Getting mellow like Maria Bello.

So, last night I watched a movie with Maria Bello, and by the way, doesn't she have great feet, and I don't mean nice feet, or really nice feet, I mean she has really great feet ...
But yeah, I was watching this movie with Maria Bello, and she was playing this sexually dysfunctional type lady that she plays so well, yeah, dysfunction is an art form with her ...
And anyway, she ended up dieing in the movie, but she was ok with that, actually, she was more than ok with that, she was absolutely euphoric with that.
And Jason Patric was the guy who killed her, oh, I didn't mention that she was murdered, did I, just that she died ... euphorically.
Yeah, Jason Patric killed her, but he loved her too, and he killed her because he loved her, because she wanted to die, and he felt that was the least he could do for her, and I swear to god that Jason Patric has matured into a horribly misshapen man since he was one of the lost boys, and if you don't believe me just do a google image search.
Finally, Rufus Sewell was Mario Bello's husband, and there really isn't much to say about him except that he has a truly awesome name, and if I could change my name, I would most definitely change it to Rufus Sewell, or better yet I'd change it to Rufus "Boz Man" Sewell.
Yeah.

Like some cat from Japan

Holy shit, it's October already, and I'm typing in the dark, and I've got so little to say, and is it too late to be a rock and roll star, or the voice of my generation, or a cowboy with a big white hat.



Do you feel like dancing, I mean yeah, I can get out the mixed tape you made for me with Blister in the Sun on it, and yeah, we can pretend it's the eighties, if that's what it will take, ok, I mean OK!

Not so true blood

Fuck the rain.



I wonder how much I could get for a kidney, or the rights to my life story, or the lies that I've told, not that I've told any, but you know, I would, if I could sell them, yeah, I'd do that.
Would you?
Who cares?


Hey, get back here, I'm not done with your skinny ass yet.



The seventies weren't really all that bad.

Projectile blogging II

I'm not too pleased with that last post I made.
I'm taking my mulligan.



It's really hot and stuffy tonight and my computer sounds like it's going to explode, and yeah, my fingers are having problems finding the right keys, and I'm right here, sitting in front of the computer screen, trying to squeeze a few more words out, and FUCK, my arms hurt, but I'm not going to talk about that, yeah, don't even ask me about my arms, leave them the fuck out of this, what, huh, still???
I'm flipping through my ipod searching for the perfect song to fit this not so perfect mood, but nothing yet, just a lot of jangly guitars when I need a throbbing pulsating beat, or a throbbing pulsating cock, and I'm not capable of either one, doobie, doobie doo,
I could puke at any moment.

Projectile blogging

I shouldn't have eaten the leftover pizza a half hour ago, but it was inevitable that I would, because it was there, and so was I.
The irresistible force and the immovable object.
I should watch a movie, the kind that puts me to sleep, not the kind that keeps me awake, and maybe I should have said, not the kind that keeps me awake, but the kind that puts me to sleep, or vice versa ...
Ignore that last paragraph. Don't ask why, just ignore it.
Who are my 16 followers? I need names, I need reasons, I need affirmation.
I'm going to watch that movie now.

It was kind of a downer movie with tits.

It's after four in the morning, and I woke up about two hours ago, ok, maybe an hour and a half ago, but the time isn't all that important, is it, right. I mean there's twenty four hours in a day no matter how you slice it, unless of course you start zigzagging across the time zones ... like BAM.
Anyway, I couldn't sleep, so I started watching a movie, and the movie had tits in it, and even though it had tits in it the movie was still kind of a downer, you know, drug abuse, and infidelity, and serpent symbolism, yeah, some really downer karma dharma mojo STUFF, so yeah, I turned it off.
I mean, what else could I do?
So then I started listening to music, you know, the same old stuff that I always listen to when I cant' sleep, or think, or see, or hear, and the music caused me to wax nostalgic, and whenever I wax nostalgic my thoughts eventually turn to The Grand Ennui, so here I am.
I'm glad I got that out of my system.
Did I leave out the part about the pizza at three in the morning?
Well, yeah, there was that, and the diet coke, and the cough drop for the cough that appeared out of nowhere, I mean, literally out of fuckin' nowhere, man.
Ok, when I started this post I really wanted to say something profound, you know, make a statement, state my goals, get all poetic, and stuff, and stuff, and more stuff.
And this is all I could come up with.
My mellow is offically harshed.
Don't wait up.
Goodnight.

Meanwhile ...

Cough, cough, cough.
It's really dusty around here, isn't it?
Yeah, I know it's been about seven years since I posted in here, but it's not like you stopped by to check on me.
It looks like I'm pretty big in the asian community.
(Note to self: next time I try to make a post at McDonald's try to get a table in the fuckin' corner away from everybody. Seriously, there is a table full of people behind me and they're talking, and eating, and snorting and breathing and stuff ... they're breathing my fucking air, the rat bastards,)
Anyway, this post is dedicated to all my asian friends. I finally forgive you for Pearl Harbor, even the non-japanese among you.