strike out ALS...
partially ejected, pronounced dead at the scene.
did anyone see daniel day- louis start crying on the oprah show over heath ledger???
Barry: Top 5 songs about death. A Laura's Dad tribute list, okay? Okay. Leader of the Pack. The guy fuckin' beefs it on his motorcycle and dies, right? Dead Man's Curve. Jan & Dean.
Dick: Do you know that right after they recorded that song Jan himself crashed his car... Barry: It was Dean you fuckin' idiot...
Rob: It was Jan. It was a long time after the song.
Barry: Okay, whatever. Tell Laura I Love Her. That would bring the house down - Laura's Mom could sing it. You know what I'd want? One Step Beyond by Madness. And, uh, You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Dick: No. Immediate disqualification because of its involvement with The Big Chill. Barry: Oh God. You're right!
Dick: Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot.
Barry: You bastard! That's so good - that should have been mine... The night Laura's daddy died. Sha na na na na na na na na! Brother what a night it really was. Mother what a night it really... angina's tough! Glory be!
i've been thinking about life and death and how completely unfair all of this is...
who said... life is full of pain and misery and it's over all too quickly???
a co-worker of mine, his wife died in a car accident and i don't know, you know?
game over. something like that, i mean what the fuck. some fat three hundred pound fuck drops dead of a massive heart attack at least the people around him could be like: well, we saw that one coming a long way off. he ate shit, he drank shit and never exercised. we tried to warn him. maybe that's the reason i still smoke. way back when, i went to the medical examiner's office and they had this woman on the table. wait, back up...
the actual morgue is in the basement of the medical examiner's office and it has more the feel of a butcher shop then a funeral home. there were five or six people working there that day and they all had a body going. the first thing they did was make an incision across the head from the top of one ear across to the top of the other (the same spot where a girl puts her head band) and the next move was to grab the scalp of the head and pull the skin all the way down over the face... down to their chin. i mean it just peels off. i couldn't believe how easy it was, like in the movie face off. i want to take his face off. you're more amazed that someones face (your face) can come off that easy then horrified. at that point with their face inside out and pulled down past their chin they stopped being a person and become a piece of meat, which is what everyone is, if you want to look at it that way (which i imagine for the purposes of being able to do that job every day you would want).
anyway they had this woman on the table and her chest was open and the guy doing the autopsy points to this woman's lungs and says "look at how pink and healthy her lungs look. you can tell she never smoked." and all you could think is, well her healthy pink lungs really didn't help her when she was busy getting creamed by that bus.
but that's life and life's unfair and god is the most insecure twat i...
all these religions all these people they're constantly have to tell him (god) how great he really is. it's a goddamn commandment for me, keep holy the sabbath. where one day a week you go for an hour and tell god that he's the greatest and there isn't another one like him. what a selfish prick.
when i die i think i would want people to say about me "that son of a bitch had it coming".
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
wolves at the door [guest post]
there are times when that old devil comes peeking his head around the corner. Or he knocks on the door, lightly, just loud enough that I can hear him.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."
These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.
It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.
So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."
These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.
It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.
So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.
Monday, December 31, 2007
furlough 08' baby, wooo
to new beginnings or the same old shit...
mr. oglepants went to a bikram yoga class this morning with his betrothed and rounded out the afternoon with a big glass of wine and chain smoked the afternoon away.
if anyone, anywhere would like to post a small short story on this blog feel free...
it's fushupao@hotmail.com and the password is omnibus700. that's right dear reader whomever you are, wherever you happen to be, feel free to lend your createactivity to a good cause (be productive and not reproductive) this new year. if your blog entry is especially creative or funny i promise, here and now, to send you prize in the mail. please just email me at fushupao@hotmail.com your name, address, etc. prizes will awarded in the order of entries received and will only be limited by my own imagination and my willingness to maybe shell out ten to thirty dollars on this little experiment. prizes include a map of budapest, a half used disposable camera... what could the first thirteen pictures be of???? and/or a copy of philip roth's, the dying animal. read the book the san francisco chronicle calls "sorrowful, sexy, elegant... A distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." or just read it for the part of where the aged professor face fucks his nineteen year old student or the bit where he masturbates to beethoven... classic. why on god's green earth i decided to read more and start with this, quiet as it's kept. furlough 08' baby, woo
mr. oglepants went to a bikram yoga class this morning with his betrothed and rounded out the afternoon with a big glass of wine and chain smoked the afternoon away.
if anyone, anywhere would like to post a small short story on this blog feel free...
it's fushupao@hotmail.com and the password is omnibus700. that's right dear reader whomever you are, wherever you happen to be, feel free to lend your createactivity to a good cause (be productive and not reproductive) this new year. if your blog entry is especially creative or funny i promise, here and now, to send you prize in the mail. please just email me at fushupao@hotmail.com your name, address, etc. prizes will awarded in the order of entries received and will only be limited by my own imagination and my willingness to maybe shell out ten to thirty dollars on this little experiment. prizes include a map of budapest, a half used disposable camera... what could the first thirteen pictures be of???? and/or a copy of philip roth's, the dying animal. read the book the san francisco chronicle calls "sorrowful, sexy, elegant... A distinguished addition to Roth's increasingly remarkable literary career." or just read it for the part of where the aged professor face fucks his nineteen year old student or the bit where he masturbates to beethoven... classic. why on god's green earth i decided to read more and start with this, quiet as it's kept. furlough 08' baby, woo
Sunday, November 18, 2007
ray... if anyone ever asks if you're a god... say yes!!!
slew/ bob slid up to honey pot on the bench and rubbing his scabby elbow into her side blurted out "my super power is that i can't eat peanuts. i can't even really touch them. i'll break out into hives and my throat will close up... cool huh???"
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.
"that's not a super power numb nuts, that's called an allergic reaction" honey pot stated rolling her eyes for effect "why don't you just go drop dead and help save on oxygen for the rest of us."
bob slunk off carrying his cold dented can of corned beef hash. exit stage left
honey pot continued "he thinks he's so special, but really he's like special olympic special... short bus, you know?" thumbing her fat thumb in the direction that bob left in.
the boy whose real name was wiznick/ lunchmeat sighed deeply "and this too shall pass"
before honey pot could register what just happened lunch meat lunged across the table and grabbed a hold of honey pot's hand interlacing her plump sweaty fingers across the back of her hand with his own.
"can i ask you something... just between us prom queens???"
honey pot attempted to wring her hand free but the boy named lunch meat tightened his grip.
"are you a god???"
before she could answer the boy named lunch meat leaned over and blew his nose all over honey pot's chest. wet snot rockets... gray and gelatinous peppered the front of her shirt and bare skin.
honey pot stood up clutching her lunch tray to the front of her chest "this conversation isn't over you gross little jesus freak." and stomped out of the lunch room, her squat frame shaking as she stormed out of the now still room.
the boy named lunch meat with a self satisfied smirk leaned back and picked up the chewed apple that sat on his tray and cupping it in both hands began humming, careful so no one over heard him, what if god were one of us.
the half bitten part of the apple began turning yellow and then a shade of brown as a white moldy fuzz grew from the exposed jagged parts made from his teeth marks. a black bruise slowly spreading across the skin, beginning from the damaged part of the apple, as it time lapsed... turning into a rotten fetid lump of flesh in a matter of seconds.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
sigh
it's been a minute...
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"
drinking little penguin... all wines taste the same in the end... acidic, the same going down as they do coming up...
the vomitorium. the vomit comet. wallace and vomit. that's a funny word in english. like the eskimos have twenty- seven different words for snow... vomit.
seen on a t- shirt "i'd fuck me"
Thursday, October 18, 2007
the function of my dysfunction
lunch meat: i have the ability to know exactly what jesus would do...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.
i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...
honeypot: really??? okay hotshot what would jesus do with an elephant with three balls???
lunch meat: he'd walk the elephant and pitch to the rhinoceros.
i am leaving for san francisco tomorrrow... thank you jay, colin and simone for taking care of bear...
here but for the grace of god we go...
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