Back from the dead, so to speak
I’ve gone and done my disappearing act again. It is partly due to computer problems. First someone broke into my house and the only thing that seemed of worth was my ancient laptop. So they took it. The burglar was so pissed when he (or she. Woman burglar. Sexy.) found out what a piece of crap, he actually went to the trouble of emailing me from my own mail (left signed in automatically):
this is most peace of shit i still in my career. you are patetico.
I’ll forgive the bad grammar if it’s a female. Sexyyy.
Next the computer network where I work blocked me from entering my own blog. Reason: Pornographic content. If you can’t beat them, beat off to them. No, that wasn’t it, was it. Anyway, here is a drawing of an anus:
()
Here is a drawing of a vagina:
{;}
Here is a drawing of me near a vagina in approximate scale of 1:100,000 in regards to true occurrence on a time axis:
{;}
0
/|_\
/ \
(Notice my penis in this illustration is so erect in it has actually ripped my arm out of place, which has yet to happen, but all good things etc.)
Here is a drawing of a vagina with Chlamydia:
{%%%}
Here are uneven boobs:
@0
Here are, at an approximate 1:2 scale, the last pair of boobs I touched.
..
That is, in an intimate way. In a non-intimate casual sort of accidental rub of a ninety two year old titie, it would look something like this:
| | | |
\/ \/
Five Dolla BJ? Yo pipi size like this? If mo then ten dolla.
I need more weed than Mexico can grow.
That actually sounds like a poem
I need
More weed
Than Mexico
Can grow
True story: An old lady died in our facility. Her will states that being of sound mind she would like for me to inherit her toothbrush. Why? I don’t know. Unfortunately the Mexican maid got her teeth, so not much of a fortune catch there.
Here is a drawing of a vagina of a dead woman, being penetrated or possibly cleaned by it’s owner’s toothbrush:
}{ <==~,,
And on that lovely note, have a nice Christian Sunday y’all.
I’ll try to be back sooner next time.
Life Sucks Chocolate Covered Cock
Sorry I disappeared. Or did you not notice? Am I a significant part of your life? Why not, bitch? Forget it. I was just depressed. I don’t know, the writing isn’t going well, I’m feeling inadequate, incompetent even. I mean look at this:
INT. OFFICE. DAY
Claire is standing by the copy machine holding papers in her mouth. Whenever someone passes by she wags her tail. They all ignore her and her tail drops. Sad music on the soundtrack.
What is that? Is that crappy writing or what? Where is this idea going? Who cares about some bitch who turns into, well, a different kind of bitch?
Or how about this steaming pile of crap:
EXT. PARK. DAY
Claire and Boomer the Cocker Spaniel are running around playfully, like dogs do.
CLAIRE
I’m tired. Let’s go get coffee.
BOOMER
Dogs don’t drink coffee. We drink water and
the occasional sip of fresh vomit.
CLAIRE
That’s not gonna do it for me. Oh Boomer,
there are so many cultural differences between
our worlds, how ever will this romance work?
BOOMER
Turn over honey, I’m getting the humpin’ itch.
Is that classic literary quality stuff, like King, or Grisham? I think not. I mean it’s got some good juice in its marrow, like the conflict between bestiality and coffee, but in general it’s like a Twelve year old trying to impress a second grader with his correct grammar.
So you can see why I’m feeling down. And when I feel down I mainly stay in bed and play Nintendo and eat Oreos. It gets ugly.
I'd give my left testicle for one of these. Seriously. If any of you needs like a sperm donation or something, I'll give you the whole goddamn factory.
Also money keeps pouring out of my metaphorical pocket like bad films from a Robin Williams. It got so I had to sell some collectors items on ebay to keep up my standard of living, which mainly really involves Oreos and a pulse. Depressing really. I once calculated how much money I spend just on non-consumable shit, like bills, car maintenance, rent and stuff, and I found that every second of my life costs me a small fortune. You fart and you’re in debt. If my body were part of a corporation I’d be so unprofitable they’d downsize me and replace me with a Mexican. Or a trained monkey. Who could probably write the goddamn script better and in half the time.
Shit. I’m going back to bed.
See y’all.
The left-hand Oreo is me, hanging on the ledge of the will to live write and play Nintendo, the Oreo rolling away is my money, and the bottom Oreo, well that's my self esteem or something.
It’s Christmas and I’m full of it
I’ve decided I’ll just go ahead and give myself a discount on this year’s family shit-o-rama and I volunteered to work Christmas eve. It should be at least entertaining and slightly less dangerous than my family’s annual get together.
The place is all Christmasy and jolly in that someone fixed the flickering florescent in the dining hall and added “Merry Christmas” on the board under today’s menu, which is low fat chicken breast with yams cooked and beaten to a brownish bland death and left bleeding near a salad that no one has lived to report its true contents. So you can see how this is a great improvement for me, and it almost moves me to believe in the generous spirit of Christmas. I tried smiling at one of the nicer old ladies passing by and she shrieked and cried so hysterically they had to give her Diprivan, which is the stuff Michael Jackson took before his last nap. (I’ve tried it before. Pretty brutal stuff that). In any case, that drained the bullshit right out of my chimneys.
A bunch of old men and a fat nurse decorated a plastic tree, arguing whether the true spirit of Christmas looks better in blue or green. A skinny little Santa went around pulling medications from his stocking and handing them out like miniature last suppers and you could almost imagine him muttering “Christ died for your sins and I’m getting a buck fifty over minimum wage to do this. Who got the short end of that stick?”
I love Christmas weather though, with all the snow and the fireplace all warm and jolly, but having lived in LA all my life it remains a theoretical love, like the way I love Zooey Deschanel: She’s probably a cold little cunt, but I’d love to get in there and find out, you know?
Yeah now we’ve got some real Christmas spirit rolling. Not bad for a half Jew.
rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.....
Where was I? Yes, Zooey Deschanel. God I love her. I’m sorry I called you a cunt Zooey. You know I didn’t mean it. Your eyes just make me go gaga till I don’t know what I say. Now I’m feeling sentimental. I’ll write a poem.
Your Eyes
Zooey, I love your eyes
And I don’t care if your boobs are saggy
They probably aren’t
‘Cause you’re gorgeous
Although you’re 29
And probably past menopause
But your ass looks great
Above my face
Take my word for it Zooey
I’m good for it.
Well it’s not a poem-poem, it’s a poetic scribble or something. But you’ll forgive me.
After all, it’s Christmas.
I’ll keep you posted.
If money could talk it would say goodbye (Ancient Proverb)
I’m tired. My current job is at a retirement community. I work at the Not So Functional section, where they put the old people who talk to their dead grandmothers and like undressing in public. I am a security guard, mainly nights, which mostly gives me time to write and spare change to pay my low rent and once a month – a Burrito, but it screws with my sleep real bad. Sometimes I’ll find myself lying in bed at 4 in the am awake as a 12 year old in a whorehouse, counting porn stars jumping over the fence (might be counter productive, I know, but you should try it. It’s really fun). But it’s better than other jobs I’ve had, I guess. Like Dress Up As Chicken And Hand Out Fliers job. Not cool. Cleaning a funeral home. Not very uplifting. At least this job most of the time I’m left alone. Once in a while an old bugger will wander the halls and try to pick a fight with random electric devices, and then I’m supposed to call the nurse, who is usually not hot or male or Mexican or something, so I just give them a pill from the stash I get from said nurse, who is usually more than thankful to sleep through the night. Faster and easier all around, everyone wins. Probably illegal or at least unethical but these are people abandoned by society and left to the mercy of unqualified misfits such as myself, so I guess it makes it, I don’t know, it makes it a sort of Who Cares situation. I’m not a total dick, I mean I’ve taken the responsible action of getting to know my shit: I’ve tried most of the pills. Some of those anti psychotics are pretty fucking wild, I’ll tell you that. This one time I took a pill that made me all jello in the knees and my hands were shaking for a day, I was walking like a real weirdo and got assisted into the mall and shit. Was kinda cool. I was hoping some of them would open my creative parts of the mind or help me concentrate, but mostly they’d make me dull and like fixated on stuff. I’ll like sit in front of my laptop and be thinking about a scene and be like: right, it’s dark and the protagonist is walking Where? Main Street. Right. What then? Then I’ll stare into space for an hour and snap out and I’m like, right, where was I? Protagonist is walking down the street. Which street? Main Street. Right. He has a bug in his shoe. Cool. a ladybug. Which street is it? Main Street. That’s a big street. Are there bugs on Main Street? Probably. Who is this man? His name is Bob. Right. And then I’ll doze off for three hours straight and look at the screen and it’ll look like:
EXT. MAIN ST. NIGHT.
Bob is walkkjkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk
k
Which is less than you’d expect from a night’s worth of work. So I’m slowly getting to know my meds, which are uppers and which are downers. Unfortunately mostly at night what old psychos need is downers, but every now and then I’ll hit on a sweet anti depressant and I’ll be like yeah, let’s write dude, and I’ll sit in front of the laptop and I’m so fucking happy I just wanna love someone but there ain’t nobody to love, so I shout: GOD, I LOVE MY COCK! Which is true most of the time, but not always appropriate.
I sort of forgot what I wanted to say. Yeah, it was about the annoying necessity of making money and about waking up in weird hours. It’s really frustrating. It gets so there’s no point in staying in bed, so I sit at my computer and start surfing, reading blogs and stuff, and as sure as all rivers flow to Rome, I end up downloading hardcore porn.
Kinda looks like me I guess. Also it's a nice visual illustration of the complex and abstract ideas of this post. Found it on Flickr. Cool.
What is it about porn? How many virtual boobs can one consume without becoming boobie-numb? I estimate I’ve been through roughly Nine Million individual boobies, and still each time it’s like falling in love for the first time. It is the most steady and meaningful relationship I’ve ever had.
I’ve said enough for today.
101 Ways to make Ketchup - No. 48 - Boob Press - Photo + caption by Mylor, cc-by-na
I effin hate the holidays
And I’ll tell you why. ‘Cause my mother sits and drinks shit cheap alcohol and curses both her ex husbands and when she gets drunk she shouts obscenities at Santa and his fuckin little queer elves (her words, personally I do not care which way they are sexually inclined), and my sister bitches about not having a boyfriend cause she scares them all away with her hairy upper lip and beer belly and my uncle sulks in the corner talking about different antidepressants and what happens to your intestines when you eat red meat, and my grandmother sits at the head of the table and shouts atonal variations of Christmas carols (on fridays too. She’s very festive.) and there aint no turkey on Thanksgiving, there’s canned beef or shit, and there aint no jingle jingle ho fuckin ho, and if in the morning you find a sock hanging on a plant the one thing you do NOT want to do is stick your hand in it, and you’d better check ’cause your mother might be sprawled underneath it, naked and snoring, with a random man who usually smells like peanuts and urin. Shit, for all I know he might be Santa.
Jump Santa, jump
So no, I don’t like the holidays, they remind me how fucked up America really is and how the whole month of December is a fucking double depresso with no sugar, except when you’re 6 and your father is Jewish so the Hanukkah candles burn the Christmas tree along with the living room and a dog nobody liked we always suspected started the fire to commit suicide. That’s a merry Christmas, motherfucka.
Ho Ho Heil Hitler Everybody! (and Mrs. Claus is thinking: was his butt always that big? and why won't he bone me by the fireplace like he used to instead of playing with his Goddamn Easter Eggs all day?)
Oh, and if I see Santa in a mall I’ll punch him in the goddamn scrotum.
My Lovelife – An Update
Sorry for not being in touch for a while. I had a little accident.
The drunk babe I picked up that night turned out to be less of a babe and more of a cougar, but like a cougar that’s been in many battles and has lots of scars and fucked up fur and a belly that sort of flaps way down because it’s lost weight and gained it back because of all the bad relationships it’s had with scumbag tigers who ditched it in the trench and went to get a beer with prettier cougars. So, less like Jenna Jameson, and more like Lily Tomlin with a shitty attitude or something.
When drunk she looks like this
When sober she transforms into this
When I woke up that noon I was like, Jesus, shit on my face and make me sing hymns, what was I thinking? And I sort of tiptoed around her for a while kinda hoping she would never wake up or politely implode and vanish, briefly considered vacating and finding a new crib, but finally faced the music and sort of pushed her gently with my foot to wake her up. And she was all, jesus, did we fuck? And the image was sort of disturbing but I said yeah, and she was like, shit, that’s gross. Which I found sort of offensive. I mean, I’m no Brad Pitt or nothin’, but I’m no Paul Giamatti either. But I tried to stay polite and cool and said, sorry, why don’t you just cover those abominations of yours and go home and we’ll both go Memento on this freak accident, but she got all red in her face because I think she could read between the lines that I found her slightly unattractive and disgusting, and she was all, show some respect you little fuck, I could be your mother, which I happen to know is not true because my mom is way hotter than her, but I still kept it nice and mellow and said, I’m sorry ma’am, I understand you find this situation upsetting, if probably somewhat familiar, but we can make it all go away like the civilized adults one of us clearly is, and then she went bananas and started throwing pillows at me, and said you little dipshit, gimme a twenty for a cab, I’m outta here, and I said dude, if I had a twenty for a cab I’d probably have like my own cab, why don’t you walk, I think you need it, and then the alarm clock was flying at me and a not so healthy looking cat that must have wandered in at night looking for a quiet place to die, and then a slice of pizza that was left on the floor, probably from the previous tenant ’cause it was hard as a motherfucker and it hit me straight in the eye and the pain was so intense I could barely hear the bitch laughing her way out.
So, since I don’t have insurance (’cause if I could afford insurance I’d have like my own private doctor), I stumbled to a friend who’s learned first aid as part of community service, and he treated my eye with some iodine and bandages but it got infected anyway, either because of the cat or the stale pepperoni, and I had to go back to the same friend so he’d steal some antibiotics and pain killers for me, which seemed to do the trick, but it took me a while to recuperate and that’s why I haven’t written.
Anyway it was a hell of a thnaksgiving, what with one eye and heavy on morphine with my sidfunctional family, but I’ll talk about that one next time.
Cheers.
P.S. Despite the horroible pain and suffering I could see the humor in the whole pizza incident, and I wish I could show you pictures of my face with the pizza, ’cause it was kinda early-Peter-Jackson-Sam-Raimi cool, but my digital camera is busted.
OMG
Just woke up, and there was a woman near me! Wow! I got laid!
It felt so unlikely that I poked her boob while she was sleeping to make sure. She woke up and asked what I was doing. I said I wanted to make sure I’m not dreaming. She laughed. I think she thought I was being romantic. She’s back to sleep and I don’t think I can take her photo without using a flash. I guess she’s kinda hot. Hard to tell. I was really drunk when we got here. Still am. I think I love her but I can’t remember her name. Fuck. Just wanted to share with all you early birds or late owls or whatever.
A woman. Not the one I slept with. I think. But you never know. It's still pretty dark here.
It’s not that I’m not an attractive fellow, I think I just come off a little intense, and it’s hard to take in the full extent of my awesomeness, which is very extentful. But once they get to know me I think, well, I’m still sort of intense. Usually my relationships last anywhere from twelve seconds to a week. But I’ve got these redeeming qualities, like I make a killer Cheerios breakfast. I add cinnamon. Blows their mind. God I’m nauseous. What the fuck did I drink? I’m going back to bed.
About the male protagonists
So I’ve been thinking about Bruce Willis lately, how his character is gonna shape up. I only chose for him to be a Cocker Spaniel cause I liked the sound of it, and thought that it’s a clever way to hide the word “cock” in a lead character’s description, or alternatively get some product placement dough from Coca Cola.
Bruce Willis - Before
But when I consulted with Mr. Google I found there are all sorts of Spaniels, all with dangly ears and dopey eyes, which is not very much a Bruce Willis character, but that’s fine, it’ll be a sort of takeoff on the his character. It can even be a dog that thinks it’s John Mclane. Asta la vista, doggy. Anyway, he’s gotta have his own demons to fight off, so I’m thinking maybe when he was a puppy in the pet shop, a fire started, and he managed to escape, but was not brave enough to save his hamster friend, Zigmond. This has haunted him his whole life (about a year I guess). Of course towards the end of the film he gets a chance to redeem himself when his love is trapped inside a burning pet store and he bravely goes in and rescues a hamster.
Bruce Willis - After
I’m also thinking about the Afro American Reiki master, who is an important character in the plot as he helps our protagonist to retransform into female human form, with proper tits and no body hair, though she can remain on all four, for all I care, ha ha ha.
So I’m thinking maybe Samuel L. Jackson, who appeared in some smaller flics but I think he’s got what it takes to make it in the big league, he’s got that sort of black power thing working for him, I can totally see him as a powerful master of energies and shit. Or perhaps Edward Norton, I really like him. He is not technically Afro American, but with some make up he can really make it work, like he did in that last Ben Stiller film. He’s also got that black power thing, in an Eminem sorta way. Less talented than Eminem though, obviously.
What if the Reiki master is a dog too? Now there’s a thought. Is it a good one? i don’t know. Are Oreos sweet? Most of them. The ones I’ve tasted anyway. And there you’ve got that black and white metaphor working for you again. What was I talking about? Bruce Willis. Yeah. i sent him a summary of the plot to try and get him interested. I wrote a nice flattering letter, telling him I’m writing the part with him in mind. How I got his home adress is a whole story I’ll tell another time. In any case haven’t heard from him yet, and I’m preparing similar letters for Robert De Niro, Al Pacino, John Travolta, Harrison Ford and Bono. Better safe than sorry.
I’ll keep you posted. Over and out.
Welcome Gaybots
Apparently my previous post, due to permissive use of language, attracted tremendous attention from gay porn sites. More or less all of them “pinged” back to here, which in gay slang probably means “Hyperlinked”, which in itself sounds gay. In any case, I consulted my technical advisor, Mr. Google, and he claimed these “pings” are created by automatic gaybots searching blindly for gay stuff to post on their gay sites, which is fine with me, hell, anyone’s welcome here, I don’t care if it’s gay people, schizophrenics or more gay people. We’re all God’s children and we all like porn, so welcome y’all, just don’t be expecting any male abominations other than my own fat ass, which may or may not be currently busy farting some Taco Bell.
Cheers.
Executive Luncheon
I was having lunch the other day with some studio executives and I tried to push my screenplay just a little. I was trying to be real subtle with it, honestly, seeing as I was not officially invited to the event, which from what I could gather had to do with one or another financial success regarding some flick. It wasn’t really a proper lunch, just some snacks and wine and cheese and shit, but if it’s free it tastes like lunch to me.
So I managed to sneak past security on the second attempt .First I usually try to act as if I see someone I know, like if it’s MGM I’ll go “Samuel!” and raise my hand with a smile and just waltz in, not noticing the two bullies who should look puzzled and hesitant and decide to ignore me, which unfortunately never happens, mostly I get kicked in the butt. But there’s usually a breach in security somewhere to be found. I’m good at that. I’ll tell you about it sometime.
So I managed to squeeze in and headed straight for the buffet. These are the only chances I get to drink anything that costs more than five dollars, so I go at the wine like a mofo. Then I pinpoint anyone who looks like an important executive, I usually guess by the suit and usually get it wrong, but I’m persistent, so I get there eventually, you know? And I have like a bunch of cards I got off other lowly executives, or likely imposters like myself, and I hand them out randomly hoping to score a golden ticket. And I have my wit, so I guess I can charm some of them, and I’ll be like, hey, is that an Armani? You know he’s gay, right? And some will frown, cause maybe they’re gay too, that’s why I usually try to make it sound ambivalent, like it might be derogatory or it might be like, Gay Power bro. You know, I’m not one of you but I’m right there on the balcony cheering for you dude, cause the more you dig male anus the more I can score real sex. So that sort of opens the door, even if in a bad way, and lets me put my foot there and sorta casually mention this hot screenplay I’ve been toying with, but I don’t know if I want Bruce Willis or Anthony Hopkins for lead, cause they’re both busting my balls to get it. And I’ll go on to explain the premise, but, I don’t know, I guess I’m not as good a pitcher as I am a writer, or maybe I’m just too wasted and they’re all like, what the fuck are you talking about? who the fuck are you? How did you get in? leave my freakin’ five thousand dollars suit you little fuck, and then security is on my ass, and I try to catch a sandwich or two while I’m dragged out, and then I’m on my own again.
So not a bad outcome altogether. You know, my idea is out there, it’s floating, and next time I mention it to someone it might sound sort of familiar and I might not get punched in the gut and have hidden egg salad smeared on my good shirt.
You gotta have faith, like some singer once said, though I’m told he was gay too.
Have a good week.
Josh.
