should i file for workman's comp??
i'm not sure if whitey stayed in town, but i hope he did. he confided with me that he really only goes up to santa cruz to visit this so-called "girlfriend" who dogs him on a regular. the drive from santa cruz to los angeles is roughly six hours in each direction, and about $65.00 in gas. all that commuting for a girl that disses him... it's starting to wear thin, and i'm trying to convince whitey to put his girlie on the backburner and move back down to the south bay.... he said he might prefer Venice Beach, and i think that would be tight. but i told him i would have his back, because he is my homie, in whatever he chose to do.
i never even met his lady friend, so what do i know? and besides, we all know he's whupped and therefore going to not move away from santa cruz, despit the $130 round trip price tag thats attatched.
today i went with my rap star friend to take pictures for his press kit, using my fisheye lens to get that novelty appeal. i'm just stoked that my pics are gonna be used for something serious, rather than same old buzznet generics.
i have about ONE more solid day off before i have to snap back into it, and all that... so i'm gonna go smoke a butt while i read a tattoo magazine on my couch, with the talk radio blasting from my alarm clock. syanara.
what a shallow way to feel better about yourself, and so WHERE is that glass house you live in?? i admit that i AM what i hate about everyone else on planet earth. i recognize that i behave in all those ugly ways that i talk shit about other people for doing.
i'm the ultimate hypocrite, and therefore the perfect american. here's my one finger salute.
at least i can face facts, and admit ugly truths about myself, it's no fun, but it's sure a weight off the shoulders. don't harbor that shit. air it out like the damp laundry that didn't dry completely in the cheap ass apartment coin-op landry set up.
just like an open wound... you don't wrap that shit up forever, it needs to breath and scab up propperly. healing is a process and the steps come in a very specific order. you don't get over it until the scab flakes off, and the scab won't ever form if you keep the bandage on too long.
that's for emotional scars too... you have to let things go, and make them heal... or else you'll get an infection and REALLY be in trouble.
it's all this avoiding reality that makes us weak. how can you funtion in a REAL world when you surround yourself with lies about who or what you are??? don't shun the truth just because "it doesn't fee good..."
know whats the truth? YOU'RE A LOSER!!!!! but hey, so am i, so's everyone... join the club, and shrug off that self imposed hatred for what you are. HAVE PRIDE, being a loser ain't so bad once you come to grips with it, and learn to ride the wave.
the truth is no one's a loser... it's reletive term, and it all depends on who's looking.
just like this whole mess in iraq. who the terrists are, depends on who's doing the talking. i bet the brittish army called the american colonists "insurgents" when the american revolution was taking place. this country was started by white men who didn't want to pay taxes to a government they plotted to destroy. and the rest is history...
BUT OH NO... our history books refers to those earliest of americans as "freedom fighters" but it all goes back to... who's eyes you're using to look at it.
seeing life the way you choose to see it, do you deal with reality? reality is a bitch, i know... i am a stoner, why do you think that is??? it's because i hate reality as much as the next guy, but i still look at myself and the people around me with careful watchful eyes, making sure that all is NOT rotten in denmark.
so like ya, i was chillin out here at home when whitey rang me up and told me he and his dog were on their way over becuase he was in my part of town, and because he was gonna hit my two footer, because who wouldn't want to do that?
after some rap songs and a shared cigarette (there was only one left) guido corleone called and came over with his asian girlfriend. all of the sudden it was like the old club house. but luckily they all took off before i could go too crazy... guido and his lady went off to eat someplace, and whitey had a surf date with some loser. and i await a family funtion type dinner fiesta, to celebrate Carrie's birthday. she's one bad ass sister, i will score her a dope present, no doubt.
we eat dinner at 6:15pm... my grandparents are gonna be there. stoked!
my grampa sorta looks like elvis... but i think that could just be because i think he is the king.
all this effort and struggle just to find out that my car is fuckiung freaking out, and wants to sputter and putter and embarass it's owner. WTF?!
but i guess that's the way it is when you drive your shit over 30,000 miles a year, for the last 5 years...
hoses, and belts and wires and circuits... they don't stay dope forever. right?
so i'm carless and i stranded at dealer McDope's house until i decide to walk back home and be stranded over there.
maybe i'll ride my bike to gardena and pick up my paycheck...
i have a fat bag of the kush fronted to me, and there's going to be money pouring out my ass JUST AS SOON as i can get to a bank...
i showed my mom my tattoo today, i said, "so yah, i got a tattoo." and she said, "finally?" and i said, "what do you mean finally?" and she said, "you've always talked about it..." and i said, "well then yeah, finally." and i rolled up my sleeve, and she said, "oh shit, that's huge! hurt much?" and i said, "a little." and that was that.
McDope needs his G4 back, and i don't understand Macs so i am off to get vapoized by the vaporizor. when in doubt, be stoned. because it makes being in doubt more better.
i like to buy DVD's and just watch the trailer for the movie. i'm a busy man, and all the details are really unimportant when you get down to it. the trailer for the big bounce was to die for.
i like outter space music that makes me fel like my truck is a rocket ship... i was thinking about it earlier today though...
my truck is my office and has so many comparables its ridiculous. Instead of paper clips, i have zip ties. Instead of a stapler, i have a tack hammer. Instead of a computer screen, i stare at a windsheild. instead of a mouse, i rock a steering wheel. and the best part IS: i can pull my "office" over anywhere and take a leak. or as the truckers call it when they piss on the on/off ramps of our nation's highways... "squirt the dirt!"
ugh, i just got a phone call from a family member, and totally lost my train of thought. but thats ok, because i will randomly select a knew thing to start typing because it's faster than re-reading what i wrote. i try not to re-read my blog too often, because i beleive that every blogger reads their own blog more than anyone else's.
i just realized today that for whatever reason my shoulders have not been bothering me like they used to. perhaps i finally "learned" how to sleep in a position that isn't twisting my spine into paralization. or maybe i'm just too distracted with all this smoking of cigarettes and eating of donuts to notice.... either way "WOO HOO!!"
i'm so hungry i could knaw off a finger, so i'll be foreced to slide another class A cigarette from my hard pack, and hope that it burns away the hunger because this house makes old mother hubbard's house look like a grocery store.
i'm boycotting pizza on the principal that i eat far too much of it, and besides... that thirty minute wait is enough to require padded walls. they got to be kidding me.
i've always said a donut deliver service in my neighborhood would do well, but no one listens to my brillinat business model. i would be a two times a day customer, they better bereive it.
i'm sticky with filth, time to go get all irish springed out. salty skin sucks.
I ain't no PERFECT man, I'm trying to do the best that I can, with what it is I have. Tomorrow may never show up, for YOU and ME this life is not promised.
while umi is telling MosDef to shine his light on the world, I was eating a hamburger, with CHEDDAR cheese, because the Swiss is too damn holy for my evil ass. And I thought to myself, "man, I'm so PISSED, and frustrated, and ANGRY... What do I do??? How I do I let this shit go without killing someone?"
and I think that's why I smoke the doja, the la-la-la, the kush, sweet sacred Mary-J... The answer to anti's bird-brain.
have you ever gotten high, and realized that all the things you were upset about, or the things that were bothering you, or the THAT FEELING when the weight of the world is coming down on your shoulders so hard you can't even stand up straight..... You realize that "FUCK IT!!!" it doesn't matter. (not anymore at least)
you begin to wonder why you took it all so serious, and wish to god that you saw the humor is all of life's absurdities and hypocrisies. WE'RE ALL HYPOCRITES in the end. Every Single Last One Of Us.
I think I'm going to have my name legally changed to double standard Malone. And YOU, blog reader, should change your name to hypocrite fizzlestien. and life will be harmonious once again.
I honk my car horn, and hang half way out the window giving hard looks and waving my middle finger at anyone that will look at it. and what good does it do me? I make more enemies that way, and once you have four or five other cars on the freeway who are after you, and trying to throw salt in your game... Well is that really worth it? Just to get there 5 minutes faster?? (actually yes it IS worth it)
if you think about it, you might as well have a little party on the I-10West if you HAVE to use it.
I'm going def from sitting two inches away from full blasting speakers, so I will go... I hope people can relate to how stoned I think the world should be. if only we all were forced to take a puff a day.
until then, I bid you farewell.
im going to listen to breakfast with the beatles as i drive into work today.
tomorrow i have the day off. and right now... im so tired. SO TIRED. yawn cenrtal.
off to the jungle where the signwalkers are going to surround my car, knocking on the car windows, fighting for rank and poisition. all i ask is that they keep the chit chat to a bare minimum while we drive to their corner. too early for that shit, and hey, breakfast with the beatles is still on.
i wish it was midnight already.
hi, i hate the heat. but my truck's AC is so cold and deathly/mourge chilly.... and SO that it ain't no thang, choppin heads with a razor sharp boomarang.
an iced vanilla coffee drink, and a rice crispy treat every two hours, because gas stations have fuckall for selection. i hate Unocal 76, Mobile, Chevron, Shell, and i rarely see any texacos or valleros... but i hate those ones too. why do they stock up on so many sun flower seeds. who the fuck is all that shit FOR?!?!?! yeah, it's 100 million degrees out, your candy bars are melted into liquid, and you have twenty different sunflower seed options. well slap me with a slim jim, and smach a donut onto my head, gee willy-kers.
i love the smell of my own BO, who doesn't right? but man, i've hit new levels of foul. it is no joke at this point. shower time, immediately before i make myself hurl.
i'll be all fresh and peachy in ten minutos. fuck work!. then end.
sign job all nighter status supreme.
me and stanz will be cruising deep, and maybe with any luck, i won't rock the house too hard. but we all know i have the worst luck when it comes to restraint. and this is FULL BLOWN commando madness.
mark wants to know who sings the song on the radio, and i told him the exploited, and then he nodded with this weird look on his face and blew second hand smoke at me.
whitey is in town, he called me, and i think he has my signwalking check. the bastard. he better fork that shit over.
ok i cant breath its too smokey in this small tiny hotbox. besides i need to eats me some drive through. because thats what it mean to be american, driving through.
it was at the shrine, in the worst part of Los Angeles. and we knew that a Slayer mosh pit was not something to be fucked with, and it really wasn't.
after all the counting down of days, and preparations, and sneaking in weed, and bumming of cigarettes... it came to the moment we had all been waiting for.
peter and i were front and center sharing a marlboro he got from some fat girl, when the lights went black, and you could hear the triplet drum beat intro to their song Rein in Blood "Bam-Bam-Bam... Bam-Bam-Bam..."
and after the guitars and drums exploded, peter and i were violently thrown around, and i didn't see him until we were outside and the concert was over.
they played all their old jams even classics like "at dawn they sleep" in which the entire crowd starts chanting "kill, Kill, Kill..." louder and louder, until the acid you dropped makes it all to real and you have to explode into/onto everyone around you with fists elbows and head-butts.
it's a wonderful thing.
the pantera concert was pretty bad ass, but pantera was too commercial. slayer had this evil satanic dark underground vibe, and who wouldn't be drawn in by that?!?! and slayer never did the metalica thing.... which is to decide that thrash/death metal is tired. NOPE, slayer still kills it as harder as ever, soaked in blood, driving audio ice picks into your ear drums. ahhhh...
come september 7th, my left arm will be covered with ink as well. strike while the iron's hot, or obbsesive compulsive behaviour? who cares? i would tell you what it is, and stuff, but again... who really cares. if you wnat to know, come back in two weeks.
but currently my status is "MUST GET STONEDER!!!" because its a personal mission to me, and i'm scraping the bottom of the barrel... so it's GO FOR BROKE and get higher than i need to be, or just tease myself with the left overs later. only true smokers know this dilema.
i aslo only have one cigarette left, which means i will have to put pants on soon. yes it sucks to be me today.
i sit at a computer, i sit in the driver's seat of my car, i stand in the occational elevator, and if i'm feeling "spunky" i sit on my bike seat riding along the sandy pacific rim. even when i go to the bar and start dancing my ass off.... i figure out a way to do it while keeping my huge ass firmly planted on a over stuffed bar stool.
i sure have a lot to say for someone who barely walks farhter than ten paces in row, in any given day.
there's thunder abound, roaring through town like a dragon. and guess what, the dragon's PISSED. and so is everyone else. the air is static like electric shock, and people's nerve's are crumbling faster than ice can melt. is it the end of summer soon?
fuck man, i didn't even get to go para-sailing like i promised myself i would...
but if my theaory about people is true. then i'm doing aces, and i shant be worried, and that's good, cuz i'm NOT worried.
my theory is that human beings are either promoting their own progress towards a given goal, or they are deteriating and getting more pathological by the day.
now i'm not saying i don't have my own compusions, ticks, tweaks, and stutters... i'm a hopeless freakazoid by most people's definition. but i see myself as my own personal hero. i dreamed up this lifestyle before i knew it could be possible.
who do you know that gets paid more than they know what to do with, and works only 3 days a week? these FOUR DAYS OFF are pot-smoke filled, and wreckless. sometimes i don't sleep for days, or i sleep the entire time. fuck it either way as long as the rent check is mailed off, and my pants are missing.
some would call me impulsive, because i think of something, and i don't talk about how i wanna do it. i just DO IT. and then i talk about it for a million years AFTERWARDS. but my point is that shit gets done. i can't sit on an idea too long... i have FOUR FUCKING DAYS OFF ON MY HANDS, which means i am busy as fuck on these four days with my hair brained schemes and wild eyed concoctions. who wouldn't be?!?!
btw, todays experiment proved that orange gatorade in yoru 7-11 coffee is prolly the WORST creamer subsitute known to man. but i might try it again for good measure.
and with all that intresting shit that i whipped up, because i SO non sarcasticly believe that you all care. i bid you farewell.
and lick my ass you fucking pathetic dildos.
funny: angela got booty called out in big tnaky's comments. the internet is a comedian.
tomorrow is back to the tatoo shop, to hang out while my cousin gets done-up. he is getting some kind of violent bloody viking/lion murder scene. it should be dope as all izzle. and i want to talk to homie about my left arm. it looks soo.... un-tattooed. that will change.
gatorade orange flavor for life. Both 7-11 and sha-naynay are both "open allllll night, baby" if you know what i mean.
i just finsihed a double sign job last weekend, and here comes more double sign jobs. please don't let this gravy train end!
meanwhile back in the jungle... things are looking sweaty as the natives lower me into a boiling pot of water. when they said they were having me for dinner, i guess i didn't realize how literal these head hunters really are. serves me right.
but then there's the flipside of the coin. you go to a blog you haven't checked out in a while. a blog you link to, and who links back to YOU.... and at the last second... you see that you have become DE-linked.
your mind races, did i unintentionally de-link them first??? is this retaliation?? did i write something to make them hate me?? should i actually read their blog and find out who they are???
the answers to all the questions are NO or mebbe. the answer is "who cares?" because blogs are for retards, and noticing things like links, and hits, and stuff... is the lowest of the low.
that's like being in highschool trying to dwell on why two certain people didn't sign your yearbook. LISTEN man, there's more to life that a stupid web page that you made for free.
there's thai chi, there's sailing. Why not go bowling? OR i bet its been far too long since your last bird watching hike.
sure... laying around masterbating as often as possible isn't much BETTER, but it's not very different either. globspot.com
i used to de-link people on purpose, and play these heirechy games with the order of who was on top of the link-list. so i guess what goes arond comes around. NOWADAYS i just throw all new link ppl into the blogroll thing, because it sorts and re-organizes all on it;s lonesome. bo-badical. and ro-radical.
i have tons of kush weed, because i totally bought all i could afford when i last hit up dealer Mcdope. right now, i'm smelling the skunkiest fucky monkey nuggets to ever be frosted in sugar. finger licking good, literally. you could throw weed like this at the wall... and it would totally stick, like a freshly pee-soaked urinal puck.
the internet is strangling me to death. it used to be such a gas. now it just smells that way.
like a fart so hot that it makes the back of your knee caps sweaty.
everyone ran out of shit to say, even the spammers have lost their creative will. Everywhere you go someone is saying the same shit they always say. and you beg to ask yourself, do i really care. and you dont. so you sign onto this cess pool of rejects, freaks, and attention whores... and suddenly you realize that you should have been working harder on your DVD collection, because what good is listening to the weepy emo feelings of some loser from nowhere?
at least the internet gave us free/stolen music. download deez nuts music and film industry.
i feel like i reached the PEAK of what "good" the internet offers years ago. i write a blog, and SOME people like it, and that helped inflate my exxagerated ego. perfect, right? but when does it stop? when does this look at me circus take a sebattical?! pressumably never. cest la vie. be careful what you start, it might never finish.
if there was a need for a stoned southern california blogger, i wore the red cape and blue tights proudly. and no i won't eat a cheese burger with a strawberry poptart, even though it sounds delicious. but i MIGHT dip my rice crispy treat in your split pea soup. sounds gross, but don't knock it until you try it.
but don't try everything. you don't need to be butt fucked to figure out if you're a fag or not. and you don't need to gat a girl pregnant to "try out being a daddy". take your finger OUT of your ear, and put it back in your nose.
religious hypocracy is a fun game i like to play with my friends. but be smart, and stay silent when in mixed company. it's a form of "choosing your battles" and believe me, there is NOTHING to gain from letting a christian dipshit get you all flustered and frustrated.
just close your eyes, stand on a lotus flower, and say "ohm..." because ohm is short for:
OHMY GOD, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!!!!
damn... i'm still not stoned enough yet. what kinda day IS THIS?!?!?!!?
it's incredibly ludicris and extremely selfish, and i have to beat the parts i dont like about my behaviour into submission. CRACK that whip.
and the anger turns inward, because it knows nowhere else to go.
maybe im not stoned/numb enough yet, and reality of things i choose to ignore sink in, and i feel like a whopping loser. like a disapointment to YOU, and to everyone. Mr Let Down.
i can smack my own face, and feel that sting, and it feels good for ten seconds, buts it a short fix. so is a bloody nose.
i feel like a walking facade. a FAKER. a ball of pathology that somehow is able to fool the average bear. i feel like a booey bobbing in a sea of lies. the biggest lie is that im a smiley happy go lucky space monkey.
i'm a self loathing, complicated, dark individual, with a moral structure that would make most of my family cringe, and the ability to hide away in my cave where im protected by privacy.
you dont deserve these unpredicatble fits of illogic. these curve ball pitches, thise no-look passes.
i'm a semantical peice of garbage, because backed into a corner, i refuse to give up and call a truce. i play games like, "but you said that ONE word, and the dictionary definition of THAT word clearly states that..." like some kind of water rataining PMSing soccer mom.
ok, i think i need to barf now, im sorry for this mornign. and for being a shmuck. i hope you know i just somehow wok eup with my head FAR up my ass this morning, and i know you dont need that shit now or EVER. im sorry.
if he didn't want us to pull ourselves up, god wouldn't have given us boot straps to yank on.
when you ask someone for something.. do you JUST ASK?? or do you ask only after you exhausted every method of Doing It Yourself.... because there is a WORLD of fucking difference.
friends of mine ask ME for job advice, because i've had a shit load of crappy jobs, and i've got apparent business sense, and here's a Pearl of Wisdom if there ever was one: Ask for Help VERY RARELY. never, if possible.
there's is a special place in the world for people who are confident enough to KNOW that they are making all the right choices.
BUY your date a cocktail of your choice, WITHOUT asking if they're thirsty. Take initiative. CREATE DESTINEY.
rocking the boat? fuck rocking the boat... i took an AXE to the boat, and now there's plenty of tar soaked firewood, who wants some smores?
stand in front of a mirror, and figure out all the things about yourself that you hate. YOU never follow through on what you say you are gonna do. YOU feel like you are getting a late start on things. YOU feel like a burden, and like some kind of thorn in everyone's side.
it all doesn't matter, because you can wipe the slate clean. the best part about YOUR PAST, is that it's not your FUTURE. the future is what you want it to be.
and do you really want to face a future exactly like the life you live today? with a little elbow grease things will be much much cooler.
live NOW fucking a, god dammit.
face your fears, disturb your neighbors, escape the chains of sobriety, and welcome to enlightenment. OR AT LEAST, the path towards it.
and no this blog is not your source for zen stoned ideas from an idiot, so i'll shut up soon, but man... The CHOICE is always so clear, and simple and right in FRONT OF YOUR FUCKING FACE.
sad, ugly, hurtful, mean spirited, THATS THE TRUTH for you (ain't it typical?). but you can make the truth into WHATEVER you want, just pay more attention next time so that things don't slip back into darkenss. take ownership for what YOU could have done differently in a situation, and when you get another turn, DO THAT SHIT. - ok. my "know-it-all" routine is over.
it's really true. because of weed, and turbo graffix 16, i made the friends i made all through out my public school career.
we didn't really always like each other.... but if you weren't friends with the right person, at the right time... you MIGHT miss out on some QUALITY chocoalte thai. and that would be a stoner's worse nightmare.
for example, when we were all freshman, i had surgery the weekend of the Manhattan Beach Hometown Fair. and i guess Turnbull had the CHRONIC and was smoking out all the skater homies, and i would have tasted the best herb ever (during a time when shwag-weed was all we could normally afford)
but instead i was tortured with stories that started like, "oh man you MISSED OUT!!! Turnbull had the fucking DEATH WEED!!" and i would take a big deep breath, and sigh to myself, like a fat kid who didn't get to eat any ice cream.
today sucked. it is still not over, and all i want is to wake up and get work over with tomorrow. KJAHDSAKJH
the tattoo is peelin and itchin like there are a million red ants tickling my entire fore arm.
it even makes OTHER parts of my body itch. like my head and my butt.
mark stanz and i are killing it softly, and have been cracking like two whips since 4:30am, when i picked his ass up from the south side of San Pedro (the boonies), and hauled all the way to the other side of the county line to my cousin's house to get the signs, and we're done now, at least for a couple of hours... signwalkers go out at 4pm...
double sign jobs aren't for people with lazy bones. so it's kinda weird that i kick so much ass at it.
i'm surviving on coffee and i ate cigarettes for breakfast. my breath even grosses ME out, and i like almost all smells. i'm one stinky bastard, but i guess one could say, "what else is new?"
and oh yah, i got into a road rage piss contest with this asian broad that was giving my helper shit while he was stapling a sign to a telephone pole. i CLEARLY had my flashers on, and was waving my arm out the window in that "go around me, please." motion. and guess what, she FINALLY figured it out, and made her way to the red light, but man....
mark was done with the pole by then so i crept up next to her car, and screamed all kinds of voodoo at that bitch, and then she pretended to call 911 or some crazy shit. HAH, this is south central BIOTCH, the cops don't care about your stupid "someone yelled at me" complaint. next time leave my helper the fuck alone.
she should consider herself lucky i didn't have Supersized Powerade from McDonald's.
just another day in paradise.
times up. bye.
FINISHED. thank you grampa decker.
everything's already paid for, but i'm gonna bring extra cash to tip Dr. Decker... because i drank my can of act right today. did you?
i have some pain pills so swallow after the ink has been slung, and the odds are I'LL NEED IT.
i slept like a baby last night, only to be rudely awoken by wrong number phone calls at 7AM. i don't even mind getting the wrong number calls anymore, BUT WHY AT 7AM?!?!? here is how i answer the phone after being rattled out of bed, "fffffffuck, man."
and people STILL have the nerve to ask me, "is this the animal hospital?"
to which i reply, "does it fucking SOUND like the granimal hospital???"
big tanky thinks i should just get over it, and tell the phone company to hook up a new phone number. and i would get myself a new number, although... i think i secretly like getting myself all worked up into a frenzy to the point that im screaming at some blue haired cunt who doesn't know how to dial 376-**** instead of MY number (379-****) because screaming is great excercise, and being in a frenzy is prolly good for my target heart rate.
but at the same time, i pity those poor fools. what the fuck are they wasting time planning for? how can they BE SURE they know what the future holds??? What if, by some twist of fate, things don't go "as planned" and then they are back to square one.
all the planning in the world, all the PREPARING you can think of, will NOT GARANTEE you jack-shit. becuase life is messy, unpredictable, and almost always FUCKED UP.
ME MYSELF AND *I* like to just take it as it comes. throw me a pitch, and i'll do my best to knock it out of the park. all the planning i'll do is RIGHT THEN AND THERE as the baseball hurtles towards me at high speeds.
how sad and pathetic is the guy who dies at an early age with all his money saved in the bank??? think of all the things he could have done with the cash... vacations, fancy dinners, good weed, new clothes, GAMBLING!!!! but nope, he was "planning" on living longer, and "planning" on using the money "wisely"
i dont like to plan, i like to DO. the best way to feed yourself is to decide where you are going AFTER you get in the car and start driving. stop trying to control every situation BEFORE it even happens.
just take life as it comes, and deal with things as they come up. and in the meantime, Eat Drink and have lotsa Orgasms. becuase life is too short not to.
but the beats are tight, and Mcdope is not shitty at rapping like you would expect a white boy from 310 to be.
McDope and i are going to use my fancy camera skills and my expert geograghical knowledge of the los angeles basin to get some hot pictures for the album artwork.
my idea is simplistic at best: black and white, fisheye photos, posing in front of various graffiti yards. perhaps one pic posing on front of In-And-Out Burger.
and im willing to do this all for free. ALMOST FREE that is... all i want is to get high on HIS supply all that day.
Mark got fired permanently from the sign business. My boss/cousin caught mark sleeping while he was sposed to be holding a sign. you know mark don't you??? that nut case that has been my sign helper from time to time???
i felt bad for mark, because he is mental, and because he is an old friend of whitey's. THEY went to catholic school together, or some shit. BUT after i talked to whitey, i didnt feel as bad.
whitey said, "hah! that LOSER, i'm so not going to call him."
mark called me the next day and i answered the phone. i told mark that he could prolly get his job back if he wrote the Viking a letter of apology, ect. but man....
i dont think mark wants to write a letter, and i dont think the viking wants to ever see mark's face again. oh well... mark gets money from the US Government, and told me he is considering taking off the next 4 months, and just relaxing. i wish that crazy fucker good luck.
after having done it for years now, and after having hired and fired hundreds maybe thousands of people... i've grown to realize that not just the people who work for me need to be told what to do. in fact, PEOPLE LOVE THAT SHIT. lotsa folks would rather not have to think, or make a decision, or use their brain at all.... AND are perfectly happy with letting someone else do all the picking, choosing, deciding, and THINKING.
like when i go out to a bar with whitey or one of my pals, and i ask them for a drink... they might reply with, "....ummmmm..." and i'm tellin you man, i will wait about 10 seconds before i snap back around and pick out a drink FOR YOUR ASS. heineken it is.
and if they tell me some jive shit like: "but i don't wanna heineken" i'll tell them to give it away, and i'll buy some OTHER shit that i choose. NO ONE usually dares reject the first choice i make... be it a captain and coke, or V.O. on the rocks with a splash of water.
drink up, boys. there's bar patrons to harrass.
call me a drunk, but there's no better place to be than a bar. and when i'm eventually a lottery winner... i will have a fulltime bartender working in my house. why else do people have children, right? "hey junior, another highball for daddy...."
the bars within walking distance of my house are all my favorite, WHEREever i live. right now that means old tony's and naja's. old tony is scenic, and has some fruitcake with an accoustic guitar singing james taylor songs. but man their mai tai's get you LOADED, and you get to keep the cup.
naja's is like this rock and roll bar, except the people that go there all give you that nobody alerted them to the fact that the 80's ended. i love the 80's, DONT get me wrong.... THEY just take it to a bad place. BUT!!! naja's has like a trillion beers on tap, and that's where i first learned about my most favorite beer of all, "delirium tremens"
i'd like to go driving around aimlessly (as i do) so im gonna make like a monkey, AND SPANK on outta here.
From: Lauren, firstname.lastname@example.org
Date: Aug 11, 2005 4:53 PM
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I'm contacting you on behalf of Buzznex and M80. I was looking at your website, http://antidisestablishmentarian.blogspot.com/, and it seems that you're a pretty big deal online- you have a lot of readers and influence. We're currently working to help promote this new online social network, Buzznex, which is like MySpace but with more features such as the Hotlist, built-in video, and lack of Fox News ownership. I was wondering if you'd be interested in posting a blog entry, web banner, link, or whatever you'd like pertaining to Buzznex on your site? For your efforts, we can send you an iTunes gift certificate, and top participating sites will receive a pre-loaded iPod Shuffle.
For more info on Buzznex, check out http://beta.buzznex.com/buzz. For banners, images and other assets, check out: http://assets.m80im.com/webmasters/buzznex/buzznex.html
If you decide that you'd like to help us out, please email me and let me know!
Look forward to hearing from you!
this gift certificate better be wirth more that 99 goddamned cents, or else i'll be pissed. i hope THEY aren't too pissed when they find out what a non-big-deal i am online. suckers!!! the end, -anti.
UPDATE: i forgot to mention that buzznet is the ultimate buzz-service, and if you want to REALLY get an account and be part of a ALREADY ESTABLISHED community, join the original buzzed out freak club: buzznet.
celebrity and celebrities are common place in Los Angeles, and for us hollywood natives... it's yawn-central. i went to school with some so-called "kid stars" and guess what, they were all dicks. just another human being, carbom based life form, LIKE YOU AND ME, only we're not dicks. (not all of us. NOT ME)
in fact, and perhaps there are more people like this than i assume, but *I* would never want to be rich and famous and powerful.
well ok rich and powerful are cool, but only if it was top secret.
and on second thought i dont even want power. power currupts, and even if if didnt currupt me, its too much goddamned responsibility. all i would want is to be secretly, and quietly, FILTHY rich.
but famous has got to be the worst. i mean, not all celebrities are dicks. i shouldn't clobber them all with my generalizations.
i met John Ritter (jack tripper!!!) at an italian restaurant, and he was totally awesome to me. i sat next to John candy at a kings game when i was a kid, he was totally cool too.
funny that they're both dead. shows ya what being nice gets ya...
but i digress. (i dont even know what digress really means) and on that note, its time to smoke more pot and cloud my mind with doubt and confusion, becuase i love it that way.
how to clean your BONG! a film.
i think i finally found my calling. it's to just take as many naps as i can, while singing along to every corny song i can think of. shit man, i'd go pro if it paid even a dime.
a little driving on the 405 freeway... some banking here and there. perhaps rent will get paid, ect.
yesterday i did something that hasn't happened in YEARS. i paid my phone bill BEFORE they shut it off. WOW what a difference a day makes.
i got my hair cut for finally today. i can actually SEE the world now that the curtain has been lifted. how nice. Deanna at ultra lux says im her favorite boy customer because i dont give two shits what she does. she could tell me she wants to shave my head, and i'd say, "will the hussy at the front desk fetch me another cup of joe, dammit."
but she doesn't shave heads, and if she did, i'd prolly just shave my own head, because i used to rock a shaved head most of my life.
it's almost 3am, and i am going to hit up the carl's junior, because i love that fucking bbq western chicken shit like nothing else.
the ink on my tattoo is barely set into the skin, its not colored in yet, and im already picking out new tattooes. perhaps i should think "baby steps." ITS JUST that i have all these creepy catholic candles with the best scary religious art. i'm a sucker for a beaten bloody barely alive christ. but hey, who isnt?
with a cigarette in my mouth and resin on my lips, word to the mother ship.
sometimes it helps to distract yourself with a pointless injury, so you deck the wall trying to put a hole in it. barely felt a thing.
THIS IS THE PICTURE OF SOMEONE losing. whatever "it" is, ain't fucking worth it. control of your emotions is NOT what that person has. which reminds me of what an employee of mine was talking about...
he said, "if someone talks shit to you, you HAVE to fight them. what other choice is there?"
i said, "well man, who cares what some dip shit said? to me... reacting and being defensive means that you might think the shit talking is true."
i mean seriously. SOME idiot talks shit to me, and *i'm* supposed to take it serious enough to react to it? WHY? so now they know a button to push, and instantly make me mental? is that really something a person wants to give to someone else???
you can't "push someone's buttons" and piss them off, if they have no buttons.
when the person in the honda in the car next to you is honking like a maniac, and trying to get you to look at their double fisted middle fingers... nothing makes them MORE pissed off than ignoring them, and dancing to the B-52's song that is randomly on your ipod. sciddly-bop.
want to know the face of the person that WON? close your eyes and go to sleep. the winner doesn't care SO MUCH that they passed out hours ago. typical, eh?
i'm neither a winner or a loser, im just an idiot on the sidelines. the silent (stoned) fly on the wall... making mental notes and avoiding eye contact. if you wait long enough and hold perfectly still, every type of prey imaginable will enter the cross hairs.
you see, a smart stoner makes certain that his smoking materials aren't so resinated that shit like this happens. *I* am not a smart stoner.
so im smoking on my bong, just tugging away like always, when the fire-hot cherry finally gets to the point that i can "snap it" through the tiny hole. at least that's plan A. what happened is that after the bowl was snapped, it got caught by the mounds of sticky resin in the down stem, and caught that resis shit on fire.
resin is poor man's hash. it's what a stoner smokes when he is out of weed. it's the tar build up in your pipe, and it can get you LOW-DEAD.
but man, it tastes like shit, and i don't smoke resin. i hate that shit. that's why i work hard and buy myself REAL pot to smoke. smokeing resin is for poor highschool kids, not 26 year old workaholics.
so i get this big blast of resin smoke, and my lungs went KABOOM and my eyes turned into puddles of salt, and i got a cold sweat all over my body. yes im high as the sky, but at what cost. not even two shots of rum can get this taste out of my mouth. blick.
if you are a blogger, the truth is that you are one of MILLIONS who are punching away at the keyboard hoping for a reader to "understand". OR AT LEAST hoping that mom doesn't find the post where you called her a cunt, and admitted to taking it up the ass.
(btw, mom already knows. they know everything dammit)
but you wont get readers or hits on your stat-thingy, or comments in your inbox, or none of that shit unless you are keeping it real.
have a point, do it becuase you love it, enjoy the creative process for what its worth, AND ALWAYS PUSH YOURSELF.
never turn on your TV, because if you are unlucky... you will find a reason to not use your brain for at least 30 minutes. BAD BAD BAD.
a famous graffiti artist once said that you should worry about doing graffiti FIRST, and worry about "being famous" never. you don't go eat at a restaurant because you want to take a shit later. get me?
well, mebbe some people do. but isn't that like totally devoid of enjoying THE MOMENT for what its worth? how do you even know where you are on the map, if you are only staring at the destination???
there's a natural order to things. before you ARRIVE, you have to GET THERE, and getting there is great fucking fun, so stop rushing me.
all the best bloggers in the world would still write and pour their hearts out into their computers if noone was watching. know why? because they can't help it. they never could.
staying alert is key, and everyone is really so self absorbed they dont want to understand me, they just want to see how my actions are relatable to THEIR storyline. Have you ever known that type of person who will TALK YOUR EAR OFF about themselves... but as soon as the conversation shifts to ANYthing else... They become "busy" and suddenly unavailable to talk. "i think I left my stove on, will you wait here while i drive home to check it? Be back in a jiff, I swear."
i'm man enough to admit that 99.9% of the time im not listening to people who are talking to me, im singing, "tra la-la-la, la-tee-da..." To myself in my head or im just repeating what I want to say, so that I don't forget it. AND YES THAT IS TRUE, but it's shitty because people are telling me shit I want to know , and so I realize that halfway through, and have to ask them to repeat it all so I can start paying attention from the beginning. YOU GET ME?
it's enough to make a normal and decent person GO MAD. so certainly a lunatic like myself should be well calloused to life in this blood soaked environment. And I AM. in fact I'm blood thirsty, and I like my steak cooked raw, because I want to nearly be able to hear the cow scream in terror. TERRAWRRRRR. mua hahaha.
I like movies with tits, and explosions, and CASUALTIES. I want to feel brutalized and devastated when I leave the theater. (salute to bobby beatoff)
television doesn't suit my needs. I don't have cable. all I can hope for is a blood bath on the highways, and hoping that CBS Chopper 2 (the eye in the sky) is on deck with a camera to watch the pavement turn red. Once upon a time whitey and I were sitting at an intersection deep in the San Fernando Valley at around midnight, when a busted ass Honda comes barreling around the corner, with a cop car on his tail. THEN 14 more cop cars flew by as well. we WERE STOKED, because we didn't see ourselves as coming "too close to a dangerous situation..."
we thought that we had FRONT ROW SEATS to the best show in town. Murder and mayhem, welcome to the City of Angels.
I only like to be taken seriously when i'm being paid to be serious. I'll do nearly anything for the right price (even murder, go ahead and offer me a billion dollars... Shit... if we're talking cash I might do it for a cool mil)
but I don't like being serious, or being taken seriously because life is too short not to laugh and smile and roll on the floor wrapping yourself up in your friends rugs, and running through their apartment complex's screaming "HUMAN BURRITO!!!"
LIFE IS TOO SHORT to just sit there, and read about people going apeshit, while you yourself are working on the dent in your computer chair. Maybe with a thousand more hours of sitting perfectly still in the same place the cushion will be formed PERFECTLY to your ass, because that is obviosuly the most important thing to worry about in life.
when was the last time you went somewhere you are not supposed to go to ALONE??? like Disneyland, or a 5 star restaurant... SHIT MAN they even made batting cages because they figured some shit is best, when its done solo.
why do you think men with healthy and satisfying sex lives still masterbate daily??? It's partly because men are depraved sex starved pigs of human beings, and its partly because we're alone at the time and decided, "why not go full blast?"
LOS ANGELES (AP) - Los Angeles strip club owner Howard White isn't winning any new friends with his billboard. An ad for White's Century Lounge reads -- quote -- "Vaginas R' Us." A local business group is complaining. But one city councilman says vagina isn't an obscene word, so there's little officials can do. However, White has had to take down his sign temporarily, though not because of the wording. City inspectors cited the sign for a fire code violation. It was made of combustible vinyl. But officials of a sign company tell the Los Angeles Times White has already ordered a new "Vaginas R' Us" billboard.
i love this news story because it deals with three of my favorite things. Los Angeles, Signs, and Vaginas. AND my favorite part, especially as a sign guy that gets a lot of shit for where and how i use my signs... i am STOKED that the strip club dude is getting HIS WAY in the end.
simpleton is the 30th person to buy my book. 30 is A LOT in the bookselling world. suuuure.
all the answers, they just JUMP out at you. it's ALWAYS easy to know what to do. doubt never clouds your mind. OH NO, not doubt. NEVER.
everyday when you wake up you high five yourself, and say, "YES!!!!" because you are so stoked on your situation, because that's the human experience: nothing but good times. three hundred and sixty FUCKING five days a goddamned year, bitches.
money problems are ALWAYS non-existent, relationships are FOREVER easy to figure out, and good health happens with ZERO effort.
life rules because my upstairs neighbors would NEVER dare to stomp around like goons, and the meter maid turns a blind eye to my illegally parked pickup truck EVERYDAY! did i mention all of life's secrets and answers come with ease? oh suuuuure. totally. yeah fucking right. oh yah, and nobody ever mistakes sarcasm for "being serious". that would never happen, becuase that would mean life DOES suck.
people rule too!!!
people would never dare to cut you off on the freeway and then flip you the middle finger as if it was your fault. that's NEVER happened to me. nevah evah.
people would not DARE apply moral judgement on something that is clearly amoral. like a loaf of bread... or a pair of shoes. or a psychotropic plant. People like to mind their own business, and they NEVER steal my lighter after i let them use it to light their cigarette.
Everyone likes to mind their own business when it comes to religion. i've never been the target of a christian-recruitment campaign. YEAH RIGHT! i swear.
this blog, it's SO intresting. and the writing... it's like fucking top shelf and a half, ya dig? the internet is for winners. i love the police.
comments from strangers are never annoying.
as i rub my eyes, and scratch my butt, I stumble and zig-zag my way to the bathroom, making sure to body check every door jam on the way. I piss in the dark, getting about 90% of the piss on the toilet seat.
when all is said and done, i fish my cigarette pack out of the pants i was wearing the night before, and throw myself onto my couch, and there i stay, like a wet rag.
after i hang up on the onslaught of wrong number phone calls, and open my front door to scream at the maintenance men who are making too much noise... i might decide to actually put clothes on, and go out to see how many parking tickets i have accumulated in the last 24 hours.
welcome to my wake up ritual.
tonight my sisters, their husbands, my mom and i will be attending dinner at a loverly italian restaurant. i would tell you which one we're going to, but the last time i did that, someone spilled the beans to my dad, and he made an unwelcomed cameo, and sat a few tables over, and stared at his old ex-communicated family while we hid behind our menus.
ahhh good times.
dealer mcdope is on the east coast, and im nearly tapped out on my high-supply. what is this brotha gonna go? i guess it's time for more beers.
i need to go long sleeve shirt shopping, so that i can keep my new pricey piece of body modification well protected from those harmful ultraviolet rays.
my apartment looks like i decided to throw everything i own into the center of the room. how does it get like that so fucking fast? i'll never know.
cheers, and FUCK THE WORLD AND EVERYONE INNIT, i hate them all.
what if a mack truck flattens you out before breakfast? what if a missile lands on your head? what if a roaming pack of barbarians take over your hometown?
i remember this dude got both of his arms completely covered with tattoos by the time we were seniors in highschool, and how critical everyone was. they'd say, "what a fool. what does he think he is gonna do when he grows up and has to attend the Company Picnic??" never considering that perhaps he could were a long sleeve shirt, or maybe even a jacket. OH NO, IT'S THE END OF THE WORLDDD. (pshaw, hardly) and btw, who fucking goes to company picnics??? someone's been watching to many episodes of The Wonder Years
you can't be affraid of rollercoasters, because in all acutallity - if the thing went bonkers and you got hurt, you (or your remaining next of kin) will be recieving DISNEY-money (megabucks) for life. i mean, talk about hitting the bodily injury jackpot, eh?
almost everyone i know lives their life paralyzed in fear, including myself. it's sad. i try my best, but it's never good enough. what can i say, i'm scurred.
go uncle billllll!!!
poeple i know are affraid to be honest. people i know are affraid to try something new. people i know are affraid of being wrong. people i know are affraid THEY MIGHT BE RIGHT.
right now the thing that scares me the most is running out of time here on planet URFF. im a SPACE JESUS navigating my u.f.o. like a comet towards certain death. snapping poloroids, shooting bonghits, and practiciing the art of the white trashiest trailertrash moustache. i'm almost ready to compete on the Winston Cup circuit.
FEAR is what seperates the WINNERS from the losers. to win you must be fearless. you have to be willing to pay the ultimate price (losing everything, perhaps your life) and for that, you are rewarded with FIRST PLACE. the champion, the numba one stunna.
i think it's sad when one of my friends is too affraid to THINK BIG. i'm the best/worst kind of friend, because i never suck up to an idea. if i think something's rotten in denmark, i fucking lay down my honest, opionated, elitist ideal. and yes, you're wrong and im right, let's have that clear from the jump, you follow me?
i dont want to turn off my brain because im am so riddled with anxiety that i can't function like a decent average american anymore. i want to stand up and shout in the middle of the movie theater, i want to drive my car over the severe tire damage, i want to run UP the DOWN esculator and prove that im faster. i want to dance with the dead in a pale moon light.
NO... i will tell you what i want to do. *I* want to put my car in park, walk up to that Jeep Cherokee in front of me, and politely knock in their car window and ask, "why the fuck are you so retarded?" just because, man.... i think i deserve an answer to such a dignified question, especially when, "FUCK YOU YOU PIECE OF FILTHY CHICKEN-SHIT" is the only obvious thing that i should have said.
im far too busy loving every square inch of Los ANgeles to really sit down and collect my thoughts propperly. the summer always does this to me... it envelopes my psyche, and life becomes and episode of "saved by the bell" except im the screech (gulp)
but thats okay.
everythings ok, and everytings fine. or at least it will be once i can find the courage to get my ass over to the 24 hour Carl's Junior Drive THrough Piece of SHit. yes i want chicken. i love chickens. they're the universal flavor of exocit foods. "i ate bamboon." what did it taste like? "chicken"
remember how bizzare our world truly is at all times. TV and radio come for free... but they make you pay for toilet paper... i'll never understand it.
ok, im ready to reveal what i was hiding from my blog all this last week. it's really not as exciting as some of you may have guessed... i got a tattoo!!! a big ass one on my fore arm, wanna see it? click here.
i have weed to smoke and pain meds to swallow, adios, pinche cabrones.
i only have kept it a secret this whole week because blog comments are the best and sometimes THE WORST part of a blog. i didn't want everyone chiming in with their two cents worth of unsolicited advice that didn't make any sense anyways.
or the obvious WORST case scenario... someone talking me out of it!
i need a bong hit tho... because im nervous and excited, and i want to remain cool-calm-collected, because that's what im famous for.
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