Die, Sucka

.............Last night I dreamed I was going to Wal-Mart with some friends to have an enemy of mine Euthanized. Harry, Dempster, and Lubarb were all there. We haven’t hung out in quite some time, and those aren’t even their real names. But in my dream, it was. I don’t quite know. It was a bunch of people from high school, and we were there to have someone euthanized.

I didn’t feel like watching someone die, though, so I took a nap in the store. My friends apparently propped me up in a shopping cart near the entrance, because when I woke up in the dream, I was there, wearing a hunting jacket and my face was warm with reservoirs of my own drool.

We headed into someones car to drive away, and we had a receipt verifying the humane killing of one of our friends. Maybe he was my enemy.

Suddenly the comic car turned into a boat, and it turned into a comic strip I was reading about cartoon fish sailing the seas in boats. So fish were traveling on the water on boats, not swimming in water.

The first panel had a fish wearing an eye patch singing a song. He had a word bubble with a musical note in it.

And the third panel was vague and I don’t remember it at all. The second panel either.

Suddenly the fish in the first panel was driving a car, and laughing with the fish from the third panel. My brain tried to force the fish back into the comic strip, but it didn’t work at all. The fish were still driving a blue Saturn down a long dark road.

.............When suddenly Jeremy Piven emerged from the back seat and shot the fish in their skulls.

.............The guy from that Ellen show. He hasn’t gotten much work lately. Now he was making a cameo in my dream. Shooting fish. Is it really as easy as people say? Even when they’re driving?

.............The fishes heads exploded, and they turned from cartoon to human size real life things. So white dress shirts -- with fish heads poking out suddenly burst – and got drenched in two geysers of tuna, mayonnaise, and cayenne pepper.

Then my alarm went off.

I keep having the strangest dreams lately.

Sandwich Between Egg And Face

God Defecated On My Hat

You Must Be My Asshole?

Take It In Anyway You'd Like (The Money Spending Part of the Brain!)

cancelled cat checks (turning into monsters)?

SO I CALLED THE BANK AND WASTED EVERY DOLLAR I HAD

THEY SAID IT WAS A GOOD IDEA SO I WENT ALONG WITH IT

FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE I WENT WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT

MARGARINE TASTING LIKE. WHAT WAS IT LIKE? DID I WIN A

CONTEST OR I WAS JUST BORN LUCKY WITH THE CIA IMPLANTING

A SECRET JELLY BEAN INTO MY LEFT MOST INCISOR? IT ISN'T THE K-9,

IT'S THE VAMPIRE FANG TOOTH. IT'S THE ONE THAT MAKES ME BELONG

WITH MY FAMILY. I WAS WILLED THIS TOOTH BY MY GRANDPAPPY, THE

ONE I NEVER MET, HE DIED WHEN I WAS LITTLE. SO I DON'T GET ALL

THE JOKES EVERYONE MAKES WHEN THEY IMITATE HIS VOICE, OH

TO BE YOUNG AND HAVE FLAKES OF SKIN WASH OFF IN THE BATH TUB

EVERY MORNING FACING TOWARDS MECCA. WHICH IS WHAT WE'LL CALL

THE LIBRARY. ONE DAY I WENT TO RETURN AN OVERDUE PARTITION TO

MECCA, AND I HADN'T RUN CHKDSK IN SOME TIME SO MY BRAIN WAS

CLUTTERED UP WITH THOUGHTS OF HOW TO BREAK FREE FROM THE

LOOMING HELICOPTERS AND POORLY KNIT SWEATERS. THEY WERE THAT

KIND OF GIFT GIVING FAMILY, THE ONE YOU'D NEVER OUTGROW BUT CAN

REGROW LIKE A LIZARDS TAIL OR YOUR COCCYX. BUT WHAT I SEE ON THE

TV BOX IS NOTHING BUT RERUNS, STYLISH SOUNDS OF OLD CAR WHEELS

SKIDDING BY ON NOTHING BUT ITS OWN MERIT AND CHARMS. THEY TURN

IT ON WITH THE FLICK OF THE FRUSTRATED KEYS. THEY WERE COPIED

AT ACE HARDWARE AND SOMEWHERE IN THE BACK OF MY MIND I KEEP

HEARING THAT DAMN RINGING TELEPHONE, I THOUGHT I HADN'T PAID

THE PHONE BILL IN A LONG, LONG TIME, BUT MY FAIRY DOGMOTHER

HAD BEEN PAYING AS I WENT, AND FINALLY GOT AN IPASS FOR HER UGLY

ASS ALL TERRAIN VEHICLE. THAT THING GULPS DOWN GAS AND SHE PAYS

FOR IT WITH THE MONEY I DIDN'T GET WHEN THE GOOD DOCTORS YANKED

OUT THE WISDOM FROM THE EVER REACHING END OF MY JAW BONES.

all terrapin sedan

Along the beaten road was a beaten man with beat down plans to get no where fast. His name was Leonard, he had acquired the taste for all white egg omelets whilst traveling in the subzero haven of Allganxarby. He was banished from the land by a cruel and unusual king. The head of the monarchy was brought up to be a first class jerk post haste. After forcing Leonard to eat a gladiator helmet’s worth of lizards and prime jello, he raked his back with coals and made long distance calls from his house when he was out doing foolish errands like finding the corner in the Royal Round Room (The Three R’s were quite different in Allganxarby, also called Xarby Days by hicks and locals.)

Once there was a three day sale at the local Wendy’s and the King stared -- with his gaping maw open – at the over head menu, completely oblivious and indifferent to the growing line behind me.

“I’m here on my lunch break,” One anonymous man shouted. His name was Rick Obini. He’ll be important later when he is shot upon the bleeding sunset.

One small dwarf shouted: “I don’t have the decency to tolerate this utter ding dong.”

And as he stood there, the King grew increasingly hungry.

“I’m hungry,” he thought aloud.

And even though his constituents were an impatient and adoring public, they had no tolerance whatsoever for lollygagging. They waited as long as they could possibly wait, and then they hoisted the King on their shoulders and gave him the bums rush straight out of Xarby Days, and onto the street. He had replaced the streets with conveyer belts a while back, and he was ushered out of town. And this made the sun quite sad. For, you see, although the sun is also a large mass of gas, it was also a creature of habit, ruled by its emotions, and it was so hurt by the King’s excommunication that the sun turned its back on the land forever more. The sun kept her hands in her tweed jacket, and lined her cornrows with golf tees. It was quite a sight, and also an award winning heartbreak.

And so Xarby Days grew colder. Colder…Colder…And colder still. Cavemen were moved to tears, philistines didn’t rewind their rental videos, and a trench was dug thirteen feet deep. This trench was to be filled with the tastiest herbs and spices this side of the moon. And who would dig this trench? Who would be so bold, so stupid, and so awesome as to dig a trench, but Leonards forefathers? For you see, in addition to being a swinging bachelor, Leonard was also a fulltime assistant for a part time old coot downtown. But in addition to being a minimum wage slave, in addition to being a jump rope champ, he was also a subarctic mole person. His name was Leonard.

The mole people were a lazily industrious breed, content to slug about in the earths deep dish molten lava crust, some countless yards beneath the dirt, where it was deep dark and damp. And very cold.

remember separate ways

andhejustsay "natt" "hingg"

pull out the stops, start cleaning the floors

blows to the oven mitt

i don't have to be a real man anymore

shopping crime spree?

big news: i ate an apple and it tasted like apple juice

too much permission

/ my conversation with god
do i know you?
don't rape me.











And what I meant by that last post was the skeleton precipice hanging upside, in a coffee filter. It's filtering, dripping skyward in a walk-in closet that doubles as a coffin. The skeleton arm reaches into the mendula oblongata and points to a medical chart that will only get your red, white, and blue blood pumping into a tire. The tire turns the nation to the next page and it's a full feature of your flowing electricity. It's shocking and revolting, and the children are molting their skin. And it's revolting.

Every third Thursday I fall into that cycle
It's give and take

Someday it'll crack

remain at your post!

i like t-shirts okay

don't read to the reptilian skunk (manipulating minotaur = minopulator)

[applaws]

the salad is always greener on the other side

lovingly fucked

one centaur, two bars, three epi pens?

wherewithall = notbetweenus (i can't remember what)

I've been too busy controlling the weather

When the sun came up, I disappeared.

messed up pancreas bible

Messed Up Pancreas Bible:
Verse 3, Section Dog:
A Single, Shallow Elf Shall Arrive
Through The Window And Demand Toast.

I just won the food lottery!

it's sam(e) o'clock

pesky hats

my clothes my clone

Schaudenfreud

The tiny ninja who lives in my mind is alright I guess. That is to say, he doesn't mean me any specific harm at all, and he's willing to share his toiletries, his bar of soap, and his fermented wine. Man do I love that wine. Shower wine we call it. He makes it in his shower and bottles it in a bidet.

Bottoms up, we'd say, and laugh knowingly. We have high style parties in the time/space barrier. It's pretty cool I guess. Not to say I've gotten over the fact that we can party down in that inconceivable border between the monster with two backs and the laundromat worker who can't seem to button that top button. It's a bit maddening. The wine makes me sleepy. Sleep makes me grumpy, and mornig makes my mouth taste like salt. I don't like salt.

And I don't remember what my mouth usually tastes like. Death. Like death? I'd put it up on an instant web-poll, but the crack team is busy sleeping, licking the inside of my mouth and marking important data on a calendar marked "For Destruction Only." The government will never look there.

They didn't find baby Jessica in the bottom of a well. No work, no play, no way. We put the kaibosh on that whole salad eating fiasco. It's fucking bullshit, and there's nothing we can do.

Jessica passed along another insignificant, miniature skull that contained my entire existence. I threw it in with the laundry, the darks, the whites, I don't segregate. I eat corned beef, I eat the whole enchilada. And by the time the tiny termites burrow inside my soul, they'll find no nougat coating, no tasty broad swing, no golf practice.

But I did notice that jackass standing on my garbage cans. He dragged them up to the roof of the Sears Tower, and said "Come find me." But it was rubbish. Pure, utter rubbish. And there's no stopping a man in the path of total destruction.

I'd change seats on the Titanic. I'd feel privileged to ride the Hindenburg. I'd love a moustache ride from Hitler. And Piacatto! Picasso was well known for his party tricks. He loved to make crank calls to glue factories and ask if the horses were running. Or how many horsepower their refridgerator had when it was running way. Yeah. Real funny.

A PLAY IN 3 WORDS

Persephone: Pass the salt?
Amadeus: [Complete and total silence, blows up the world]

Koombayah And A Brooken Hookah / Love Your Dogs

harangue, harangue, leopard spots!

Don't you think the "Munsters" were originally the "Monsters"? Like, before they moved here from the Old Country.

AND MY MOM SAID TO GET A PAIR OF BOXING GLOVES AND SHE SAID SHOULD I SHOULD GET A RAKE AND START TO MOP UP THE LEAVES OUTSIDE AND THAT GOD WAS JUST

that equals truth

tuesday is so dead

Common Misconception #412: In The Future, Restaurants Will Eat Us