Happy New Year!

Exhaustion has finally set in. And it's a funny thing, to be exhausted while at the same time being very under stimulated...it's really depressing. I'm currently in a break between my third and fourth work shift in two days and I getting ready to take a nap. I'm not necessarily complaining. There are a ton of people that would love to have this problem. The only complaint that I will make is that even the nicest of people can only handle so much customer service. (I can't believe I haven't choked anyone yet)

I feel like I need a week in the woods away from anyone. Chopping wood, growing my beard, and killing varmints (actually, I am much too delicate for that sort of behavior). But it's all good, and I'll be dynamite in a couple of days, cause I'll get to hit school again on non-borrowed money and get completely exhausted and over stimulated. Which is the best thing in the world.

New Year's Resolutions: Learn French. Finish Berlin Alexanderplatz

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Happy holidays!

Christmas. The first part was weird. I felt like the only person in the city. It was like I am Legend, and instead of those zombies, I was surrounded by homeless people. And I didn't even have a dog. I think that's what happens in I am Legend. I didn't see it though. I felt really lonely. I called my parents and they were on their way to Mexico. I tried to do laundry. The laundromat was closed. I found a restaurant that was opened. Ordered take out. Went home, ate, listened to James Brown's Funky Christmas, which kicks all kinds of ass.


Then I went to work at the bar, which is my second job. It was weird and full of weird people. And I even felt weird. I wished that I still felt lonely.


Katie with a K and I saw X the next night. And it was so fucking good. Maybe show of the year tied with Springsteen in San Jose. That was a good show too. Katie took this picture with a fancy telephone. Telephones are so impressive these days.

Just enrolled for the spring semester. This time I was much smarter than I was last semester. No morning classes. All evening, baby. I'll be taking a class studying Film Noir. So you can assume that you'll be reading a lot about that in the upcoming months.

I hope that everyone has a nice and safe New Year's. 2008 is just about history. It's been one of the most fulfilling, disappointing, and exciting years of my life. I got a good feeling about 2009. I'll be turning 30, there's a new Springsteen record coming out, and I have tentative plans to go to Kansas City to watch the parade after The Royals win the World Series. Should be real good.

This is not good. This is, in fact, awful. This is what the future will look and sound like after everything has gone terribly and awfully wrong. It's actually way worse than you or anyone else from the kind of present future could imagine. It really sucks, it's Nickleback covering Bruce Springsteen, ala Rage Against The Machine. Fuck the heck?:



Good fucking god! That was awful. If you managed to survive through, then you are actually blessed by baby Jesus. And here's your reward, you lucky son-of-a-gun:




I feel a little bit better now. Now let's forget that this ever happened:



I feel much better now.

weekend

A lot of my friends have blogs. And I read them. One thing that some of them blogs have are giving their readers brief details about what happened during their weekend. In order to stay cutting edge, I am going to give my readers very brief descriptions of some of the things and stuff and people that came along during my weekend. So, fuck it, let's do this.

Getting tested for hepatitis.
Drinks at The Geary Club with Brandon and Matthew
Watched Semi-Pro
Wishing that I had been stoned while watching Semi-Pro
Pastrami on rye
Receiving blow job from some crackhead
Paying crackhead $2
Watching crackhead buy crack
Hula hoops
Drunk Dialing
Engelbert Humperdink
Tuna salad
Bagging groceries
Suggestive dancing
Meeting with Human Resources Department
Sexual Harassment paperwork
Beers at Whiskey Thieves
Lockjaw
Greatest American Rock Band: Kiss or Pearl Jam?
Huh? Kiss or Pearl Jam, fuck that. It's Aerosmith
Picking at scabs
Bleeding
Small talk with neighbor about stuff we find fun
Hank Williams
Auto Tune
Spike Lee Interviews Martin Scorsese
Pinball
Black coffee
Poached eggs and some toast
Avoiding eye contact
Joe Posknanski
Some asshole from Portland that secretly doesn't live in Portland
Love advice
Hot Water Music (the book)
ZZ Top research
Drinks with Logan
Drinks with Logan and Matthew
Drinks with Logan and Brandon
Barf contest
Logan's eating habits
Library
Couscous with a shit ton of spinach
Violent & uncontrollable sobbing while fucking
Alicia Keys
James Bond discussion
Talking shit on Octopussy
A nap
Beginning a cleansing detox
Ending cleansing detox 15 minutes later
Buying new shower curtain and toothpaste
Jay Z
Native American Burial Ground
The Jerky Boys
Being diagnosed with several different types of Hepatitis
Parker's birthday

The Best Buffet Ever or A Very Good And Kind of Longish Novel About Some Dumbfucks

This is the beginning of my latest novel. The plan right now is to have this novel be the very best among all of my previous novels. Like way fucking better. No contest. So anyway it starts tragically with the narrator already dead and he tells you the story oh how he came to be deceased. But you never know that he's dead until the end of the book and then you'll be like "Oh holy fucking banana tits! that dude's been dead this whole time!" Yes, it will become quite a shocking end of the story. Shit....I shouldn't have you told about any of that. I guess I just gave away the ending of the story in the very first paragraph. Some novelist I have turned into. I'd like to point out that I have started smoking a pipe to make myself feel more of like an actual writer. But that has absolutely nothing to do with the actual novel and I should really just tell the story that I am going to be telling. So let's see, the dead main character that is going to be the narrator is named Jeff. No let's call him Stanley. So how did Stanley die? That's what everyone wants to know, and since I've already let the cat out of the bag as far as Stanley being dead I might as well tell you how he died. He was run over by a car. No big deal you're thinking right. But he was run over by this gal he was sleeping with on the side. Her name is Michelle Pfeiffer. No wait, her name is Victoria Bickkillacutie. Yeah, that's good. So ok, Victoria Bickkillacutie totally runs over Stanley. And he's completely dead.But was it premeditated? Wouldn't you like to know? Well, upon further reading, the answers will slowly reveal themselves. Like the unpeeling of an orange done very, very slowly. Ok, I'll just go ahead and tell you, it wasn't premeditated at all. It just happens that she was drunk and driving. And I'd like to stop the novel, for just a second to remind everyone that drunk driving is a very serious offense and it's something you should never do. Like killing a bunch of orphans. Never ever do either of those two things. There's a bunch of other stuff that you should never ever do. But I'm afraid I don't have time to get into all of those other things that you should never do. I have to get back to the story of my novel after all. OK, one more: you should also never eat canned fruit. You know, I have become totally distracted and I can't even focus on my novel. I'm going to start a new paragraph and see if I can get the ball rolling again.

That feels much better. So yeah, Victoria Bickkillacutie (who I'm just going to call Vick, for now on to save me from typing her whole name out over and over again) So yeah Vick had been attending this party downtown and let's see she was there with her husband and let's see Stanley was somewhere else. He wasn't at the party. Yeah, he was hanging out at some social club drinking root beers and playing checkers with Lloyd the Butcher and they were talking about the Brooklyn Dodgers, because this story takes place a long time ago. No wait let's change that, they were talking about the Saturn Crazylegs, which is a baseball team that plays on Saturn's rings, cause this book takes place in the future. And yeah, I forgot to mention that Lloyd the butcher is part cyborg/part sloth. But he's also completely covered in fur, which is why he is the most unpopular butcher in the whole town. But this has nothing to do with anything, it's just a little subplot, like a lot of other novels have. But I'm just going to skip it cause I don't know how much I want to write about Lloyd the Most Unpopular Butcher. Like I don't wanna really write anything about him and feel like I've already wasted way too much time on him. So let's just move on. OK, I guess I'll just give you a few more snippets of information about Lloyd and I won't bring him up again. Lloyd likes playing checkers a lot and he doesn't believe in dinosaurs. Thinks humans made it all up. Thinks that scientists made the bones and buried them and unburied them and are playing a joke on all of us. Can you believe Lloyd believes that? That's like the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Lloyd is god damn idiot. I am personally glad that I don't have to write about him anymore. I would have dropped him from the novel altogether, but I had already written all of that stuff and I don't feel like erasing it. And I guess that Lloyd does play an extremely pivotal part in the story, but I don't really feel like getting into that. It's kind of stupid anyway.

So Vick was at this party with her friends and her husband and I heard that the Governor of New Jersey was also there. But I never saw him. And I heard that from a very unreliable source, who's always trying to get me to fall for his stupid practical jokes. So fuck him. So Vick was at the party and they were all getting fucked up. Like they were doing shots and then Vick remembers that she has to meet with her insurance salesman to discuss her husbands life insurance. Cause she's actually planning on killing him and running away with Stanley. Cause she's not in love with her husband, she's in love with Stanley. Stanley's a really good guy and her husband is a jerk-off. I'll do a little more character development on Stanley and that jerk-off later on in the novel. So Vick leaves the party and she's wasted. Someone says something to her like "Hey you're too drunk to drive!" and Vick was like "Fuck you. You don't know me. You know don't shit. Why don't you just mind your own god damn business, you stupid cocksucker!" only she was slurring her speech cause she was so fucking wasted. So Vick gets into her flying car and takes off and she's all over the road. And she's driving over the speed limit. I guess I should mention about how the flying cars just kind of hover over the road, like maybe three feet. I have to note that because I have to make it believable that she runs over Stanley and kills him, like I was talking about in the first paragraph. So hovering cars. Ok, so then she takes a left on Awesome Street and she is all over the sidewalk. And it's there that she runs over Stanley who had just happened to be standing outside to get a breath of fresh air after losing yet another game of checkers. So Vick totally runs over Stanley and he's dead. Vick knows she just hit someone or something but she doesn't know that it was Stanley. And she's all like "fuck I totally just hit someone or something and I'm completely wasted out of my mind and I'll totally go to jail if I stop cause I am so wasted right now." She says this to herself cause there's no one else in the car. So she doesn't stop and just drives home. She doesn't even go to the insurance office, cause she's so freaked out about running over something. She goes home and parks the car in the garage and goes inside and passes out on the couch.

Vick's husband comes home later and he's all like "WTF? The flying car is covered in blood!" only he says it all slurry, cause he's also super wasted. He didn't drive drunk though. He took a cab. He had gone into the garage to get a hammer or a screwdriver or something like that and that's when he saw the flying car covered in blood. So Vick wakes up and is all like "what are you talking about?" And her husband is like "Yeah the hover car is covered in blood." And it's at this point that Vick remembers that she totally ran over something and she feels really guilty and scared cause she's worried that she is going to get caught. She tells her husband the whole story about how she ran over something and that something that could have been a person. Her husband decides to wash the car, cause he doesn't want Vick to go to jail, cause he loves her. And I know it sounds sweet and all, but this guy is kind of jerk-off. Trust me. So he goes and washes the car and cleans up the blood. And then he goes back into the house where him and Vick have crazy animalistic drunken grudge sex for like half an hour.

The next morning they got the paper. The headline read "Really Great Guy Stanley Gets Hit By A Car And Is Now Dead!" And Vick reads the article and realizes that it was Stanley that she ran over. That she killed Stanley. She feels really sad, guilty, and stupid for the whole day. And for weeks after. But then, after the passing of time, she kind of gets over it. And she doesn't kill her husband, after all, because he washed all the blood off of the car and that, for some reason, is how she didn't get caught. I really don't know how that helped her to not get caught. There wasn't really any witnesses, but whatever. She feels indebted to her husband, so she doesn't kill him and they stay together. Forever. She also never told him that she was in love with Stanley and that she been planning on killing him. Her husband not Stanley. But he always kind of knew because he saw her reaction when she read that newspaper article. Or he could just sense these sort of things. They decided to move away to another country and forget about the whole debacle. Which they easily did. And they moved to the third moon of Neptune, which was a lot like current day Thailand. Which means you can get away with a lot of shit there. And they partied up. But they couldn't run away from their secret, which was that she totally killed Stanley. Vick felt really guilty for a super long time.

I guess that about wraps up the novel. I don't really know what else that I could add to make it better or to flow smoother. I think it's my best and most original novel since "At Least We Didn't Got Fleas", which is probably the novel I am most know for. That was a good one. It was about this Holocaust survivor who survived the Holocaust and then went on to other amazing things, like invent the flying car and make fake dinosaur bones. Yeah, this one is pretty good, but that other one is probably the one I'll be remembered for. Like when Herman Melville died, everyone was like "Holy Spoiled Salsa! Herman Melville the great author of Moby Dick is dead!" And they'd have to stop and think for a second to think that he also wrote Billy Budd. So, it'll probably be like that. But who knows how this crazy road called life is going to lead to anywhere?

"A Bit Of A Blur"

So, here's a new poem called "A Bit Of A Blur":

My dearest love,
What the fuck is wrong now?
Me and her went out and we did all these crazy dances.
And when I say crazy, I mean crazy.
And I wasn't surprised when I twisted my ankle and when
she was found passed out in the restroom.
They called the cops
and we called a cab.
I told the cabbie to drive me
to the airport
and her to the bus station. He said which one first?
I told him to stop pestering me and just let us out where we were.
I tipped him my silk shirt. He gave me change.
I, to this day, have no clue where we were.
All I know was that my ankle was hurt
I was shirtless
My date was asleep
And I didn't know where I was.
I thought that this night had a really good chance to be crazy
And when I say crazy, I mean boring.
I threw her in a blue recycling bin and wheeled her around.
5th Street? I needed to get to 8th Street.
How in the fuck am I going to figure out how
to get to 8th Street? I stopped in a taqueria
to ask for directions and to get a taco.
As soon as I walked in, the cooks started yelling
that I couldn't bring in the recycling until the morning
I was like, "this ain't my recycling, it's my date."
Only I said it with a foreign tongue and a Scandinavian accent.
So it was all good.
I sat down, ate a taco, drank a Pepsi, and gave myself a roofie.
So what happened next is a bit of a blur.