were clad in the sort of tattered rags that would embarrass a beggar. There were not enough teeth, eyes and limbs to be evenly distributed among the lot, and Benigno would be jealous of at least two of the mustaches.

"Ummm...you ladies do seem to be engaged in a gathering of some sort" Carlton's words now quivering with a degree of fear.
"OH? And what sort of gathering do ye think that may be, friend?" She said, turning her gaze to Benigno, now pressed against the door with his hand on the knob.
"Well! Let's see now!" Carlton was regaining his strength.
"Charm School reunion?"
"Christian housewives biweekly knitting circle?
"Oh! I've got it! Annual meeting of the Miss Countryside beauty pageant runners up!" Suddenly Carlton leapt to his feet smacking the knife from the hags hand. It whistled through the air and landed squarely between Benigno's legs.
"Go you fool!" Carlton yelled, and Benigo, regaining his composure, slid through the barely opened door, Carlton right behind. The two ran down the dirt path hats in hand.
"Know any other taverns in the area?" Benigno asked.
"Just one, but it's a little rough." said Carlton.

Tune in next time for the shocking conclusion.

Grimace: An Intimate Portrait

2010-06-08T04:32:00.000-07:00

Walter Grimovskovich, better known as "Grimace", rose to super stardom in the 1970's and 80's by appearing in McDonald's restaurant television commercials. But it wasn't all glitz and glamor for this unusually talented performer.

He was originally cast by the McDonald's Corporation in November of 1971 shortly after leaving the Julliard School of Drama in New York City. Thinking this would be a short term gig to make some money before looking for more serious work, he signed a contract to appear in just three ads as the "Evil Grimace", a hideous character with four arms which he used to steal McDonald shakes and Coca-Colas from the children of McDonaldland.

When the contract was up Ray Kroc, CEO of the McDonald's Corporation, personally asked him to say on and continue the fine work that he had started. Grimovskovich grudgingly agreed but had definite ideas for the future of the character. He felt that the "Evil Grimace" lacked depth, and was a waste of his dramatic training. Also, the set of extra arms were causing pain and irritation to his sensitive purple skin. Kroc agreed, the arms were gone, and in 1972 "Grimace" was reintroduced as the lovable oaf we know him as today.

However, the whirlwind of fame and fortune throughout the 70's began to take its toll, and by the early 80's Grimovskovich was left with a $500 a day cocaine habit and three ex-wives. His weight ballooned from a slim 350 pounds to an amazing 600. He began to make embarrassing public appearances just to keep the money coming in. In January of 1985 Ronald McDonald and several of the Fry Guys intervened and told Grimovskovich that he needed help. He was not only destroying himself but taking all of the McDonladland characters with him.

He agreed to go into detox and within a few months he was back to his old self. Although Grimovskovich never made it to the big Broadway heights he had always longed for, he created something special. He is the heart and soul behind "Grimace", more than a fat, purple, milkshake guzzling blob, more than just a comic foil for Ronald McDonald, he became a true American legend.

The Unlikely Adventures of Carlton Fitzroy, Man About Town: The Return of Benigno Avocado Jr.

2010-06-07T05:57:00.000-07:00

Carlton stood sadly at the grave of his beloved friend and confidant Benigno Avocado Jr. The heaviness of his heart caused the roses he carried in his ungloved hand to wilt.
He stood for several minutes pursing his lips then, finally, dissolving into a fit of hysterical grief, Carlton threw himself onto the moist Earth of the freshly dug grave of his late friend. He smeared the soil into his face and hair and screamed:
"Benigno! Benigno! You fiery Spanish bastard! How dare you leave me! How dare you taste the fruits of the afterlife before me! ME! Carlton Fitzroy! The man who gave you everything! Everything! Everyyyythhh..."
"Really Fitzroy, this is most displeasing, and that's my grave your mussing up old chap!", a spicey Spanish voice drifted over the tombstone. Carlton lifted his head, his face covered in soil, his hair standing on end like a specter.
"Benigno?"
"Yes."
"Benigno Avocado?"
"Yes."
"Benigno Avocado Junior?"
"YES you idiot! What are the chances that it is a different Benigno Avocado who knows you and is standing at the grave of Benigno Avocado Jr!"
"Oh! Yes, I get your meaning, umm.....fancy a drink?
"Let's go." Benigno said looking off to the horizon knowing that this would be the beginning of a new set of adventures.
The two walked arm in arm into the setting sun leaving the graves and sadness behind.

Tune in next week for the stunning conclusion!

ALIVE: A Book Review

2010-06-03T06:33:00.000-07:00

I must say after reading Alive: The story of the Andes Survivors, I was totally satisfied. Peirs Paul Read's amazing account of the survivors of Uruguayan Air Force flight 157 from Montevideo on the 13th of October, 1972, was delicious. I could really sink my teeth into the juicy tale of horror that unfolded in the Andes that fall.

True, some of the descriptions of suffering are hard to swallow, and may leave a bad taste in your mouth, but in the end you will be wanting seconds.

I do wish Read would have stayed on course, and not excused himself from the table by chronicling the parents search in such depth. The sheer feast of drama, back at the plane, was like a cornucopia of human endurance. But I guess it helps you to digest the buffet of pain and suffering by cleansing your palate on some normality.

You could gorge yourself on the decent sized portions of heroism and sacrifice that were displayed on the mountain. Though most of the survivors were dishing up all they had, some were happy to sit back and be served a banquet of assistance. But in the end they all pulled together like the staff at a five star restaurant to make it through to the final course of this terrible meal.

It will tenderize your heart to see how, through the love of friends and family anything can be pulled out of the fire. All and all I have to say this was a great book, not too much sugar not too much spice, done to perfection in the oven of a great journalist. It will melt in your mouth. Bon appetit.

OMG! I Met Tom Cruise!

2010-05-27T06:16:00.001-07:00

A word for word transcription of a conversation I had with Tom Cruise, the world famous actor, at a Hotel in Melbourne Australia on May 26th 2010.

TC: Mike Migliacci? Tom Cruise.

MM: Wow, Tom Cruise! Nice to meet you.

TC: No, no…no…no nice to meet YOU!

MM: Really?

TC: Yes. Don’t you think so?

MM: I don’t know, I’ve never met myself.

TC: Oh…but haven’t you?

MM: No. I have been in a perpetual state of knowing myself since birth.

TC: Yes, well you may think that, but in fact, it’s not true at all. You see, your cells are in a constant state of flux. Living, dying, regenerating… you are a totally new person all the time.

MM: Well, that may be, Tom, but still my life has a great deal of continuity. Not only on the biological scale, but historical as well. The past can't be changed, and it constantly informs the new person I “am” of the old person I “was”.

TC: Michael, that’s the most absurd thing I have ever heard. If the cells in your body are in constant flux, then certainly your brain cells are in flux, changing your understanding of who you are!

MM: Well not exactly, Tom. I mean, the cells themselves carry only genetic information, not life experiences. True there are chemicals in the brain that store sensory memory information, but they only work as a cohesive whole incorporating chemical reactions and billions of cells. The birth and death of an individual cell has no bearing on that, whatsoever.

TC: Oh I see…have you tried those crab cakes over there?

MM: No, not yet, but I was about to!

TC: Yeah, me too.

The End.

Der Fuhrermobile

2010-05-19T01:07:00.000-07:00

Kraft durch Freude means "strength through joy" and was Adolph Hitler's pet project of making Germans into happy fighting machines by getting them out of the house and into the country in their very own Fuhrermobile.

An excited Adolph Hilter drew this picture in a restaurant in Munich in 1932, and presented it to Jakob Werlin, the head of Daimler-Benz.
Clearly, it went on to become the Volkswagen Beetle.

But really only the convertible beetle looked truly Hitleresque, I think.

Take a look at this picture:

Tears, Beers and Sad Luck Days

2010-04-20T04:32:00.001-07:00

As I made my way up the steep driveway to the Mitre Hotel I almost rememberd the girl's name. The one hanging off my arm with hair in her eyes and smoke curling around her mouth, spilling her Corona... disgraceful.
I kick a can up to the front gate. It rattles for a moment but Uncle doesn't hear us.
"Uncle...hey Uncle." I said rocking the gate back and forth with my eyes closed. My lovely companion now at my feet, tossed gently on the filthy concrete.
Uncle comes shuffling out from behind a door. He pulls up his suspenders and yawns a wide, black, toothless yawn like a lion in some forgotten zoo. He stares for a moment through his swollen eyes "Ahhhhh..." he says.

"Two Tiger Beers" my eyes still closed. Uncle pushes them through the gate and falls backwards into his peeling imitation leather recliner, an empty birdcage at his feet. In a moment he is snoring again. There is the chatter of the bugs, a few far off laughs but other than that we're alone. At least I'm alone, my companion is asleep, her long fingernails curled around her phone. It's pink, like everything else.

I grab a three legged chair and balance myself against the crumbling pillar all peeling and dusty. Another time I might have seen this place when it was alive. When it rivaled the Raffles Hotel. Men in white turbans and white gloves parking cars. The yellow candle glow of a chandelier dripping down the walls like honey, socialites smoking cigarettes, and music coming from real live people.

Now the Uncle runs the place. Pushing warm canned beer through a rusty gate for two bucks a go. They say you can still stay here. But why would you? It has become a dumping ground for everything people want to get rid of. The main lobby and ballroom are filled with old matresses, waterlogged boardgames, broken plastic pistols that still spark, and books and magazines of every description. Not one worth reading. None of the stools at the bar match. Some covered in green slashed vinyl, another a wooden number from some pirate themed place on Boat Quay, and another and another, nothing matched.

Gotta hand it to this place though, it's still got charm. This ain't how I pictured my Sad Luck Days. I pictured a cold place, lonely and gray. Singapore is bright and sunny, friends around every corner. Except tonight. I stare at my companion, sprawled on the stairs...what was her name. I pick one of the beers off the ground and crack it. There his a huge bang. Uncle and the girl both wake with a start, and look back and forth in unison. She lays back down but Uncle is up, he is squinting his eyes and sniffing the air. Suddenly he jumps to his feet, slips into his mismatched bedroom slippers and starts opening the front gate.
"What is it? Hey, Uncle what is it!?"
He waddles off into the darkness. I look inside, the case of Tiger beer is sitting on the ground torn open like a fresh kill. Under the lip of the wound I can see a can or two just picking up the twitching fluorescents. Should I grab one?
Just then uncle comes running into the light holding a huge durian in his arms. The smell of the durian is strong, sweet and mysterious. Uncle holds it out for me to see. I get real close. It's covered in small sharp wooden spikes. The small, intricate valleys awash with ants, thousands of them. The whole surface of the fruit seems to be alive, twisting and growing in the old man's hands. It was beautiful.

The Way Of The Gun

2010-04-11T04:20:00.000-07:00

Of all of Man's tools, I think the gun exemplifies humanity the best. The best of Man's faculties are represented equally and exquisitely in this, the most influential of his many gadgets.

One, craftsmanship, from the beginning state of the art engineering goes into each one of these delightful little treasures. They have to work with the precision of a watch, the reliability of a vehicle. After all a lot is riding on them, as they say there is nothing more useless than an empty gun. But this is not all together true. There is much art that goes into them as well. From the pistol in the picture to the M-16 they all have their own charm and the stamp of the designer. Some more utilitarian like a Volvo, some with a bit more flair, like a Ferrari.

Two, science. Both physics and chemistry are equally represented. Gunpowder, a mixture of sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate were found to burn so quickly nothing could contain the amount of heat and gas created when it burned. Making it perfect as a propellant or explosive. Also, the gun must be perfectly balanced to ensure that the bullet goes where the shooter intends. To aid in this a rifle was added to the inside of the barrel to allow the bullet to spin as it left the muzzle of the gun. The spinning effect caused the bullet to fly more strait and travel further, much like the spin put on a football.

Lastly, killing. Man's main preoccupation since the beginning of time. Killing is after all what we do best. It is our most efficient means of communication and the one thing we all pull together to achieve. Kindness, compassion, and charity are not Mankind's strong suit. After all when was the last time ten countries got together, spent 100 billion dollars and lost 60 million people doing something nice?

The Park

2010-04-03T02:51:00.000-07:00

He was looking at my sheet over his glasses, blowing smoke out of his nose with a dying cigarette in his hand.
"Who you know?"
"Pat Migliaccio, sir."
"Don't call me sir, I ain't no fuckin' officer!" he barked, punching out his Marlboro in an overflowing green plastic ashtray.
"Pat Migliaccio." I repeated.
"Ummmm" he said, rubbing his chin for a moment and then making a few marks on my sheet.
"I'm putin' you with Monk and Buster today. You know how to line a softball field?" He asked without looking up.
"Not yet." I said.
"They'll show what to do."
A layer of smoke hung at eye level in the room. I glanced up at the 3-D picture of Jesus hanging over his desk and reached out to grab my sheet. He handed it to without looking up.
"Call me Joe G. Call me 'sir' again I'll be wipin' your ass off my boot."
"Understood." I said, beginning the tight toothed, upper tongue movement of the "S" sound before stopping myself.
"Meet those two idiots outside." He said, tossing another Marlboro into mouth and looking down at his lighter.
I pushed my way through the screen door to half-a-dozen green pick-up trucks and a peeling picnic table with a group of green t-shirted men standing around a Coca-Cola can.
"Leave 'im alone, he's havin' smoke." said the tall one with wraparound sunglasses and a thick gold chain. Everyone laughed.
"Yeah, he's takin' a break in there." Ha, ha, ha, rang the chorus.
They all laughed and looked at the Coca-Cola can with thick streams of smoke pouring out the mouth.
"What's goin' on?" I asked.
"We caught a bee in there, and Nicky tossed his smoke in there." One of them said and then pressed a cigarette up to his lips and pressed hard as he sucked in. He looked and spoke like a man short of breath.
"We're seein' how long he can take it."

"He Just Won't Sit Still Doctor!"

2010-03-29T07:21:00.000-07:00

This is Howard Dully. At the age of 12 his father and step-mother decided that he should undergo a Transorbital or Prefrontal Lobotomy to help control his behavior. Since marrying Mr. Dully, the new Mrs. Dully had increasing trouble putting Howard to bed.

"He objects to going to bed but then sleeps well. He does a good deal of daydreaming and when asked about it says 'I don't know.' He turns the room's lights on when there is broad daylight outside."

The transorbital lobotomy is performed by slightly nudging the eyeball aside so an icepick can be pushed through the paper-like bone at the front of the skull, then into the frontal lobe of the brain. Once there the icepick is "jiggled" slightly destroying parts of the brain's frontal lobe that control behavior.

Ironically in Howard's case the parts of his brain destroyed by lobotomy were the ones that control critical thinking and impulse control, in turn making his condition worse. He was finally send to an institution so his father and step-mother could enjoy a quite evening at home.

There is a bright side to the story however. Because Howard was so young at the time of his lobotomy his brain was able to re-write new pathways around the damaged area, and today there are no physical signs of his having had been lobotomized. But as Howard explains it "It feels like there is a piece of my soul missing."

If a pill of Ritalin or a capsule of Zoloft looked like an icepick do you think people might think twice about using it to control the behavior of their children. Ummmm...probably not. There is much information out there on Howard Dully's experience. Please look him up and read about him. He is the only lobotomy patient to have had his brain scanned three dimensionally by high resolution MRI.

Beware The Animal Lover

2010-03-29T06:22:00.000-07:00

Those who look into the dead eyes of an animal and see love have a fundamental misunderstanding of emotion. If the blind robotic movements of a cat are seen as genuine expressions of emotion, than the infinately more complex emotional responses of a human being must be too much to endure.

Of course I don't mean anyone who has and loves a dog is an emotionally dead automaton who could slash a child's throat without flinching. But anyone who I have ever known with an above average love for animals has had difficulty with human relationships.

They crave that tail wagging enthusiasm, that silent stroking and cuddling unobstructed by thoughts, words or any other higher brain function. Obedience, loyalty and dependence these things are seen as a sign of love to the emotionally crippled animal lover.

By the time Hitler's war in Europe was ending 25 million Russians had died. Six million Jews, Gypsies, political prisoners, homosexuals, and POWs had been systematically murdered in industrialized death camps. 32,000 Britons were killed by the indiscriminate bombing of London. Yet, Blondi, Hitler's loyal German Shepard stayed by his side until the end. He only ordered Blondi put to sleep hours before he and Eva Braun took their own lives.

For the record Hitler was also a non-smoking, non-drinking, vegetarian. I'll end here tonight.

The Extensions of Man

2010-03-11T20:20:00.000-08:00

Marshall McLuhan described all media as an extension of man. Tools are extensions of our body, if you don't think so try hammering in a nail with your forehead. They allow us to do things our bodies can't do. In the same way media: writing, painting, photography, telecommunications, television, are extension of our mind.

These media carry our thoughts into a wider realm, a collective consciousness, a vast artificial memory system. Like the late and great Carl Sagan said, "Information has gone from DNA, to brains, to books." Well, we have gone far beyond books in the systematic collection of human thoughts.

We can immediately think of the internet as this system, but it is, in fact, much much wider and older than that. Media begins with the first cave paintings, the first written word, the first sculpture, the first photograph and so on. We dump the contents of our brains into a vast reservoir of ideas that is growing exponentially. The latest innovation, the internet, simply makes it easy for everyone to dump memories and thoughts into this reservoir, which was for so long reserved for the most privileged and learned of people.

What is the danger in collecting all this information and making it public? McLuhan calls it a Media Narcosis, a narcotic like numbing effect at being faced with ourselves in this fashion. A good example is Television. It is totally one way. You sit, the television preaches. You may say the internet is different, we all have the opportunity to contribute. True, but one kid sets his farts on fire and 2,250,400 of us watch it in silence.

The Gates Of America

2009-06-23T02:40:00.001-07:00

She stood snarling at the gates of America, clawing the body of a security guard. Her hair looked like snow that a dog had pissed in. Make-up smeared her eyes into dark elliptical orbits. I reached inside and there was nothing...nothing but cool black wavering away against the nothing wind of her eyes. Blood giggled over her pearly yellow teeth, reflex wiped it away with her tongue, her eyes rippling with fear.

I had fallen in love.

This Just In...

2009-06-18T04:55:00.000-07:00

Mercerville, NJ, USA

A local man was caught late Tuesday morning attempting to paint his house in human blood. His three bedroom two bath Mercerville home had been half painted in blood when police came to question him. 82 year old Dusty McNaberthy of Mercerville, NJ initially told police that it was his own blood and it had been saved over a period of 4 months, in his freezer.

Confessions from three neighborhood schoolchildren revealed a horrifying truth. McNaberthy had been paying $5 a pint for the neighborhood children's blood for the last 14 months. He even traded drugs and pornography for blood, some schoolchildren alleged.

McNaberthy made no public statements except to say, "Yeah whattcha gonna git me on copper, distributing harmful material to minors!?" He is set to be arraigned on charges of distributing harmful material to minors on Thursday.

Cause For Alarm

2009-05-07T05:21:00.000-07:00

Fellow citizens of the Earth. I am speaking to you tonight from the office of Michael J. Migliacci, Kyoto, Japan. Within the last few hours it has become clear that the Earth is under telepathic attack from beings beyond our solar system. This is great cause for alarm and panic. All forms of panic or hysteria will be tolerated between the hours of 7 and 10 this evening. After thus stated time all those exhibiting signs of panic will be shot without question.

The attack is aimed at the higher reasoning centers of the brain. We are being forced, against our wills, to prepare our own world for colonization, and its citizenry for enslavement. However, we have been able to identify several human agents who are, aiding in this hideous sneak attack. Some have been taken into custody most are still at large.

Radio personality Rush Limbaugh has been identified as an Alien Co-Conspirator. Instead of being killed for his crimes he has been sterilized, isolated, and his mind completely erased. We are attempting to plant artificial mathematical formulas in his mind that will poison the Alien Logic Center located within sector 2146-7 of the Andromeda Galaxy, our closest galactic neighbor.

My fellow citizens, this plan must work! We need the help of every human being to succeed. Please concentrate your thoughts on Mr. Limbaugh. Try to fill his emptied mind with thoughts of love, decency and compassion. These ideas have been determined to be the most foreign and confusing to his cerebral make-up. This will give us the time we need to plant the mathematical weapon.

If we are to fail...if colonization of the Earth is imminent...the leaders of the so-called "Nuclear Club" have signed an agreement to begin bombing of all the major cities on the Earth. We must not let our culture fall into alien hands. The future of the human race depends on our success.

Thank you

Good luck

And may god have mercy on our souls.

Cut Up #4

2009-05-06T09:44:00.001-07:00

His Prices Were INSANE!

2009-05-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

Crazy Eddie’s going computer CRAZY! With an incredible collection of home computers and computer software. Atari, Texas Instruments, Commodore, Xerox, Crazy Eddie’s got ‘em all! All at the GUARANTEED lowest prices, shop around, get the best prices you can on computers, then take ‘em to Crazy Eddie and he’ll BEAT ‘EM! Crazy Eddie’s going COMPUTER CRAZY! Now is the time to get the computer you always wanted!

Crazy Eddie, his computer prices are INSANE!!!!

If you’re looking for a home computer go to see Crazy Eddie NOW…because Crazy Eddie’s greatest computer sale EVER is on NOW! With prices that are INSANE!!!

Cut Up #3

2009-05-05T03:33:00.000-07:00

Cut Up #2

2009-05-03T19:44:00.000-07:00

Cut Up #1

2009-05-03T06:25:00.000-07:00

The Addictive Brain

2009-05-02T17:52:00.000-07:00

The addictive brain is like an abscess. An open sore buried in a sugar coated skull. Rotting like a tooth. Deep, black and cavernous, rolling with maggots. They crawl down the spine, along the nerves, through the veins to the fingertips. Moving you, whispering to you, making you act. Making you use all things and people. Devouring the weak like a shark swimming in shit. The addictive brain only eats and shits. It swims, consumes and shits until it is lost in a sea of shit. Wave after wave of lost time, and forgotten moments. Nothing left to eat, you float to the bottom, and wait.

Rock Hard Abs

2009-05-02T08:35:00.000-07:00

ROCK HARD ABS IN NO TIME FLAT!

rock hard abs IN NO TIME FLAT!

Rock hard ABS! IN NO TIME FLAT!

Did you know that 99% of the human population suffers from a hideous deformity known as un-rock hard abs!? It's true! Just look around, look at your friends and family! LOOK AT YOURSELF! Well, Rock Hard Abs Inc. is dedicated to eliminating un-rock hard abs one person at a time...STARTING WITH YOU!!

Do you sit around watching TV eating cheetos and drinking diet cola thinking to yourself, "God, I wish I had rock hard abs." Well you CAN have rock hard abs, and in NO TIME FLAT! Do you kneel before a make-shift shrine to rock hard abs every night with a shotgun in your mouth, tears streaming down your fat ugly face saying "God! I wish I was dead because I don't have glistening rock hard abs!!!" Well put the shotgun down, now you too can have rock hard abs! For just $29.99 a month.

Are you tired of being embarrassed to take your shirt off on the beach because you know the girls are all snickering behind your back saying "EWWWW look at that ugly hideous freak! Why would God create such a twisted freakish monster! GOD! to not have rock hard abs must be hell!! I hope he dies soon so he doesn't have to suffer the pain of un-rock hard abs!" Well, for just $29.99 a month you could quiet those voices in your head telling you to die because of un-rock hard abism. A condition plaguing our nation.

But how will your life improve from rock hard abs? Rock hard abs will allow you to have confidence with women! You could have sex with any woman you want with rock hard abs! If you are attacked with a knife, rock hard abs will protect you, bending the knife and breaking the arm of the attacker! Rock hard abs will allow you to cure all disease including cancer! Rock hard abs will allow you to control the minds of people you do business with. Rock hard abs will change the way you think and let you see into the future. Rock hard abs will protect you and your loved ones in the case of an accidental nuclear strike from an aging soviet first strike detection system. Rock hard abs will be able to bend timespace allowing you to travel to distant galaxies without defying Einstein's Theory of Relativity. Rock hard abs will end all suffering on Earth. Rock hard abs make you the uncontested ruler of the universe, instantaneously impregnating every woman with your seed. The children will grow to maturity overnight. When they are born they will leave their mothers nothing more than a shell, a wet pink blanket thrown over a pile of bones. These children will grow into a great army and enslave all inhabited planets in the Universe. They will bend only to YOUR will. And all for $29.99 a month, plus tax.

Murderer!

2009-05-02T08:04:00.000-07:00

I'm shocked and disappointed to see that she's still alive. Steam rising from her wounds, her breath quickening. Waiting for her to die I check my watch making sure I can still make it back to the open bar and free food of the Long Island Mindless Chatter Society Annual Dinner.

Check my tux...no blood stains, good, good. The gin and tonics are stiff in there. Carbonated piss and lime pulp after one of those. Why is she still moaning, should I crack her again? Maybe I should hold her head in the pond. No, no five hundred yards from here at least, bloody up the tux for sure.

I love it when the woods are this cold and quite, reminds me of the first time. Her breaths are getting shorter now. That's a good sign, she's bleeding out. The reason the breaths get shorter is that there is less blood in the lungs. Bronchioles are closing down. Suffocation is part of bleeding to death. I hear from the other med students that it's quite pleasant.

Ahh, look at everyone in there. I can see the warm lights of Houghton Hall from here, and hear the laughter at the party. I wonder if she can hear it too? Ha ha! Is that old Duke Gleason at the piano, that old devil!

Dear God...What Happend?

2009-05-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

Lord,

You started off sooooo strong with the whole creation. I mean, creating yourself out of nothing, then all of the matter in the universe! The Earth, the Sea, the Heavens, and Man!! That was amazing! And you didn't stop there!

The plagues in the Old Testament were a great follow up. I mean, killing sons, locusts out the ass, the Flood. You flooded the entire Earth because people weren't doin' what you wanted. You were kickin' ass and takin' names. You even had Abraham ready to knife his own kid, till you stepped in and was all like "Dude! don't do that! I was just playin' fool!" Little did Abe know you were planning the same gig for yourself in the New Testament. Looks like Jesus didn't get the pardon that Jacob did...oh well, you're God after all.

But what have you done for us lately!? I mean, states are passing gay marriage left and right, and we all know you hate gays! We can only wonder why you created them in the first place if you hate 'em so much. Just saying it's weird. No major plagues lately. AIDS had potential, but it's really just killing the uneducated people in the most impoverished nations. So much for the meek inheriting the Earth, eh? And you are losing followers like crazy! This would be a great time for some showmanship. But no...

You are reduced to revealing yourself to half-wits in grilled cheese sandwiches. What's with that. It's like four or five grilled cheese sandwiches this year! At least hit a pastrami on rye, a sandwich with a little old school flavor. I mean, it's like Elvis' Vegas gigs...you're better than that dude. Really, I'm not dissing your early work, but either retire or get back in the saddle.

Sincerely,

Michael J. Migliacci

Cephalalgia.. my foot!

2009-04-27T09:22:00.000-07:00

Did you know that cephalalgia means headache!?

What else are they hiding from us? How much more don't we know? Look at this poor man! He's in pain... pain with cephalalgia! As I type this there is a dotted red line under the word cephalalgia! Just like there is a dotted red line under the word unedyukayted. That means my computer doesn't even know this word! Yet there is a medical journal deadikayted to this crazy word "cephalalgia" . Check it out!

http://www.wiley.com/bw/journal.asp?ref=0333-1024

Chuck D.

2009-04-27T07:34:00.000-07:00

I am a firm believer in the diversity of species being derived from a process of natural selection. Anyone who just takes the time to read the original text by Darwin would have try hard to convince themselves that this process is not afoot. However, with that said, I must come clean and admit that I do not think humans are part of this process.

The key to the evolution of species through natural selection is that the organisms in question make small, progressive steps to succeed within their environment. They adapt to the environment, they have no power over the environment, unlike humans. The plants, insects and animals we see around us today are, by no means the end product of that struggle, rather the versions of those organisms that have survived to this point.

Evolution and extinction continue today as they have since the beginning of life on Earth. Animals go extinct every day and no one notices, but in our lifetimes popular animals like the polar bear will no longer exist. Imagine that for a moment. Your grandchildren will live in a world where the polar bear is off with the dinosaurs. This fact is entirely due to Human Beings.

It hasn't taken a long time either. We didn't start destroying the environment 10,000 years ago, we started 170 years ago with the Second Industrial Revolution. The planet is 4,000,000,000 years old, we fucked it up beyond repair in 170. That sucks. That really sucks. How could an organism which has, hands down, won the struggle for existence destroy the Earth that quickly? The reward for survival goes to the creature who can adapt to the changing environment. Humans have never adapted to anything! We don't adapt, we CHANGE our environment. Where did we learn to do that? Not on Earth I reckon. Somewhere out there, our true home among the stars.

Art, architecture, economy and electronics... these things are unnatural. They don't exist here, we made them up! Maybe one day when the mother ship returns to take us home, the mountains on our planet will be shaped like sky scrapers. Candy bars will grow on trees. Rivers will run with Coca-Cola (a poisonous substance on Earth), and the clouds will be made of dioxin. Ahhhhh, home at last, where the apples don't have seeds, they have microchips. Animals grow polyester fur! And "Son... there's plastic in them thar hills."

The Intruder

2009-04-25T19:27:00.000-07:00

William S. Burroughs claimed to be possessed by what he called the Ugly Spirt. I call it The Intruder. The Intruder is a subtle but powerful thing that sits at the top of the brain stem and extends down the spinal column. It is immobile, however has agents all over the body. The most important are the ones in the hands, the guts, and the genitals.

How many people are infected is hard to tell. The Intruders communicate with each other telepathically bringing together people of similar perversions. They read our minds and exploit that information to control those around us. They not only change our perception of our environment, they can manipulate the actual physical world in a very subtle way. When you have an accidental encounter with someone you are attracted to, beware. There are many levels of communication at work. One of these frequencies could be an Intruder com link.

I'm not sure when the presence of the Intruder became clear to me but I remember some instances when I was a child of fighting off an invasion of some kind. I could feel an involuntary twisting in my legs and arms as I lay in bed, maybe six or seven years old. I thought it was the devil and tried to exorcise him by imagining a large plate of glass being lowered onto my body and passing through me like a filter. When the glass passed completely through my body there was a large black stain left where my body had been. I imagined wiping the vile black grease off with a rag and flushing it down the toilet. It was from this time on that I felt I was never really alone. Maybe that's why being alone, even for long stretches of time, doesn't bother me.

Its not impossible to fight the intruder, he does not have control, just a profound influence. The real danger is in it's ability to find others and bring you in contact with them. It's the others, the other infected people who can have real power over you. They can make you do things that you don't want to do. Or even worse tell you the things you are thinking are ok, and encourage you explore them. Trust no one.

Dinosaurs Made My Tea

2009-04-24T06:10:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I made a cup of tea. It was hot. Heat is energy. The energy came from the burning gas on my stove. The gas came from natural fossil fuels that contained the latent energy. The fossil fuel got the energy from the bodies of animals that died and began decomposing around 300 million years ago. The energy got into the animals from the plants they ate. The energy got into the plants by the photosynthesis of sunlight. The sunlight got into the plants after making the 8 minute journey from the Sun to the Earth about 300 million years ago. The energy got into the sunlight from the thermonuclear reaction of hydrogen atoms inside the sun. The hydrogen atoms got inside the sun by mutual gravitational attraction sometime shortly after the big bang about 20 billion years ago. I had to wait about 3 minutes for the tea to cool down.

Hammerhead

2009-04-23T17:09:00.001-07:00

"Doctor, I'm having a terrible problem."

"What is it my son?"

"Every morning when I get up I drink a cup of coffee, then smash myself in the face with a hammer about ten times."

"I see...do you do this every morning?"

"Yes, and sometimes in the late afternoon."

"Ok, and what seems to be the problem?"

"Well I'm experiencing headaches, swelling, bleeding and the occasional shattering of teeth. What can I do?"

"Well, I think those mysterious symptoms might be related to the hammering of your face, but there is no way to make sure."

"Oh God! Help me doctor!"

"I think we need to use a multi-pronged approach in dealing with all of your symptoms so your body can heal itself."

"Will it be expensive?"

"Yes, very."

"Ummm..."

"First, we must deal with the pain! Im going to prescribe morphine. It's highly addictive and can cause extensive liver damage, but it will be effective on pain of this severity. Secondly, all of your teeth must be removed, this will prevent shattering, and cutting of the lips and gums by razor sharp tooth fragments."

"How will I eat?"

"You will have to be put on a liquid diet for the rest of your life."

"Won't I lose weight?"

"Yes and no. You will lose weight on the diet, but we will give you medication that will slow down your metabolism. It may leave you weakened and lethargic, and could lead to depression. But don't worry, we can take care of that with a colorful cocktail of anti-depressants."

"What else, doctor?"

"I suggest surgery on both of your shoulders as well as your forearms. We need to go in there and get those large muscles out! It's those muscles that are allowing you to hit your face with such force."

"Will I be able to use my arms!?"

"A little, you will still be able to lift and use a credit card, but nothing more."

"Are there any other options doctor?"

"You could stop hitting yourself in the face with a hammer, or at least cut down, but that would require you to change your behavior. This approach has a staggeringly high rate of failure and has not been proven effective. Also it would be totally unethical of me to suggest a course of treatment that's so inexpensive."

"Thank you doctor, I trust you."

"Ok, lets get you that morphine."

TV Bomb

2009-03-17T05:12:00.000-07:00

Only now is the real threat of a Television attack on the United States becoming clear. Television attacks are the most sneaky and manipulative type of invasion mankind has yet devised. No loud bangs or enemy troops in your back yard. No discernible targets like cities, government installations, or power supplies. The Television attack strikes right at the heart of the American people, at our minds and our culture.

How can one tell if they are under attack by televised means? Well... it's very difficult to tell. The attack comes on slow, and seems pleasant at first, almost enjoyable. You laugh, sit around in your safe home with friends and family, everything seems perfectly normal. Why, everyone is enjoying themselves. Laughing, crying, tuning in every week! Gabbing with their pals around the water cooler, "Say Jim, did you see so and so on the tube last night? What a gas!"

In fact, everyone is enjoying themselves so much that those who don't have, or don't watch television start to look strange. They no longer fit in. They don't understand the new jokes, they can't get with the new way of talking or seeing things. The events in their lives do not correspond with those being send out via the television. At this point the battle is all but won.

But this begs the question, where are we now? An attack comes on slow and it may take decades to destroy an entire country. The United States has been under attack for nearly 60 years. How long do we have left. It's up to you.

Destroy your television now! And encourage others to do the same.

Thank you and goodnight.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

2009-02-22T07:56:00.000-08:00

Finally there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Finally there is a comfortable, affordable way to end your suffering, with minimal impact on friends, family and the ones you love the most.

Chemotherapy? Psychoanalysis? Drug and alcohol rehabilitation? Expensive and debilitating surgery? Why continue on in the overly expensive and totally unreliable medical establishment? Their ultimate goal is to keep you a sick and paying customer for as long as they can. Then, pass that debt on to the ones you leave behind.

After a brief physical examination and short questionnaire, our staff of highly trained professionals will lead you to the next phase of existence, in our clean and thoroughly modern facilities. Take that next step at a time and place of your choosing with courage and dignity.

For a free brochure and tour please call 1-800-light@end or check us out on the web at www.lightattheendofthetunnel.com.

Your future is up to you. Make the right choice and walk toward the light!

Sarah Palin Sucks!

2008-09-20T04:07:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin is not only a religious fanatic but a genuinely stupid person. She believes and has stated publicly that the war raging in Iraq is the "Will of God" and that the "Hand of God" is guiding the battle there. Well, unless God has an office at the Pentagon I don't think he has a say in troop deployment in Iraq. Also I don't think he would be so willing to shelve the first commandment in order to secure a few more years of oil guzzling for the United States.

Mrs. Palin is also staunchly pro-life. Yet, when her hot, young teenage daughter gets herself knocked up (not because of bad parenting mind you! She just so happens to live in a town where there is nothing to do but fuck and smoke methamphetamine) she lets her make her "own" decision about what to do. A luxury that will not be passed on to you if she is to become vice president. I'm not pro-life or pro-choice. I'm pro-abortion! Abortions should be enforced or at least encouraged. It's the only humane thing to do in a world facing the kind of crisis we are facing now.

In a Sarah Palin world the streets will be awash in unloved and unwanted children. They will flow out of maternity wards, hotel rooms and crack houses. They will wander the streets like bloodthirsty zombies. Terrorizing God-loving, law abiding, pro-life citizens. They will have to be jailed, electrocuted, and exposed to poisonous gasses. They will be mowed down by machine gun fire at road blocks at the intersections of every major street in every major city in America. Their bodies will pile up like sandbags. The army and the national guard (now with new uniforms, all black with a cross on the armband and "Thou Shalt Not Kill" written on the helmet) will do the work of God and slaughter these unwanted children of the dammed before they have the chance to grow up and vote.

Those who can be controlled and manipulated will be sent off to fight senseless and useless wars halfway around the world, to deny freedom to those who oppose freedom. They will secure that glorious black blood, the flesh of dinosaurs, the soul of the prehistoric world, that oil that keeps America burning white hot, raising the temperature of the Earth, melting the polar ice caps, opening up new and fertile land for disease and deadly fungi to run rampant.

Yes, keep that glorious pulse of electricity pounding into our X-Boxes, moblie phones and mobile homes. Into our instruments of death and destruction. Without power the United States could not lead the war against nature, education and freedom. We would not have the mass communicative abilities to blame China and India for global warming even though they came to the party 100 years late. Without power how would we spread the word of God, and spread the legs of the third world? Without power how would we oppress and incinerate the poor in our own country and around the world? Without power how would we force Coca-Cola and anti-depressants down the throats of the civilized world!? Without power indeed, maybe that is the best thing that could happen.

Terminal Station

2008-08-16T20:29:00.000-07:00

The piss vapor settles over everything. The bum's rotting teeth. The dirty television screen which offers nothing but static, and the occasional twisted form. Newspapers and coffee cups roaming around on their own. A bench, carved into artwork.

Ponder the perfection of insects, the cockroach, the earth worm, blood parasites. They fed on the dinosaurs, and proto-humans. Now, the television soaked brains of modern youth. Poisoned with information. Too much to handle or process. It enters the body through the syringe, pills, contaminated food, delicacies, and candy. It burrows into the cavities, is absorbed through the skin, and is transmitted through radio waves. We broadcast it, and rebroadcast it. Photocopied conversations coat everything like a film. Wash it off in the hot shower. Words, letters and sentences run down the drain like centipedes.

The bum starts to cough so violently I expect to see a gentle sprinkling of blood on the newspaper blanket. His bloated blue-green hands hold the sides of his head. He starts to settle down. The chittering click of the departure sign sings in the vibrating light of the station. The pizza shop is closing. The smell of the oven's sealed off behind an airtight gate. Those few warm molecules were our only nourishment. Now we gasp, gape our mouths, wirelike teeth straining the air for lingering particles. When there is nothing left we are forced to venture out...into the city.

Don't Drink Coca-Cola!

2008-08-15T06:55:00.000-07:00

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's bad for your teeth, blood and hair. It irritates the lining of the stomach. It loosens bone marrow with it's gentle fizzing effect. It causes brain bubbles, partial paralysis in seven major muscle groups, and can lead to dependency.

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's bad for society. It liters the Earth with all things Coca-Cola. A sign on the street. A house in the mountains. A can of Coca-Cola nine miles beneath the surface of the sea. Coca-Cola cans on the moon, and orbiting other planets in distant galaxies.

Don't drink Coca-Cola, its bad for the mind. It may distort the truth. It may plant false information. It may cause your internal organs to become independent entities. They will possess all the hopes and dreams, fears and worries that your brain now enjoys exclusively.

Don't drink Coca-Cola, it's made from Mickey Mouse's tears. It contains human blood. It has 5mcg of LSD in every bottle. It will make you murder your parents and worship satan. It might help terrorist to construct new cities only to bomb them. And it may make us vulnerable to attack from space.

For more information please go to www.coca-cola.co.uk/yourhealth/whats_in_our_drinks/

The Invisible Menace!

2008-08-14T01:50:00.000-07:00

If you had the power to make yourself invisible, how long do you think it would take for you to turn to serious crime? I was just watching a show about the Darwinian roots of morality and altruism. Richard Dawkins was arguing that altruistic behavior is a beneficial trait that is handed down through Darwinian natural selection. Other scientists and religious leaders were not convinced saying that altruistic behavior must go deeper than just a technique of passing on genes.

The problem for the other scientists was that, in Dawkins' view, altruism was a veneer, and that underneath that people were bloodthirsty animals. Things like generosity and sympathy were simply ways of getting mates and keeping the peace. But once they were unnecessary man would revert to his natural method of getting what he wants.

Well, put it too the test yourself. If you had the power to render yourself invisible what would you do? I live in Japan, but many of my friends and family are at home in the United States. I would be flying first class (invisibly, of course) to see them every other week. Now that is stealing!

And what if there is a cute stewardess aboard the flight? Of course, I would fly Singapore Airlines, and the likelihood of a beautiful stewardess would be rather good indeed. So, would I try to look down her shirt or up her skirt? Probably. But on Singapore Airlines they wear very long dresses that show only the ankles, and are totally closed at the neck! I'll have to find out what the stewardesses are wearing on other airlines before I make my final decision.

There you go, I'm invisible for one day and Im flying first class to New York with my head up some girl's skirt. I can't afford a trip to New York at the moment so where will my money come from? I could just stay invisible the whole trip taking what I want, but my friends and family would be terribly disappointed. This disembodied voice talking to them from out of the blue, eating caviar and champagne cocktails at two in the afternoon. I couldn't remain visible, and that means I would need money. But how much, and whence?

I would have to steal money, which would be no problem as I've already been stealing, what with the flight and everything. So where do I steal the money from? Where would have the least impact. A shop? No that's someone's livelihood. A major corporation like Starbucks? No, I can see it now "Johnson! Your register is under today! Guards, seize him!" Maybe one dollar from everyone on the street? No, that would take too long. I can only make myself invisible, not alter time.

Ok that's it, I'm settled on the bank. But how much do I need. Ummmm... mayabe $400 would do it. But there are piles of money just lying around here. $10,000 is just as easy as $400. Ummmm...and just think what I could do with that kinda scratch!

OK, so one day in I'm stealing international transportation, molesting young women (I never touched her!) and I'm a bank robber. Keep in mind this is only day one. So if you ever find yourself in the position to make yourself invisible tread softly. These are dangerous waters, my friends.

Mr. R.J. Fibblesworthy

2008-08-14T00:25:00.000-07:00

The sun rose quickly, draining the darkness from the sky and channelling the cool rivers of night to some foreign corner of the Earth. Daybreak washed over the country side, spilling over the hills and flooding the meadows. One by one the tiny houses were lit up, allowing the town to defrost into the slow sleepy movements of morning.

One house in particular belonged to Mr. R. J. Fibblesworthy, the town idiot, and well known drunkard. He had risen well before the sun, and was shouting from his window "AH HAAAA I've beaten you again, my old friend! Yes! Here I stand in darkness to breathe in the first molecules of the day, untainted by your vile solar radiation!" He shook his fist at the sun and slapped his large stomach as he laughed, letting it roll around his bones like the waves of a wading pool. "Now then! Off to the tavern for a bit of breakfast."

Fibblesworthy pushed the doors of the tavern open with one hand and stood momentarily surveying the empty room. "Business not what is should be these days Mr. Mote?", he said gesturing to the empty chairs and tables.

"It's seven o'clock in the morning Mr. F."

"So it is my dear boy!"

"What'll it be then sir, your usual?"

"YES! Yes my dear boy, four fried toads and a gallon of your worst whiskey!"

"Mr. Fibblesworthy sir, you are the richest man in town. You own this tavern and most of the buildings here abouts, why do you always order four fried toads and the worst whiskey when you can have anything you want?"

"Mind your business, boy! Or i'll have you skinned alive!" Fibblesworthy became dizzy at this outburst and had to steady himself on the door frame. "Now, prepare my breakfast at once!"

...tune in next week for the stunning conclusion!

Hangover

2008-07-28T07:58:00.000-07:00

You wake up on the floor. Nausea, a gentle sea, rocks you back and forth. Jeans and t-shirt, miles of seaweed, land nowhere in sight. A slow swell of panic builds up in your gut, washes over you and settles in your throat. You get up, but the deck is unsteady. You have no footing, legs bending wildly, your hands grasping at shadows.

You can see the clock, but the numbers have no meaning. A thin line of yellow light indicates a door. But what will you encounter along the way? Where will this jouney take you? You need to go to the bathroom but a large chinese man keeps passing you shots of Tequila from out of the darkness. He needs to be pushed out of the way along with unseen objects and the sound of people's laughter.

You make it to the door and slide it open in two goes. The hallway is bright and squirming. The bathroom is just on the right. Take a seat. No, get up. You need cold water, your head is tomato about to burst. There is no sink in the bathroom just a toilet. A few minutes just sitting, your face against the tile.

You wake on the toilet. The sun is up. The nightmare begins.

Free Writing

2008-07-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

In my high school English class we were required to write for 15 minutes every day without ever putting the pen down. Even if you were only writing "I am thinking about what to write, but nothing is coming, this is shit! I know it's shit, but I can't stop because the teacher is looking straight at me because I am not looking at my paper and writing. There are small moments, seconds, where I look up or even just away from my paper, and her icy stare is there. She is looking only at me! Why!? Im sure other kids in the class are faking it. Look at Dave, he couldn't write for 15 minutes if someone had a gun to his balls. And there he is, scribbling away and looking like he likes it. Is he just drawing curly q's or what?, what the fuck is going on here, this bastard is totally faking this shit and I'm taking all the fucking flack? FUCK that, this sucks. I wanna see what that dick is writing, he's probably writing about me, OH! look a Migliacci! Writing away, scribbling around like he is really doing something, that fucking pig, probably just drawing huge long dicks across each line. Pausing for a second to look like he's really into it, getting it done. Like he likes it, that phoney fuck, what a dick, here i am drawing curly q's and this cock smoker is shakespearin' it up, OH look at me teacher I've got a huge hard-on for this project Im so artsy you know this shit is right up my ally. Holy fucking god, what just happened? Was I writing for dave? is he channeling me somehow? does he have access to my thoughts! thats impossible, I wont believe it I would rather die than believe that, but it was him not me, He was even looking at me, calling me a pig. That rat bastard Ill pull his kidneys out for that one! He cant fuck with me. After this we each have to carry our own desk to the gym to have exams. Do you believe that shit, our own desk. That is like making a group of people dig their own grave. Like digging all day and then catching a bullet in the back of the head falling face down onto the dirt, shattering teeth on a half exposed rock, blood running down the back of your neck and around your throat like a necklace, as body after body pile on top of you, pressing the air out of your lungs, squeezing your eyeballs out, splintering ribs, its getting darker, dirt starting to seep through the bodies. Buried Alive."

Ok times up! Put your pencils down and pass your papers to the right. Take out Romeo and Juliet, page 23 line 6.

What Would Be Your First Decree?

2008-07-21T02:55:00.000-07:00

If you were ordained Supreme Ruler of the Universe, what would be your first decree? Most of us say we would end war, stop hunger, clean up the environment. But that would only encourage these pesky humans. I always have the same answer for this question, which seems to pop up an awful lot.

I would collect all the weapons on earth. Every bomb, bullet, gun, hand grenade, thermonuclear weapon, and slingshot. Have them melted down and fashioned into a gigantic roving killing machine, who's job is to cut the human population in half as soon as possible. The death selection would be totally randomized. No one person would have an advantage over city sized death machine. The method of killing would be painless. Perhaps sucking you up through a vacuum tube of some kind, I really don't know yet.

But once his work is done all the major cities on earth will have to be emptied. They must be prepared for simultaneous attack from space by new, environmentally friendly, "clean" bombs. Every decent sized building on earth will have a sudden flash of light thrown upon its face, and instantly turn into the richest most fertile soil the planet has ever know. Like castles made of sand they hold for a moment... and dissolve into soft piles of earth, thousands of them drifting off into the bright orange sunset.

There is a world wide feeding frenzy! Life of all kind flocks to these areas. Within days it's covered with grass. In two weeks trees shoot up from the unmarked graves of New York, Beijing, Tokyo, London, Los Angeles. By next month there is no sign that the cities ever existed. Life of all manner would be living there, in perfect harmony. From the microbes who eat garbage and shit out food, to the 100 foot long eagles who's eyes, more powerful than the Hubble Space Telescope, can see through time.

The atmosphere is being scrubbed clean. A new form of sunlight, when shined through the new ultra-clean air, will melt tumors away from cancer victims, purify water instantly, and greatly decrease brain activity in the surviving humans. They remember nothing of the past.

Their memory banks have no records of traffic jams, bars, television, wars, family members, friends, offices, funeral parlors, Starbucks coffee shops, movies, The United States of America, supermarkets, superman, school, music, the internet, names, places, directions, phone numbers, magazines, trains, air travel, space travel, The Miss Universe Contest, garbage cans, advertisements, breakups, the Beatles, clocks, doctor's visits, birthdays, first dates, books, art, computers, hamburgers, buildings, credit cards, jobs or their vote for me to become Supreme Ruler of the Universe.

A Dame, A Bean Shooter And A Brodie

2008-07-12T07:08:00.000-07:00

I was in my favorite dive with a baby and an All The Way, when a twist waltzed in with a lincoln and offered to grab the tab. "What's the story, morning glory?" I puffed out with my gasper dangling.

She ordered a coffee and slammed her purse on the table. Turns out she was making time with a skin tickler who played nights at the Vanguard. He was a real crumb who would beat his gums about any jelly bean who floated through the joint. Looks like this canary sang one to many lullabies, and was gumming up the works for some big shots uptown.

His loose lips put the kibosh on a deal, and now some patsy was waiting on the hotsquat in San Quentin. Word was a couple of torpedos were taking aim, and he'd be wearing a Chicago overcoat before too long.

My dame steps into the story because she was bleeding the egg for running with some moll on the east side. She had pictures and got a cool sawbuck a week to sit on 'em. With this cat on ice her lettuce was starting to wilt. His cave was clear, and he hadn't sat a set in two weeks. Looks like everyone in town was after this genius.

"I had enough candy toots, lets say we make it to a gin mill for some giggle juice and talk things over ." We danced across the street to Mickey's and grabbed a quiet car in the back.

"So your butter and egg man is on the lamb, and you want me to get the bread mill rolling again, what's in it for me?"

"I don't know, what's in it for you?" she said real calm like blowin' smoke from her cherry lips.

This kitten had the bulge, and she was sittin' pretty, real kip in her hat and vail, her fingers lousy with rocks. She wanted me to give in because she was a dish, and I was some Joe behind the grind. Well maybe I was...

and maybe I would...

The Strange Tale of the Magical Men

2008-07-11T06:59:00.000-07:00

I attended a small boarding school in Long Island, New York, called The Knox School.

When I was first set to go, perhaps in the spring of 1989, I did not know what to expect. I figured it would be a laugh riot, like The Facts of Life, or deep and meaningful like Dead Poet's Society, and a little vulgar like National Lampoon's Animal House. It was all three. Pranks were thoroughly planned and exquisitely carried out. One stands out as exceptional and became a tradition which spanned years. The nightly visit of the Magical Men.

One night my roommates and I were fast asleep in our tiny room on second floor of the then named New Dorm. Suddenly the overhead lighting forced my eyes open like a glowing crowbar. I clutched my sheets in terror as I saw three half naked bodies gyrating wildly around the room. One, wearing nothing but thong underwear and a grotesque rubber Ronald Reagan mask, was sawing a pizza box in half. Jimmy Carter, also wearing bikini-like undies was puffing baby powder into the air while thrusting his hips suggestively on the desk. Finally, Nixon, completely naked performed karate moves on my roommates bed.

The look of sheer terror on David's face stands out to me even now. Demola, was on top bunk and I can only imagine his wide eyes and bear teeth. As for myself, I don't know how I felt it was all over in a matter of seconds. The lights went out and we, being half asleep anyway, drifted off.

The next morning I woke up to see Dave siting up in his bed looking at me and then at the faint dusting of baby powder on his bed and the desk. "We're late! Demola yelled and we all rushed into our uniforms and down the hill for the 7:15 breakfast bell. Dave and I were both seated that week in the main dinning room where the headmasters table was. We were both exhausted staring at our sausage and eggs somewhat in a daze. Suddenly Dave stood up, I looked at him from across the dining room. "Last night!" he yelled. Everyone was looking at him and then at me. I got up quickly, even though it was forbidden, and ran out of the dinning room. Demola met us outside.

"Those freaks were in our room last night!" We held each others arms like we were all about to start playing ring round the rosie. "They've been there before." Demola whispered looking at Dave. "Hang on, hang on...was Ronald Reagan sawing a pizza box last night?" "OH MY GOD!" Dave said looking back and forth at the two of us. "This happened before." I said.

Immediately after breakfast we confronted the pranksters. Mitch Shivers, Brendan Leddy, and Rudolfo Antorcha. "Finally!" they said with relief. We've been in there 5 times this month. At that moment it started to flood back to me. A strange montage of nightly visits all lasting less than ten seconds but stored somewhere in my sleepy mind. Each one more bizarre than the next. I felt rapped. My dreams invaded, my mind played with. There was only one way to get even with a prank like this.

The next year we would be seniors. Mitch, Rudolfo, and Brendan would be gone, their maskes passed on to a new generation of pranksters...The Magical Men would live on...

...for one more year at least.

Raving Private Ryan

2008-07-10T03:25:00.000-07:00

Part 1
Quite a few years back my younger brother, Mark, and I were living in Singapore and teaching at a polytechnic institute there. We were given a generous amount of holidays and we took advantage.

One of our very first stops was Koh Panyang, Thailand. A small place just north of Koh Samui in the south. We were not really aware at the time but this place was famous for its Full Moon Parties at Had Rinn. We were staying at Thong Nai Pan Noi, a quiet little family beach north of Had Rinn.

Our beach was getting flooded with hippy-types and Euro-Ravers from all over the place. "You here for the Full Moon Party, Man?", everyone was asking. Well sure why not? We paid for passage to and from Had Rinn on one of the many boats that will take you there and started getting ready.

A guy from San Diego, California told us about a place just south at Thong Nai Pan Yai, where we could get some great tea that was made from island botanicals and fungi. The lady serving up the brew was a beautiful older Thai lady that ran a cafe just over the hill. Just what we needed for a memorable night we thought.

As the sun began to sink we made our way over the hill to the strange cafe. A hut really, like most of the buildings there. We were the only customers, and as we made our way inside we saw a life sized Santa stuffed and nailed the the celling. His eyes jammed with Christmas lights. His hands boney and menacing. It was dark now, and we didn't have much time to make our boat. We sat down and the woman drifted out from behind the counter.

She was beautiful, tall and slim. She had long black hair with some streaks of grey, and her face finely lined. "Yes?" was all she asked. "Ummm...two special teas, please." Mark said with a question mark stretched across his face and then a long pause. "Two special teas." she said and floated away. A moment later she placed them on the table and said "Be careful, it's strong tonight...with the full moon." We stared at her for a moment and then back to the tea. Lets just drink it down and get out of here, we thought. It was just like any black tea, but very sweet, and with a hint of blue cheese dressing. Getting it down was hard, plus it was hot.

Part 2

We split to make it to our boat. By the time we hit our beach, the potion was taking effect. My legs felt much longer than they should be, and I felt a little sick. Had we made a horrible mistake? Should I get in this boat? What was going to happen I thought, as the blood drained from my face. "Dude, it's cool, just get in and we will be at the party in no time." "Ok." was all I could say. My arms and legs were miles long. Getting into the boat was difficult but once seated I was fine. When the rest of the passengers got in we shoved off for Had Rinn.

The sound of the motor was deafening. All I could hear above it was the voice of a young German sitting behind me chatting up some American broad. "YAhhh iz diss your first Foool Mooon Pahti?" he was asking her. "My friend is DeeJaying tonight it's going to be unreeeeel." We were completely surrounded by darkness. The German's voice drifted out over the waves and disappeared. I was sweating a cold sweat, my knuckles white as I held onto the boat for dear life.

I don't know what it was, perhaps a combination of the German dude, the boat's motor and the mushrooms, but I started to hear a voice in my head. A very rough American accent, stern but soothing in some way. "Gentlemen, 10 minutes!" I looked around wildly. I saw nothing accept a young Thai in an Iron Maiden T-Shirt staring out over the waves. "Remember your training, move off the boat and up the beach!" My heart was pounding wildly. "Landing craft are coming in behind you, get off the beach as soon as you can!"
Search lights were licking the clouds ahead, for the taste of enemy aircraft. Then all of the sudden BOOM! There were explosions ahead! What the fuck was going on! BOOM, BOOM, BOOM I could see brightly colored blue and green lights reflected off the clouds ahead. The search lights dancing madly. The boat's motor drilling into my ears. BOOM! and then the sound of machine gun fire, POP POP POP. The boat slapped the waves rhythmically BOOM BOOM BOOM POP POP POP!

I have to get out of here I thought, I'm going over the side. "Mark, I have to get out of here!" I said, almost choking on my words. "Dude we're almost there, that's the beach ahead." He said. People running wildly, explosions everywhere! The girl sitting in front of me had a flame thrower. I have to get away from her the minute we hit the beach, I thought. Some kraut bullet will tear through that pink tank-top of hers, and this whole boat will go up like a Christmas tree on the Fourth of July!

All the other landing craft were now coming into view. Thousands of them. Some skimming past us, others far out to sea, but making toward shore. We all jerked forward. The boat hit sand. I jumped up to get away from the blonde with the flame thrower and realized almost instantly, that was no flame thrower. It was a backpack shaped like a gorilla. Even more disturbing in some ways. The beach not crowed with wounded GIs, but with dancing people. Many of them urinating and vomiting into the sea. The same sea I was about to step into.

The scene had totally changed. People dancing and drinking. Searchlights dancing with the music. Fireworks lit the sky, and the rattle of machine gun fire...simply the snare of the DJ's set. I had been lost in a dream. Mark told me later, I was just looking out over the water the whole ride, looking totally relaxed.

Part 3
The party actually, was a dud. Not all that fun and we went back to Thong Nai Pan early. Our beach was quiet. The families asleep the beach dark and empty. I took a walk alone for a few minutes. My feet hardly touching the ground, I bounced around like Charlie Duke at the Descartes Highlands (Why Charles Duke to describe a Moon walk and not Neil Armstrong? Two reasons: One, really good footage of the moon walks came from the later missions, Apollo 15, 16 and 17. And also images of John Young and Charles Duke were among the first images of the moon walks I had seen as a child.)

The water seemed like a thick jelly. Just lifting itself up and then slapping down on the wet sand. It looked so warm and inviting, I was tempted to lift it up like a blanket, crawl underneath and go to sleep warm and cozy. Luckily I had more sense than that. Mark and I went to bed that night in the shack we had rented on the beach. It was so dark that if your eyes were opened or closed, it made no difference. So I just stayed up a while looking around at my thoughts and went to bed.

Are You A Boy Or A Girl?

2008-07-08T07:54:00.000-07:00

Reading never came easy to me. I really didn't start to read regularly until my thirties. In fact, I don't think I have ever finished one reading assignment during my entire education. I had a tendency to look at letters and numbers in a different way.

Ever since I can remember I assigned a gender to all letters and numbers. I gave them personalities and histories. I imagined the relationships they had with each other, even the most forbidden, an alphabet/numeral relationship. 8 and G always had something going on. 8 obviously female, and a bit on the chunky side, liked G's soft side. She also like that he stood his ground..."No, I'm going to stop right here! Fuck C, I've got to be my own man!"

A and B, female. Lets face it, B looks like a pair of breasts and A kinda looks like one of my mother's friends from when I was growing up. C D E F G H and I are all male. The old Boys Club of the early letters. "Sure, A and B might be girls but we dominate the first ten letters." K is female, just look at the way she moves. Strong and assertive yet graceful. L...kinda goes both ways if you know what I mean. Like 9, neither here nor there. "You're no 6, that's for sure, and 10 wears the pants in the family."

Actually there are many gay letters and numbers, Q for instance, just look at that limp little hand of his. 7, feminine for sure, but there is something about her. 1 2 3 and 4 are all children, and therefore without gender to me. 5 is growing up and wishes the others would stop following him around all the time! And anyway, he kinda likes 6, you know.

M and N are both female, and good friends. Well, they have so much in common. Nobody likes O, nothing to grab onto, mostly empty space. The only one who likes him is P, another loser. J is like that uncle that is younger than the other adults. He's still cool, he still smokes pot every now and then, and lets you borrow his records. R and T are drinking buddies. Tough, rough and vulgar. They like beer, bowling and farting. S is R's wife, and she's always coming between the two. V W X and Y are the matriarchs. The old ladies sitting around in rocking chairs, brow-beating the rest, demanding quiet and hot tea.

Z the poor thing, hardly ever used. Worth 10 points in scrabble you know, not a vowel anymore are you love?

God is Heavy

2008-07-07T05:52:00.000-07:00

I have to say that I too, like the bright young girls in this picture, believe in an all-powerful force that created everything. This power created us from nothing! It is invisible, and cannot be measured, even by the world's greatest scientists. Even Albert Einstein never attempted to solve this great puzzle. This force caused the big bang, and the formation of stars, which in turn created the elements that formed the planets. It put the breath of life into the universe.

He governs every step of every human being who has ever lived on Earth or will ever live on Earth. Although his great laws can be bent by some, they can never be broken! From now until the end of time (which will be at a time and place of HIS choosing) we must all bow to his absolute power.
This force treats everyone equally. If you are foolhardy enough to think that the rules don't apply to you, you WILL be punished! Your body may be broken, your possessions may be destroyed, and your loved ones taken from you.

Sometimes, this great entity takes the innocent. Those who have done nothing to offend it, will suffer its wrath, perhaps as a warning to the rest of us to change our ways.
So little is known about this absolute ruler of the universe, but this is known for sure. His name starts with a G...
This god is Gravity.
...and he has nothing in particular against gay people.

Another Boaring Night in Kyoto

2008-07-05T04:03:00.000-07:00

My dear friend Chris Gifford recently left Japan after five years in Kyoto and Osaka. The adventures that were had were both numerous and incredible, however one stands out.

Chris came to us one day with the wild claim that he had been attacked by a wild pig only minutes from his home at the foot of Daimonji, in Kyoto. Chris is known as a heavy drinker and occasional drug user so his story was quickly dismissed as either hallucination or outright lie.

Chris' home was located at the foot of a famous mountain (and I use that term loosely) in Kyoto. True, many creatures of the forest can be seen in that area, in fact a visit from a large centipede while tripping out on a YouTube video was not uncommon. He had a Sake jar full of them. But...a wild boar? Within the city limits? Rather unusual to say the least. We figured, Chris, drunken and on a bike hit a large dog. The dog's cries of pain resembled snorting, Chris made his estimation of the incident and the story was born.

Chris, being a bachelor, hosted many a night of debauch in his run-down mountain hideaway. One night in particular I was rather drunken and refused to spend the night, claiming I was fine to ride my bike down the mountain and safely home. A mistake I would come to regret.
Shortly after leaving the house I found myself on a quiet street lined with small japanese houses and a few scattered vending machines. All of the sudden a dog started barking and growling madly. The sound was enough to scare me, and make me ponder the reality of a dog attack. However, all of the sudden I heard another dog barking, and then another! In fact, the dogs were chained safely in yards and barking at some unseen menace ahead.

I slowed my coast down the mountain lane. The sharp smell of an unwashed beast hit my face like a slap. It smelled like the monkey house at the Bronx Zoo. At the intersection ahead a large four legged creature stood in the road. "Was this a dog?" I thought, my heart now pounding. Coasting slowly forward the beast came into view, and in the light of an old Coke Machine was clearly a pig. A large, hairy, tusked pig.

He was five feet long if he was an inch. His shiny little hooves glistened in the moist mountain air, his teeth dingy and stinking stabbed at the glow of the vending machine, his eyes dead. I froze, petrified with fear as I envisioned my demise. Falling drunken onto the pavement, a boar's tusk tearing a valley of skin and flesh though my corduroys, and God forbid, tearing my scrotum.

These visions danced in my mind and eyes until I realized I was still coasting toward the beast. I slammed the brakes, sending a screech of rubber against aluminum echoing into the forest. Startled by the sound the pig jumped, stumbled backward and almost fell. Regaining his footing on the wet pavement he bucked and snorted twice in my direction. Now at a full stop i closed my eyes and waited. When I opened them, he was gone. A faint swirl of mist and the sound of hooves dancing into the distance were all that remained. The pig was gone, Chris is gone, and the story is now just a story. One of many.

Knuckle Sandwich

2008-07-02T09:50:00.000-07:00

I must stop cracking my knuckles. I'm addicted to it. That sweet muffled crunch of cartlilage. That snap that seems to dissolve some hidden stress which has settled into the bone like a sunshine unit of strontium-90. Like biting into a crisp apple on a cool fall day. Bright red and yellow leaves floating around like plankton.

A baby's skeleton is 80 percent cartilage. As you grow that cartilage is slowly replaced by bone. Bones are simply deposits of the calcium you take into your body through food. In fact that snap you hear is not cartilage at all, but fluid that gets trapped between cartilage and bone and is then forced out through a contortion of the limb. Wow, it really sounds gross when described like that, but its true. How many other greatly pleasurable things sound hideous when described medically. Masturbation, for one, or sex for that matter.

But it doesn't bother me, I like thinking about it. Each snap brings my bones that much closer together. I am more complete with each snap, crackle and pop. I'm one, working as a whole. But...there is a catch. With each crack you are letting in slightly more fluid than there was before. That's why it's easier to crack your knuckles each time. In fact, the moment after the crack, your bones are slightly further apart. You are drifting away from yourself, held together by this bag of skin you call a body.

What are you? Your face? Your body? Your hair, lips, eyes, make-up? Each pop brings you closer to dismemberment. Each moment brings you closer to death. Crack your knuckles! Enjoy your time...

Atoms for Art

2008-06-18T03:32:00.000-07:00

This is Ivy Mike, the world's first full scale hydrogen bomb. A true miracle of modern science. One of the most powerful, and expensive things ever made my human hands. Mike was detonated on November 1st 1952 with a yield equal to 10.4 million tons of TNT. When the mushroom cloud stabilized it was 23 miles tall and 100 miles across. Over a thousand times bigger than the bombs that destroyed Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Mike would have vaporized all five boroughs of New York City. But really, what for?

People may say a contraption like this is stupid and useless. They would be right in one sense, it didn't do anything. Or at least it never did what it was meant to do, kill people. In fact no human being has ever been killed my by a thermonuclear weapon, so what's the story here, what will this insane chapter in human history be remembered as? The answer...art.

I recently went back to my mother's house in Mercerville NJ. She had just cleaned out 25 years worth of garbage that had been collecting in her basement. Luckily a box was set aside for me with some of my more valuable things in it. One was a bundle of notebooks that represented most of my education.

Notebooks from fourth grade all the way to my last year at NYU film school. Each notebook had two notable and hilarious characteristics. First, no more than 10 pages had been used in any of them. Secondly, almost every page had a drawing of an explosion on it somewhere. Everything from a firecracker to a Mikelike mushroom. It was an obsession. A little disturbing that it lasted until college, but what the hell, I didn't have a lot of girlfriends perhaps that had something to do with it. But the fact remains I was artistically inspired by these images, and I have chosen to pursue art as a career.

Think about it, these monuments to man's desire to destroy itself live on in some of the most dramatic films and photographs ever taken. The clouds themselves are beautiful. Watch some of the tests if you can, the colors produced by the blasts drift down the spectrum like a rainbow being poured out of a cup. Each one has its own characteristics and personality. And the titles are genius: Jangle, Teapot, Sunbeam, Roller Coaster, Zuni, Tumbler, Apple...it goes on like this. Imagine a sculpture 23 miles tall and 100 wide fashioned from the energy that lies hidden in the very fabric of matter! Its like lifting the curtain on the universe and getting a glimpse of what's inside.

They're only pictures, they can't hurt you, but they can still scare the living shit out of you. Make you think about your place in this world. How long will it be here? How long will I be here? The cold glare of reality bears down on you from these images and makes you think, makes you act out in some way. And isn't that what good art should do?

An Introduction

2008-06-15T17:18:00.001-07:00

That picture to the left is me. It doesn't look a damn thing like me but, I'm an American living in Japan, I'm invisible. It doesn't matter what I look like, I look like a foreigner and we all look the same, even I have come to believe that. It's a truly liberating feeling.

I remember when I lived in NYC, I actually cared what people thought of my T-Shirt, my hair, or taste in music. I sought the approval of people I didn't know and they were seeking the approval of people they didn't know. Perhaps in a weird way the responsibility of approval fell to me, but i had no way of knowing that at the time, and I was in no condition for that kind of work, I had no stomach for it. I was drunken, drugged and sleeping on a couch. Spending my time thinking up clever band names instead of learning how to play the guitar. Thinking of art projects that I would like to see and then waiting for someone else to do it. But of course putting yourself out there exposes you to people like you. The prospect is terrifying.

Yes, my twenties were a waste of time, or at least a lot of wasted time. Some good images came from it though. They trickle down from the back of the brain and sometimes drip out of the mouth, or fingertips and are exposed to the light. Things like, peeling off a layer of brain cells like an onion and flinging it across the room. Throwing a roast beef dinner out the window. Attacking a chair with a knife. A pillow stained with headaches. Rinsing your eyeballs off with cold water in a dirty sink. Stomping on a mouse in a paper bag. A trash can filled with human hair and broken glass. Garbage flowing though your veins. A gut full of gummy worms. A wispy skeleton being blown around the streets, down the alleyways, through the park, getting caught in a tree. Choking on candy, and other delightful deaths.