WOW.

Guess who

decided to make

a comeback?

 click  

Beached whale; sunburnt flapping around with its tounge out, eating fried chicken. Spilling its rolls of blubber over the water molding into the sand. Squish squish squeal. Beached whale sunburnt, screaming, rolling around, slapping its fins. Blowhole cinderella, let her hair down backstage. She pulls out a cigarette. She hates kids. Her mom married Mister Rogers medusa, the 8 headed bitch. Her tendrils strangle, the naive black haired. Lies the nutcracker man, never shaves and never cuts his hair. That voice, that sneer, a comical figure brought them here.

I feel so dry, cynical, and sarcastic; talking in the low voice of disinterest, the voice of a thousand intakes, sour like wine, aged and fermented.I'm self made and I like to hold my 5 finger discount in the most sophisticated fashion. The problem with this generation is that loathing life has become cliche.And so has sounding too happy. You can't even have an opinion these days without sounding trendy. Merely talking about is pathetic. If I have children, I would plan their future. I guess because I want them to have a life completely different from mine. Some day I'll rob a bank and tell my kids to buy me drugs with the money. Hopefully, most likely, they won't listen to me and they'll go off and spend it all on guitars and IPods. That's when I know I've done my job.

I watched VH1's the Rise of Velvet Revolver. After watching it, I decided I should take Martial Arts. Maybe it'll be the answer. Me, doing Martial Arts kiddos, rare rare rare occurence. But if that's what I have to step up to, then I'm willing.

Yesterday, I was supposed to go mall it up with Andy Rovic. Thanks to Pillsbury Cake Mix, I didn't. I got sick, decorated the toilet bowl with a wasp of chocolate vomit, and fell asleep. Leaving Andy to ring my doorbell for 10 minutes until giving up. Fuck you Pillsbury Cake Mix, fuck you and your putrid sources.

Below this entry, is a

story, for your

entertainment, if you

wish to read it. Warning

though, it may cause

brain cells to shrivel.

Thank you, and good

day lovers. &

Happy New Year.

Napolean Dynamte is sex.

I shall tell you the amazing tale of Poopers the amazing carrier pidgeon.

He was little and gray and he had a black head and beedy little eyes...one of his eyes was really huge and funny looking. Despite his exterior deformities, Poopers was a dedicated and beloved asset to his owner, K.Karma, they went everywhere together including the bathroom

One day Poopers was on his daily excretion route, he had yet to poop on the big gray van, his favorite, Jimmy Elvis, and Cameron Diaz. His little ragged wings urged him to the van, happily he readied himself for the delivery. All of a sudden, a big fat old slob opened the van door, held out a net, and caught Poopers. The big fat angry slob had only done half his job, he realized, as he felt a foreign wet substance ooze itself down his face.

"That'll teach you to have an overactive bowel!" said the big fat old slob, Fartino. He put little Poopers in a tiny cage, threw him in the back of the smoky van, slammed the door and took a tiny colorful glass object from under his seat.

Poopers stared at Fartino with desperation. He was scared. Too scared to even poop. His eyes burned from all the cigarette smoke in the van and the tiny cage was too small for even his little wings to stretch out. Fartino took the colorful glass object and put it in his mouth, taking some big purple stick out of his pocket, he made fire on the glasswork and inhaled the burning colorful glass piece. Poopers watched in amazement. Soon Fartino let out the smoke in thick white jets. He continued this through a dozen times then stashed the glass object and purple stick away. Poopers could barely see to the front seat. His eyes burned more than ever now. He just wanted to go home. Or even to poop on Jimmy Elvis or Cameron Diaz. He wanted anything right now but to sit, caged in the smelly smoke van with fat mean old Fartino and his colorful glass.


Fartino sat up and with his gruff, tonedeaf voice he proclaimed "Well, fat Fartino is my name, stealing birdies is my game, toke toke toke till I have a stroke! It's hard to think when you're on cocaine! Birdy, birdy, birdy, you having fun? Dank ass nugs, you nigga birdy! I've got plans for you!"

Suddenly Poopers started to feel a bit sick. His little eye got swollen shut. His big eye grew red and fat. His little wings felt lighter. His little cage seemed bigger.

"I'm the king of niggaland, slap the bitches with dis hand, got da nugs roll with the thugs, you can't do what I can" sang Fartino. He had started the van and they were heading east toward the pidgeon factory.

Back at home, K.Karma wondered why Poopers hadn't come back for a refill before flying to Hollywood to shit on Cameron Diaz

Fartino stepped on the gas eastward down highways and sidestreets, Poopers rolled around the little cage twitching and halfsleeping, his fat red eye and little closed one dry and sad.

K.Karma shuffled around the house, looking for Poopers' digital positioning device, but she had forgot to strap it to his little foot that morning. She let out an aggravated groan and grabbed her car keys and sighed "Aww Poopers, my little insurgent" hopefully he hadn't strayed far. Little did she know.

Fartino took a sharp turn down a little gravel road, his van hobbled from side to side like an old man with a limp. They trudged far in until visible became a tiny little shack in the slums of the Palos trailer park. Leaving Poopers in the van, he walked through the cracked glass door and shuffled down a dingy hallway and to what seemed to be an office. This was the pidgeon factory.

"Yes, McDonalds has been demanding highly gross amounts of pidgeon meat for their last production run before they go all white." A man said curtly into a huge black telephone. He sensed the prescence of Fartino and his green eyes pierced up into the dim light of the office. He had shaggy black hair, a prominent roman nose and thin pointed chin. "Yes, bring them in as soon as possible. We've been needing some new cocks." He hung up the phone. "Ahhh, Fartino. What a wonderful waste of time." said he. "Need another hundered bucks to waste on your narcotics?" Chuckling, he looked Fartino up and down and said "Boy, you best make something of your slovenly self before you end up like me, watching pidgeons fuck living on paycheck to shitty paycheck. You can only slum it so long. The black market needs good men. Hood men. Start selling rocks or something, get back up on Boomers."

His green eyes twinkled and even through his bizzare lifestyle, those eyes were still that of a child's. "I've got a funny for you!" said Fartino, ignoring the man's life analyzation. "A sacrafice," he cooned, "EVERY damn day the little bastard shits all over my car, he's no bad aim, either. I'll be right back." With glee, Fartino rushed to the van, whipped open the doors with his pudgy fingers and pried open Poopers' cage. Still rolling around in a euphoric fancy, his little shut and red fat eyes blinked and cried and winked. His little wings flapped and flapped and he was much too much of a challenge for Fartino's plump penisfingers. He was flying away....away....


The blue skies and strong winds prodded Poopers on like spurs in his sides. He flew and flew into the sky. Higher and Higher. He spiraled and looped and made rainbows and scaled the clouds. He stretched his little wings and zig-zagged through the tall forest trees. The suns rays warmed the soft gray feathers on Poopers' back as he flew higher and higher. He dodged the yellow rays of sun and looped around the white, soft clouds. As he flew even higher, the clouds became thick and brown. The sun was filtered gray by the smog. Poopers flew higher and higher into the gray oblivion, thunder clapped miles and miles away. The pink raindrops fell from the brown clouds beneath him in the light. Opening his beak, he drank the cloud ambrosia, the pink dew. It rejuvinated him. Higher he soared into the black moon. The blue and purple stars shone valiantly and red Mars winked at him in the sky. Nebulas spewed out life in bright light. He flew higher and higher into the black moon; the summer sky. The cold snow and the pink, pink rain dew that fell from the brown clouds.

Fartino walked out of the trailer scum gripping a 50 dollar bill.