Monday, May 16, 2005

pausing the non-stop cavalcade

Retarius you have gone, blog deleted. Damn. I hate it when that happens. You inspired me. I miss you, and I keep reading other people's blogs, and they are missing you too.

If blogging was a library of books, shelves full of objects made of paper with printed words, then we might occasionally lose a book we liked, or throw it out with the trash. I have lent books and not got them back, left books in holiday rooms, lost them on trains, that kind of thing, but it would have to be a rare occasion that I would lose something totally irreplaceable.

I suppose my most precious book is my grandmother's bible, the one made of wood from the mount of olives, the red-letter bible with coloured prints and early photographs of arab Jerusalem. I spilt ink on it once and carefully removed the stain after my mother howled in protest. It's the best restoration I ever did of anything. If I lost that I would be very sad. This is how I feel when a favourite blog just disappears.

It's not like blogs are books - you can just get another copy from the store. It's this interwebnet. We take it for granted, until it just ain't there anymore and blogger says "Not Found". I suppose the artist has the power to destroy the work.

I realised that the internet being the leaky place it is, I still had some of your brilliant writing. I also figured today, someone was going to grab your name, this subdomain of blogspot, eventually, at random, and that I couldn't bear that, so I decided to put what stuff I have of yours here, until you return, should you so decide. I hope this doesn't offend anyone. I speak as a fan.

You once wrote in my comments,

i don't know much, but i *do* know that stuff you just wrote right there...that is not a blog post...that is pure fucking literature. -- Posted by retarius to Blog of Funk at 1/19/2005 01:44:41 PM

Retarius, thanks for that great kindness, and for the many observations and comedy and pathos in your frequently brilliant blog.

I don't know why you pulled the plug, what your life circumstances are, it's a total mystery to me your disappearance from this strange world of writing, but anyway, come back, if you can, and write more, I really enjoy your stuff, and so do many other people. We miss you. I hope you don't mind me keeping what I have of yours around for others to read in your absence.

Finally please forgive my sentimentality and this tribute, I just got a fit of the blues, and I thought about something you wrote which changed me.

Retarius - hic et ubique - say something dammit!



PS: It will take me a few days to post what I have.

Retarius Archive

Good news: Indeterminacy has just sent me his complete Retarius archive. Thanks a lot.

Grab the zip file here.

FYI - I am putting up all the content I have found using the same times and dates from the original posts. I also managed to restore the right hand column links and the stat counter, and the template, more-or-less.

For those of you who don't know Retarius - apart from the top three posts, it's all him. Read on, think, talk, react.


Sunday, May 15, 2005

a non-stop cavalcade of fun

All posts with the exception of this one, and the two above dated May 16th 2005, come from the original blog:

a non-stop cavalcade of fun
like drinking coke with a mouthfull of pop rocks

By retarius

who famously said, "the laws of physics don't apply to me. i play bluegrass cello. i breed special four toed sloths and enter them in sloth fights."

So much so do the laws of physics not apply to him, that the blog was deleted and yet still it is here.

His ex-blog is restored here to a mere fraction of it's former glory using ancient esoteric carpentry techniques, thanks to the great combination of inspiration, alcohol and the internet.

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

the venus de milo can't give you the finger

so i was watching the news, and apparently the US is in some kind of war or something, and i thought this would be the perfect time for a cool funny war comedy, so here it is....

a quick note: if you are a military guy, you will clearly see i have no idea what i am talking about. i don't need to hear how my details are wrong and it's not like that or whatever, i don't care, this is my world, my rules, reality has little to do with it....

ok, here is an excerpt from my upcoming book entitled "100 POUNDS OF LIGHTWEIGHT GEAR" soon to be published by Retarius Industries and available on amazon and at a local bookstore near you.....

Sgt Krinklewiess, a counter intelligence NCO, stood at the side of the briefing room, silently going over his portion of the nightly breifing. He was not tall, rather thick in the mid-section, and had a mustache and hair that, barring his horned rimmed glasses and angular nose, caused him to vaguely resemble Hitler. He was eager to be part of the action, and wanted to be seen as a worthwhile entity, so he decided to spice up his otherwise routine briefing with some information that, although he couldn’t say for sure was true, he took as a serious possibility and felt he should mention it anyway. “Besides,” he thought, “even though it might not be true, it does sound rather interesting and it *COULD* happen.“ As part of his breifing, Sgt Krinklewiess stated that there were unconfirmed reports (unconfirmed because he originated the idea and hadn‘t checked with any enemy troops for validity) of insurgent groups stringing piano wire across roads, at a height to decapitate the soldiers riding as gunners atop military vehicles. This put into effect a fascinating string of events. The interrogators who sat in the breifing took this as something that should be followed up on, and as they were out and about talking with locals, routinely asked if there were anyone stringing wire across roads at head height. Of course, some of the people they spoke to were in fact insurgents who had not thought of the idea but realized it was a good one, and commenced to stringing thin wire across roads regularly traveled by troops, which resulted in a rash of incidents where the heads of soldiers riding atop vehicles as gunners abruptly parted with the rest of their bodies. Once word got back that this was happening, Sgt Krinklewiess, who had mentioned this before it started happening, was awarded a medal for a great job providing predictive intelligence.

pre order your copy today.....

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

u.s. troops invade neverlandistan

so this morning i am in my bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. i've used so much shaving cream, my face looks like a merangue pie. i add a bit more and now i have a modest beard. i get out the shampoo, lather up, and make this kick ass shampoo horn atop my head and now i look like some fucked up grimm faiery tale character, and i am thankful there isn't a hidden camera in my bathroom broadcasting this to the world over the internet, and then i think, "a-HA!! this is why i don't ever get dates! there is a camera broadcasting my hidden shenanigans to the world."

it would be cool if i could get a portable hand buzzer, like they have in gameshows, and just walk around all day "buzzing in" and finishing people's sentances. like, the boss is talking and says "our goal for this quarter will be..." and i buzz in and loudly say, in an excited voice "learn to boil water using our minds!" it would be lots of fun. you could do all the game shows with this, like, if you hear someone say "i am really busy" you could buzz in and say "things your wife says when you ask for sex" a la 10,000 pyramid...or if you overhear someone talking and they make some kind of disparaging remark, like "it's not that impressive" you could walk up, "buzz in" and do a jeapordy with "what is...your penis"...the possibilities are endless...

for fun, try going an entire day without using the words "yes" or "no". really, try it. someone asks "you want to get some coffee?" you have to say "that would be nice" or "i think i'll pass"'s harder than it sounds really.

so i have an idea for a cool cartoon called "rapscallion" about this green onion who is making his way as a rap artist, and he speaks in rhyme, all the time, his beats stop on a dime, got a voice like chimes.....and he works for "big cheese" who is the head of the lable he raps on, and he has a girlfriend named "cherry" and maybe she has a cousin who pops in from time to time named "marachino cherry" or something. i think i could draw this, cause its just a long green stalk, a triangle (for the cheese) and a circle (for the cherry).

i really do like pancakes....

Monday, May 02, 2005

funeral for my immortal friend

hey everyone, mother's day is soon upon us, and what are you gonna do? give her a stupid teddy bear? she isn't a four year old. you gonna take her to fucking IHOP or Denny's for breakfast? Puh-leeez...

give her a gift that she will happily remember for the rest of her life, a gift full of originality and whimsey, a gift to maker her feel yong and wonderful...

give her the gift of being RAVAGED (trade mark pending).

so i was thinking, i am going to start my own ravaging service, where you can call and make an appointment to be ravaged by me. i will come to your home, office, or wherever, and ravage you as you want to be ravaged. it will be totally customized to your needs, and you get a free t-shirt included in the deal that says "I'VE BEEN RAVAGED" so you can flaunt it and rub it in your friends' faces, showing them you are so desireable that i came all the way to wherever you are just to ravage you.....

you would have to fill out a questoinaire, with sample questions like:

1. i want to be ravaged : at home____ at work______ other______

2. i want my ravaging to be: gentle____ rough but romantic_____ other______

3. i want marks left on my: neck____ inside thigh_____ other_______ none________

and you will have to include your t-shirt size and if you want me to bring breakable things, for example dishes, so i can sweep the dishes off the table before i ravage you on it. you might have to wear old clothes that you won't mind if i rip off of you, and you will have to tell me if you have a heart condition or any alergies.

i think it would be a great gift for mother's day, and also birthdays and anniversaries...heck, anytime really...

a great public service brought to you by the good people at retarius industries...

Sunday, May 01, 2005

every time a runway model bites it, an angel gets its wings

it is one in the morning, one hour past midnight, the coach that turned into a pumpkin has started to rot, i am fucked up and amazed my fingers which are numb can find the right letters to press to make coherent words....

three hits of sake, three gin and tonics, oh boy i got pictures but i have to load them up, that will be tomorrow, i will say when i do...

i have to go to work in only a few hours, good thing is my boss was out with us, so when i show up late it shoudln't be a big deal, too much....

it's like a masquerade ball, when you all get mixed up and try to find your partner, and when the lights come on and you remove your masks, your partner, the human you are supposed to be with, is across the room with someone else, and you have all, save a few lucky couples, picked the wrong person to shackle yourselves know what i mean? why are you there and i am here and even though we should probably meet chances are we will never share space, what the fuck is up with that?....

i sit and stare at the wall and think of the one who is not even close, the one who might be the one, and i laugh at the gods who use me as a pawn in their eternal game which exists solely for thier amusement...but i make no sense and so i shall shut the fuck up right about now , funk soul brother...

the easter bunny paid a visit about two posts ago...

i know deep inside my bones that i should just pass the fuck out and not hit "publish post" but oh no, i will bare my pitiful soul for the world to see, even though not even a small percentage of the world will in fact see...

ok, fuck it, i am calling it out...swiffer pads look just like womens panty shield pads with the wings and all, i cant help but notice....

i should go pass out now, doubt i will go for a run tomorrow, or go to the gym, or do any of the masturbatory self improvement crap i do in the pathetic hope i transform myelf into something slightly desireable...

have i thanked you all for reading my shit? if not, then let me now thank each and every one of you, sincerely, thanks....


it's sunday night, i've been really busy doing what seems to be nothing this past week, but time was definately not on my side. i finally finished
by Medlar Lucan and Durian Gray, 220 pp. if i get off my ass i should be able to get back on track for my self imposed book a week quota.

The book was pretty damn interesting, not so much a cookbook as a book full of ideas, snippets of literary allusions to cooking, and some recipes that i doubt i shall ever honestly try. i can't tell if the book is a joke or not, which to me makes it pretty damn good, even though i kind of feel stupid. the author's names are obviously fake, "durian" being a fruit (which is pretty exotic if you are a westerner and i've had the luck and pleasure to enjoy) and the name being a nod to oscar wilde...

the whole idea of decadence is appealing, and they apparently had a restaurant that was avant garde, lasting about two years or so. the book, published by
dedalus books,
also seemed to be a bit of a commercial for other dedalus books.

i liked it enough, it was interesting and did give me some decent ideas, if not make me dream of extravagant dinner parties that i would love to have. i'm glad i read it, but i would only reccommend it to someone with lots of time on thier hands who loves to read, because you only read this to read it, nothing else, if you know what i mean.

Saturday, April 30, 2005

lugubrious pandas stole my shoehorn

Maud Lynn was 16 years old when her parents died in a tragic backhoe accident, as opposed to a fortunate and wonderful accident. although in some countries she would already have been married and have two children, as a "child" in a westernized and modern country, she was deemed too young to survive on her own, and was relegated to the care of close friends of her parents until she turned 18 and could strike out on her own.
i'm trying my hand at subliminal messages, mostly cause i am bored
aahhh, i don't feel like writing the damn story, but it's been stuck in my head for a day or two now. she goes on to live with the only friends her parents had, Miles and Rosaria Long, both 34 years old, barely twice her age. the love has died out of their marriage and they are about to split up, both distant but cordial, and maud sees this and feels she can bring them back together, somehow.
if you somehow find this, please ignore my pathetic attempts
maud is not ignorant and is a bit precocious. she first seduces rosaria when, like in a shitty disney movie that is remade ad nauseum, the roles are reversed and the adult seeks guidance and advice from the child, who is mature enough to manipulate and guide the adult. sex ensues. ok, here are my pathetic attempts:
then maud seduces miles, who, with a bit of guilt, allows himself to fall for the excitement of such a shameful (by modern western standards) tryst.
retarius is the coolest motherfucker on the planet
once maud has secuded and had both adults in bed, she brings them both into bed simultaneoulsy, where the spark of lust and love is re-ignited, thanks to maud, and they all three live on lustily and happily etc etc etc.
tell all your friends and family to read retarius' blog, its so damn funny. the funniest ever.
ok, so people will see the 16 year old girl as disgusting, and it kind of is, but it struck me recently how we seem to have changed our ideas on age. i was listening to my ringo star cd, and the song your sixteen came on. it was about falling in love with a 16 year old. then, listeing to the old chuck berry tune memphis tenesee, where the guy calls up long distance information, it clearly says "marie is only six years old." what the fuck is that? anyway, the story appears to be disgusting cause the catalyst is a 16 year old girl, but it seems only recently, possibly cause we now live to be 80 years old or more, that 16 is too young.
if you are a female, you want to have sex with retarius. men, you want your wives to have sex with him.
makes me wonder, if we extend the average life expectancy to 130, if people are routinely living until 120 years old, will 20 be too young? people will be like "eww, that chick is only 20, you sick fuck!"
if you do stumble onto this, let me know by saying you like jellybeans.
anway, the idea of a young woman seducing an older woman, then a guy, then bringing them together thanks to lust and manipulation, that sounds like a pretty damn cool story. but i don't feel like writing it, so there is the idea. i'm sure whatever you come up with in your heads will be far better anyway...

Friday, April 29, 2005

abattoir and costello

what the hell is up with chicks? how the hell am i supposed to be the guy they want when *THEY* don't know what they want? they want a tough man who can protect them, but they want a guy who is gentle and tender. at least i thought that is what they want. boy was i wrong.

i was on a date and blew it with this chick, cause i guess i was too "in touch" with my feelings, or whatever, and i cried during a movie, and i can only assume that is what turned her off to me.

i am a pretty manly macho kind of guy. i have lots of hair on my back, i curse like a sailor, i'll drink and come to fisticuffs for just a wrong glance, and have been kicked out of church on more than one occasion for drunken brawling.

but even with all that, i am tender, and i guess showing her my soft side was too much for this chick to handle. she came over for dinner and a movie, and even though the dinner went ok, during the movie i let my tough exterior fade for a few seconds, i cried at the end of the movie, and i can only assume she just didn't want a pansy for a boyfriend.

i rented the movie slam it in every hole and there is a scene at the end with two guys who are fucking this girl, one from behind while she blows the other one. well, at the climactic end when they stand on either side of her and she is on her knees, bravely jerking them both off with all she has, they both blow thier loads on her face simultaneously. this scene, with the emotion, and the soundtrack pulling at your heartstrings in the background, was just too much for me, and i got all choked up and cried. what can i do, i am only human.

so she abruptly ended the date and told me not to call her anymore. if only i could find a woman who can appreicate a tender guy with feelings such as myself.

Wednesday, April 27, 2005

fuck a bunch of jack london

i'm kinda busy right now, doing lots of things that keep me from doing things i want to do, and when i am done being busy doing all these things i will have nothing to show for it, whereas if i were doing the things i would want to do, i would have tangible results and evidence that i actually did something.

so i won't be writing here for the rest of the week. possibly on saturday or sunday i might write. by monday i should be writing again.

i was going to do a "clip show" just like they do on tv when they show a bunch of clips from past epidsodes loosely tied together with some lame plot. i might still do that, but it would require me to go through my blog and find what i want and link those stories, so i don't see it happening anytime soon. i was going to do a clip show and link the "SNACKTRUCK" post and the "cockring kiosk" post and the instant justice man post and the afrocat post and it would have all been linked with a story. uh oh, my short attention span is kicking in, i can feel it. i better go now.

Monday, April 25, 2005

old people smell bad

holy crap what kick ass day, you would never believe it.

i had just finished my mayonaise flavored slimfast shake and two diet cigarettes (yes, i am on a health kick) when i got a knock on the door. it was the guy from down the street. i could tell he had just finished working out cause his eyelids, which are more muscular than your average joe's, had a light sheen of sweat and were still ripped and pumped. he needed help.

see, i am like the encyclopedia brown of my neighborhood, people come to me to help them with thier problems like i'm scooby fucking doo, but i can't say no to them, i'm just not that kind of guy.

so this guy needed my help. now, usually when a guy comes to me for help, it's either to help them defend themself against an angry mob armed with pitchforks and torches, or they are being scared off thier land by what appears to be some kind of ghost, or other odd jobs that only i, with my varied and rare talents, am able to handle. one time, this dude asked me if i would be a "present" for his adopted asian twins on thier 21's birthday, which sounded like a sweet gig. turns out they were brothers, so that wasn't really a high moment for me, but a job's a job, heh?

well, this guy needed me to recover some "personal property" of his, and i do honor my clients privacy, so i won't go into details, but let me say this...knowing i am an expert in colonial furniture *AND* a master of the pan flute, it's no surprise he came to me. he dropped the 35 cents in my jar (my going rate) and i was on the case.

no sooner had i stepped outside my secretly fortified clubhouse/home/rented out garage and turned the corner when*WACK* i was run over by what felt like dumptruck on cocaine. after a few dazed seconds that anyone at burning man would have been fond of, i heard a voice...a voice of an angel. "how's your head?" it inquired of me. i looked up and saw a beautiful brunette lass, about my height, with shoulder length hair and cerulean eyes and a cute accent. "well," i said in my coolest voice, " i haven't had any complaints yet...are you free for lunch?"

as she helped me to me feet, she introduced herself as Monica Crumbcake, and it was her kangaroo that ran me over. she was from australia, and said things like "g'day" , "no worries" and "crikey" and kept offering me "vegemite" and asking if i heard the latest midnight oil cd, cause those are sterotypical things an australian might say in a movie by someone who doesn't know crap about australians, and that is how i am going to write this story so don't get all upset with me cause you don't really talk like that (i'm talking to you, australians).

monica explained that it was important we get the kangaroo back because this roo was actually hundreds of years old and is very special. this roo has a microchip implanted in it's tail, and on that chip is a map to a hidden temple where they keep "the book of all knowledge" which is a huge book of the true history of this world and has all the answers to all the secrets of the universe, including what the hell is *really* in an orange julius and where the white goes when the snow melts. the reason that kangaroo has it is every few hundreds of years, the microchip (yes, the microchip is thousands of years old, i mean, it was made by the creator(s) of the universe, if they can make a universe, they can make a damn microchip. duh!) it is transferred to a special animal, always different, who keeps it for a few hundred years, along with one human who has to guard the animal. it exists hidden until mankind can get thier shit together and prove that they can handle the truth about everything.

so we track down the kangaroo and monica was so happy and impressed with me, she invited me up to her apartment and we had crazy sex, right there in front of the kangaroo, which was cool cause i've never done it with a hot looking 300 year old chick from australia while her kangaroo watched.

but anyway, after all that crap happened, i finally got the complete star wars set on dvd, so it turned out to be an awesome day. KICK ASS!

Saturday, April 23, 2005

i hear feet

for anyone who might not have gotten the last post, if you highlight the blank part, there are words's lame but i was bored and wanted to do something different, hope you all don't mind...

the giant wheel of time has spun around and made it monday once more, and here i sit at the keyboard at a stupid hour of the morning instead of sleeping like a normal human. i sometimes wish i had a reason to stay in bed. of course, when in bed i can't help feeling like i am missing something so i get up. i know i need to go out and run or do something, but my apathy towards it out trumps my desire.

i can't shake the vision and thougts of toilet paper tails, like after you wipe your butt and there is a pice of toilet paper stuck and hanging down like a tail. does this happen to everyone?

i think a fun thing to do would be to walk into a crowd and call out a common name like bill or jim and see if anyone turns around. then when they do act like you know him, say "hey, i thought it was you but weren't sure. how have you been, it's been forever huh?" he of course will not know you, so go on about how you knew each other in highschool. just see how far you go with it. most people think of this as harrasment, maybe a bit creepy. i see it as performance art.

i think i good story would be about a schitzophrenic couple, both the guy and the woman have multiple personalities, and they cheat on each other with each other. i kind of dig the idea, like, you could go on a double date with just two people. if you each had more than one personality, you could have an orgy without needing a large space.

i've been playing the song ziggy stardust on the guitar a lot lately. i like to do that. it's fun and makes me feel good. i just sit and play and scream out the lyrics.

i updated my links list. there is no reasoning to it, so don't take it personal if you arn't on there. you most likely will be eventually.

i'm gonna be busy this week, i might not be writing as much....hah, we'll see if that happens...

like pulling a sword from a stone

if you can read this, then you found the secret message. you kick ass.

Comments from original post

machines and madnessbook review 1605


thing is, i've been reading the damn thing for like, two weeks now, and it's not that it's difficult or bad, in fact, it's really really good, but it took me two weeks or so cause every time i tried reading i would fall asleep or be interrupted or i was doing stuff. but i finally finished it, and now i have to read some more books quickly so i can get back on track with my goal of reading a book a week.

so the book, i'm probably the last human on earth to read it, was really good. the third book in the dark tower series, written over the course of a few years, recently completed. you can see the evolution of king's writing, see him get better with each book. the first one was good but seemed incomplete, the second was really good, this one was really good as well.

i liked it becasue the book incorporates different things into one whole universe, and king can write a scene that makes you feel and see and smell everything going on. it is a mightly adventure and i'm glad i read it. well written, damned interesting, way worth it. i look forward to reading the rest of the books in the series, and hopefully i won't take as long with them.

Friday, April 22, 2005

no echos in the void

it's friday night, i'm listeing to god knows what the fuck i got in the cd player, hanging out with all my friends..

it's a night of red wine and black vibes, something is in the air, been there for a day or two now, wierd...maybe i'm just not eating right...

it would be cool if i had a suit, a whole suit, made of the little mirrors on a disco ball, so when i walked around and light hit me, i would sparkle and shine and cast wierd prism light all over....especially if i had a cool bowler hat and glasses...

i have some wierd thing stuck in my head, it won't get out, like a fucking piece of meat caught between my upper teeth, and my tongue keeps playing with the little strand that hangs down but i can't get it out...about a cross between shroedinger's cat and a mobius strip....shroedinger's mobius cat, a cat that you can pet his back and stomach without taking your hand off him, and he lives in a box and only exists half the time....whatever...

friendhips and relationshps are like plants...they need nurturing, light and attention and all that, or they wither and die....but you can't spray your friend or lover with miracle grow or they get all upset cause you ruined thier nice shirt....

sometimes it's easy to slip into a feeling or frame of mind, like putting on a broken in pair of jeans or shoes..might not be good for you, but it's familiar and comfortable, even if a bit stinky and ripped up and maybe not appropriate in church, and sometimes you just want the comfort of a known quantity....i wonder if intrepid explorers ever get sick of newness, and just want to go somewhere they've already been, for the familiarity? nah, that's why they are intrepid...

i've never had a torrid affair. i've had lackluster ones, i've had breifly fun and exciting ones, i've had more than i need of crappy ones, but never a torrid one. what would make an affair torrid anyway? when i hear torrid, i always think of hot and sweaty, passionate and deep, reckless and fearless and full throttle...

i think i'm not myself these past few days, which makes me wonder who the fuck is wearing my underwear....i feel like i've been drawn outside the lines, like i fell a bit out of the frame, like i'm just a fraction of a beat out of time with the turning of the world, like i am on a .000000001 second delay, like i use too many fucking examples to explain a point i made about five minutes ago.... i could have sworn i wrote things or said things or did things, and i find out i didn' if i did, but not on this here plane of existence, and i've been deja vu ing a lot..which some might take as little more than a sign of fatigue...

fuck it, i'll keep drinking until i'm done...

Thursday, April 21, 2005

This Is An Audio Post Click To Play

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

zombies are the worst drivers, worse than floridians

you should never start off a sentance with "now, i'm not gay or anything, but...." because that is a total conversation killer. not much good can come after those words.

also, you can get away with almost anything if you start a sentance with "with all due respect...."

with all due respect, that is the stupidest thing i have ever heard and i hope you die in a threshing accident.

see, like that..

you can also get away with almost anything if you hold up both hands at chest level, palms out, like you are doing a push up against a wall and tack on "i'm just sayin...."

god, it's amazing what one extra chromosone can do, why didn't you die at birth, you suck. i'm just sayin....

if you combine them both, you are nearly untouchable....

well jim, with all due respect, that idea is the stupidest thing i've ever heard and makes me wonder if you should just commit suicide and make us all happier for not having to deal with you every day, you fucking loser. and i'm having sex with your daughter. i'm just sayin...

have you ever looked at a wall, or the carpet, or a group of trees or whatever, and relaxed and unfocused your eyes like you do when you look at one of those "magic eye" pictures (where you stare at it and see a 3-d picture), and seen a face? you look at a cieling and the shadows and marks make a face? it's happened to me a few times, not so much anymore, but i got to thinking, what if that is actually a spirit or something, perhpas a "fingerprint" of a soul that is no longer here, maybe evidence of another world or plane of existence? what if what we see as a face and take as an optical illusion really is a face and is watching us, or allowing us to see it?

so i will do another audio post shortly, if nothing else because i want to try and speak at a normal human speed and not like some idiot on speed, and i have some ideas and it's fun and i'm too lazy to type. also i secretly hope deryke leaves another audio comment....did you all hear deryke's audio comment on my audio post? now THAT guy has a cool voice and is funny.

i'm not gay or anything, but deryke is so honestly talented and cool, i would totally suck his dick or let him fuck me. i'm just sayin....

Thursday, April 14, 2005

suck my muppet juice

some people think it's cozy to wake up to birds chirping, but at 4:30 in the morning, when the birds sound like a sqeaky bed in a whorehouse, it's not so goddamn cute.

when meeting someone's wife for the first time, no matter how witty you think it might be, you shouldn't say "wow, you look a lot different with your clothes on."

when discussing recipes, it is sometimes fun to say "a friend of mine living in alaska just sent me some penguins, all dressed and ready to cook, does anyone have any good recipes for penguin?"

ok, so i am about to take part in a crime, but those i am committing the crime against forced me into it, and the more i think about it, the less i think it's really a crime.

without going into specifics, i want to buy a movie but they just don't sell the damn thing on the internet. well, via amazon, i could buy used copies from people, but not brand new ones. so a friend of mine is downloading it off the internet and will burn me a copy for my viewing pleasure. i would have gladly bought the damn thing, but they aren't selling. but it got me thinking about the whole piracy issue....

ok, i go to the store and buy a movie, everyone gets a cut somewhere along the way, all is legal. i get bored with it and decide to sell it at a garage sale, which is perfectly legal, some buy buys it from me and i buy crack with the money and smoke it all away. the movie industry doesn't get a damn cent. i buy used tapes and cds and all that, the artists dont get anything for it, yet it's legal. so someone buys a movie, then puts it on the internet and i download it for free. hell, i will paypal the guy five bucks, either way, the industry gets nothing for it. how is downloading a movie free different than buying it used off someone, when it comes to the financial concerns of the industry involved? just wondering....

Comments to original post

Tuesday, April 12, 2005

i'm playing ball in the leche league

it is about ten minutes to eight in the evening and i'm listening to marylin manson croon his lilting soft melodies as i write this. you might get it, you might not. reach out and touch faith...

here is the deal...i feel like a domesticated puma who just realized he has claws and decided to drag his gay german handler off to become a meal. yeah i mixed metaphors, what choo gonna do about it? next motherfucker's gonna get my metal....

woke up today and it was raining, which is god's way of getting down behind me and pushing me over so i fall on my ass, then putting a big "kick me" sign on my back as he helps me up. getting to work today it was like someone kicked over the anthill, like the concert just let out, there were people all the fuck over, on bikes, walking, cars...and hey, hiramoto, a little observation if i may...your umberella isn't doing shit for you as you ride your bicycle in the rain, your tires are kicking up any rain that isn't hitting you despite you holding onto an umberella as you ride your bicycle. be obscene, be be obscene....

my boss is watching some guy's dog, and has to take the dog out to shit. the dog hates him and stands on the couch and barks and growls the whole time my boss is in the house. i can't blame the dog, i would do the same thing at work if it didn't land me in a shrink's office. so the boss figures out if he shakes the scooby snack bag with the treats in it, the dog will follow him outside and shit. the boss is so happy about this he has to come into our little cubicles and regale us with his tale of victory. oh so proud moments. much much later i go off to the bathroom, and pass his office, and there he is on the phone telling god knows who about his story. all i can think of is "kind of sad if, after rising to such heights and establishing superiority, you are reduced to telling anyone who will listen how you got some dog, who isn't even yours, to shit. we're all stars now in the dope show....

been getting into Good Riddance lately. when i listen to them it makes me long for the chaos of the moshpit, it makes me want to do tailwhips on my bmx bike, it makes me want to jump around, jump up jump up and get down (yeah, house of pain, i know, whatever). good riddance did a remake of the kinks' "come dancing" and i like it, but it got me thinking about all the covers that are done, not to mention Me First and the Gimme Gimmes who only do covers (and i think they kick ass). is doing covers a tribute to good songwriting or is it riding on the coattails of those more talented, or filling in the valleys of noncreativity? if i were to do a "tribute" to shakespear, and pretty much just write "macbeth" word for word, maybe put my fingerprint on it like this....

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted retarded morons
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life’s but a walking shadow, some fag
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by a fucktard, full of piss and vinnegar,
Signifying nada. motherfucker. ”

could i call it a cover? and what will that get me? laughed at and ridiculed and slapped with a plagerism rap. don't get me wrong, i dig all the covers by all the bands, i was just wondering what others think of it. are you motherfucking ready for the new shit........

i seem to have softened up lately, and i don't like the pablum i am spewing. really. the stories are cute, scroll down and read them, comment as you see fit, but they are not me. so i was thinking of just saying fuck it and writing the way i used to, writing what was on my mind, the way i want, not worrying about writing for anyone. same old question everyone has...why do i blog? well, i keep saying i am doing this for me, and i am, but i am too cognizant of others reading, and while i do want to please, i think i would best please by putting into action advice from yoda his little green badass self. try not. do or do not. there is no try. so from now on, i think i will just do. time for cake and sodomy.....

Comments to original post

Monday, February 28, 2005

orpine cappuccino

i decided to make some mango chutney, to liven things up a bit and add some zing to my peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. every book, tv show, recipe, whatever clearly states *CAUTION*: WEAR RUBBER GLOVES WHEN HANDLING CHILES. yeah, whatever, you never see old mexican ladies wearing rubber gloves. well, i don't, but then again, i never see old mexican ladies, but i cut up the scotch bonnets without worrying about something as stupid as rubber gloves and proceed to make the chutney. yes, i washed my hands thoroughly. twice. with soap. so i mix all the ingrediants, simmer it all up for a while, then i have to cool it off, and i am not a patient kind of guy, having been raised on sesame street and taught that if it takes more than 50 seconds, it is old and time to move on to something new. so i decide to take the pot outside and wave it around to cool it off. if anyone saw me, they would think i am doing some wierd ritual, like a priest with the incense at church. there i am, holding a pot of something, turning around in circles, heat coming from the pot. then, mensa candidate that i am, it occurs to me that since i've been standing in this one spot, i've probably heated that spot on the earth up, and i should move to a cooler spot three feet away. so there i am, doing some wierd elaborate dance with a smoking pot, moving around looking for the really really cool spot in my small back yard, as if one spot is cooler than the rest of it, like the warm spot in the pool, only in reverse. i am a freak.

the stuff cools down enough to put in a jar and put in the fridge, and now it is time to take out the contact lenses. so, i once again wash my hands thoroughly for the third time, because when dealing with the eyes and contact lenses, cleanliness is important. i reach up to take out my right contact lens, and...
CHEMICAL WARFARE!!!!! i am on the ground in about a half of a nano-second, screaming, my eye has been doused with concentrated sulfuric acid. oh, wait, that must be some kind of residual capsaicum from the god damn scotch bonnet habanero, even though time and hand washing has happened. as i roll around on the floor in pain, i bang my head alternately on the wall and the cabinet (i have a narrow bathroom) so i am taking head blows as my eye continue to be burnt to a useless blob. i muster the strenght to stand up, and attack my eyes with water. eventually, i manage to peel off the contact lens that is fusing to my eye, and i stand there, eye still smouldering, red and puffy like i have been punched repeatedly AND have pink eye. my vision is blurry, my head hurts, i am crashing from the adreneline rush, and all i could think of is...."one more eye to go."

so i took a shower with my new lemongrass scented shampoo. i then used my coconut body wash. now i smell like thai soup. if i could only find chicken scented deoderant, i could complete the dish, and walk around making everyone hungry for thai food. why don't they just make pizza scented shampoo or roast lamb scented bodywash? that would rock.

Comments to original post

Saturday, February 26, 2005

the doom that came to retarius

today's blog entry will be written in the style of H.P. Lovecraft.

i awoke, not sure if i remained in the fantastical dream state, the light of the day piercing the inky blackness of my room. suddenly i shuddered, calling to mind the horrific dream i had of...but i must not say, for fear that the mere recollection of the dream push me fully into the realm of utter madness.

after morning ablutions, i made myself breakfast, a devilishly toothsome amalgamation of scrambled eggs and cheese, so delectable the slightest taste could drive one mad. and i also had some coffee.

i had to go shopping today. the sky was a menacing gray, hinting of a foreshadowing of upcoming terrors that may or may not actually happen. as i drove, i passed old houses, haunted by shadows and looming dark and melancholy, reminding me of a time in the northwest when...but i dare not say, lest in mentioning the foul deeds they return to haunt me evermore.

i arrived at the store, the front doors looming in front of me like some keepers to the gates of hell. as i approached them, they opened, as if sensing my approach and welcoming me to my imminent doom the way a spider welcomes a fly. i entered, and beheld a sight as no living man has seen, save in the phantasmagoria of opium induced fever: a sale on shampoo, the very item that drew me from the safety of my home into the unknown, into a maw that could very well end up with my very death. it was as if the old ones that have passed on into shadows, forever watching and waiting, spoken of in only hushed tones by elders, and spoken of as mere tales to frighten by the youth, knew that i needed some shampoo and possesed the managers of the store, the way demons posses those who invite them through dark rituals performed in secret.

as i drove back home, the sky had become a grotesque palate of grays, mocking the very sun. i had recently purchased a trance cd, filled with beats mixed by dj's as if satan, the great worm and father of lies himself guided their hands and handpicked the records from their milk crates. i imagined satyrs and bacchanals dancing and whirling insanely through seething abysses of clouds of smoke and light, the floor teeming with writhing bodies, teeth gnashing, eyes raised heavenward as if pleading for brief respite from the acrid smell of sweat and sickeningly sweet perfume. i was thinking....i should go to burning man next year. anyway, as i listened, enchanted, i suddenly became aware of a change in my surroundings. dammit, i missed my turn, so i had to drive a ways in traffic until i could turn around and return home.

i ate some lunch and played the PS2 for a while. as i played, i could not shake a chill i had, as if the grim reaper had taken a seat behind me and was about to make a call, his bony hand, reeking of rot and fresh earth, grasping my soul and wrenching it from my body, my screams the soundtrack to his last caress. it turned out the damn door was open.

it had become night, a blanket of darkness spreading across the sky like cancer, my heart began to beat as i....but i cannot continue....the mere mentioning of the terrible ordeal is too much to bear and threatens to cause me to relive the exquisite pain, driving me into the depths of complete insanity.

Comments to original post

a room with a deja view

i put some more crappy pictures on my photobucket, click the link on the side if you wanna see.

bum: hey buddy, got some change?
me: i was going to ask you the same thing.
bum: haha, good one. do you have any change?
me: sorry, i only carry big bills.
bum: c'mon, spare some change for the holidays?
me: everyday is a holiday my good man.
bum: what's a matter, you too good to give some change?
me: look... you are a free spirit, unencumbered by the yolk of societal norms and not enslaved, like all these walking zombies, by the empty lies of the corporate juggernaughts and almighty dollor. i could not, in good conscience, take that away from you and bind your wings, enslave you, cripple you, with the filthy poison of something as innocuous as "some spare change." but hey, that restaurant across the street has a help wanted/dishwasher needed sign right there in the window....
bum: fucking asshole

i think we should go back to carrying swords. they look cool, and if everyone had one, you could challenge whoever pissed you off to a duel. chances are no one will have a concealed sword, it is possible, but really difficult to conceal a sword, so you don't have to worry about plane hijackings or bank robberies or drive by slashings. and i think people in the states would be thinner and healthier, from all the duelling. the fat ones would die off pretty quick.

gang fights and duels would be fun to watch, and you don't have to worry about some innocent bystander getting killed by a stray bullet. people are going to fight and be violent, that is just nature. might as well make it safe and entertaining for spectators.

and the comedy would be non stop. imagine you amble on down to starbucks for an orange mocha frappachino and as you try to sit down your sword is hitting everyone in a two foot radius, knocking over people's coffees, tearing thier newspapers as they read them. then you can sit down, gaze out the window and watch morons getting out of thier cars with thier swords getting tangled up and caught or see some guy with a big suv look like the true stooge that he is as he tries to get into his car and sit down with the sword getting in the way. like one big buster keaton movie.

Comments to original post

Friday, February 25, 2005

profanity is the crutch of the stupid, illiterate motherfucker

"There's no difference between me and everyone else. All it takes is one bad day to reduce the sanest man to lunacy. That's how far the world is from where I am. Just one bad day." The Joker.

that quote is so applicable right now, if it were people, that quote would be china and india combined. i will not go into details because, just like quantum physics explained in sanskrit, no one would really understand. also, just like last nights dinner, i don't feel like bringing it up.

the joker is my personal favorite super villian, and if i could be one, i would be he. so why is the joker so damn cool? is it cause of his punk rock green hair? is it cause of his purple pinstripe suit that would make prince and georgio armani jealous? is it his evil genius and horrific sense of humor? yes, to a certain extent, it's a bit of all those things. the main reason, though, is his pure insanity and hatred. ok, yes, he started out a criminal, so he loses points on that, but the fact that he was pushed over the edge and seems to realize it, the fact that he is so uninhibited, that is what is so damn appealing to me. right now, i am a green head of hair, a purple suit, a hundred points of IQ, and one more push away from becoming the joker. and so, probably, are you.

that was a bold statement. but really, the only difference between me, you, and a murderer (assuming you haven't killed anyone) is we know when to stop, pull back, and not go through with it. in NASCAR speak, we have our restrictor plates in place, they don't. there, but for the grace of god, go i.....

but the joker does not have the little voice telling him to stop. he is free to act against his [percieved] enemies in any way he chooses. he is striking back at the man without reserve. and let me say, yes virginia, there is a "the man." how frustrating it is to be impotent to defend yourself. but then i look at things from a detatched point of view, and honestly, i can see that things do not run the way we think they should, and there is a large gap between how we think things are or should be and reality. and how can reality be wrong?

if everyone is retreating, the guy who is attacking appears to be retreating, and is scorned.

so i have to accept things as they are. things could be a lot worse, and ultimately, i got what i wanted. i will end up where i want to be, but instead of taking the limo on the freshly paved road, i rode in the uncovered bed of the pickup truck with no shocks and flat tires, in the rain, along the potholed filled road, holding a large jar of sulfuric acid, without a lid, filled to overflowing, in my lap.

so the joker, he is my hero, and in a way, if i were to become a supervillian, i would emulate him. yeah, i could exact revenge, warranted or not, if i could just get past the inhibitor that reminds me "that's not cricket old chap". and what the fuck is a british guy doing in my head anyway?

Comments to original post

Wednesday, February 23, 2005

wholly shit/book review 8

so i wanna buy one of those christmas tree air freshners you hang on your rearview mirror, and hang in on the mirror on my motorcycle, i think it would be cool, and make my motorcycle smell fresh. also i was thinking of hanging some fuzzy dice on the other rear view mirror.

i was going to surmonize, but i think i shall save that for tomorrow. i want to let the ideas and words gel and coagulate and fully ripen before i pluck them from the idea vine and present them as palatable.

so years ago i read in a newspaper about people who would leave books for others to find and there was a website and all that. i forgot the details, but the idea stuck with me, so for a few years now i would occasionally leave books in various places, airports, restaurants, etc, for people to find. there was a note saying it was a free book, read it and pass it on. a few weeks ago (i think, i'm not good with time, it could have happened last week) i was surfing some blogs and found a link to, which was the site that had inspired me. so i joined. whree is all this going?

yesterday i "officially" released my first book, and when i got home, i logged on and it had been found and someone logged on to say so. cool! i don't know why this makes me so happy, but it does. so now i am looking forward to releasing another book.

i think it's a great idea, a world wide lending library, books circulating, being shared, it is so damn wonderful. if you subscribe to the belief that we impart some energy into the objects we use, then the books have all this energy in them, and it's kind of cool to think about that.

so speaking of books, yesterday i finished PETER AND THE STARCATCHERS by dave barry and ridley pearson, 451pp. it's the prequal to peter pan, it tells how peter pan became peter pan. yeah, it's a kid's book, but i liked it, it was bubblegum for the mind. it will be the next book i release.

Comments to original post

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

holy shit

hunter s. thompson killed himself. holy shit. read about it here

i forgot and couldn't find the html to open a new window. yeah, i know it is easy like ref=new, but not sure, sorry for the inconvienience (and not knowing how to spell that word or caring enough to look it up or spellcheck).

so yesterday i went snowboarding, it was ok. didn't much feel like going, but i went and the weather was nice. it was a new place, one big bunny slope really. whatever. i was bored so i was jumping around doing 180s and i fucked up and hit hard. there was a light dusting the night prior, and ice underneath. i nearly knocked the poop out of myself, literally. my ass still hurts. yeah, you wanted to know that.

i downloaded a free home virus checker program from avast (arrghhh, avast ye, matey, i am a pirate who will board your computer and fuck shit up!!!!) and it proceeded to fuck my computer up to the point of i wanted to kill it with a hammer. i finally managed to delete a whole bunch of crap but my computer is now dicked up. just like the rest of my life. what else is new.

i gotta go get ready for work and so shit. i got more to say, i wasn't going to write, but hunter s thompson pulled a hemmingway, and i felt like writing something. yeah, it's trite and cliche and cool to talk about thompson and say he influenced you, but i actually own a few of his books and read his biography and he actually did influence me. the blog thing i wrote about driving at night with night vision goggles on was a direct result of thompson. yes, i really did that, but i wanted to capture the tone and vitality he occasionally wrote with. he was fucked up, who knows how much was lies and what may have been truth, but still, hate him or like him, he was art. real art makes you think, talk, react, and he made people think, talk and react. and now he is dead.

and NASCAR season began. kick ass.

Comments to original post

Sunday, February 20, 2005

HEY KIDS......

the following is an excerpt from "you don't need your parents, they are annoying idiots: a cookbook for teens" ....

prehat the oven to 350 degrees. it sucks that you have to do this now because it takes so damn long to heat up. god, you could be doing something way better right now....anyway....

chop up and fry some onions in butter or olive oil until they are soft and see through (like that jerks who lie to you all the time), then put them aside, ignore them, the way your parents ignore your needs. they don't listen or understand anyway.

beat four eggs like you would beat your damn teacher who always gets on your case and plays favorites with the "popular" kids. add one cup of milk, or half and half, either way it doesn't matter. nothing matters. mix into the eggs with hate and rage and salt and pepper, and other herbs if you want to like dill (haha, dill weed! or basil...fuck, put what you want in there).

get some cheese, chedder or mozzerrella. shred it like your boyfriend/girlfriend shredded your heart by dumping you and being a total prick/bitch. remember the onions? (at least you didnt forget them like your parents forgot your birthday that one time. GOD!) check to make sure they are cold like the heartless fuck who dumped you (you don't want them cooking the egg and fucking everything up like all the idiots in your life you fuck up everything). add the onions and the cheese to the egg/milk and stir it around, mix it up like a mosh pit, yeah!

pour the mixture into a ready made pie crust that you buy in the frozen food section because you are a slave to the corporate overlords who don't give a fuck about the little man and would sell their grandmother for a science experiment to make a quick buck. fuck them! but get the pie crust first.

if you want to add things like mushrooms, bean sprouts, spinach, other cheeses, go ahead, do whatever the fuck you feel know what you like and don't have to listen to anyone tell you how to make your quiche...whatever....

bake the whole damn thing for one hour while you chat on the internet with your friends or download some music or put songs on your ipod. do what you feel like, the world is unfair anyway....

get this and other easy and fun recipes by buying our book, available only from your friends at retarius industries.

Comments from original post

otaku represent, yo!

sunday sunday sunday.....

it's been rainy and crappy for three days now, i can't say i am liking it all that much. i can say, however, that i can bake some bread! if nothing else, i got that going for me....

tomorrow i am going snowboarding, i hope the weather is conducive to that sort of thing.

been getting into "atom and his package" a lot lately. i can't seem to get too into "velvet revolver" but i do like "jet." of course then there is GWAR and edith piaf, so there is that....

i took pictures of wonderboy's blue buddah in his house, which we call shiva buddah, that he has in his house. they are in my photobucket, if you want to see it, click the link on the side.

daytona 500 is today, the start of NASCAR season. i am a closet NASCAR fan, i admit it, i confess it. i am facinated by shiny objects, and i love to watch the pretty colored cars go around and around really fast. i have no idea why i like it, but i like it.

if you are dressed in a suit, and you ride to work on a BMX bike, and you pull a manual (wheelie without peddling), people look at you like you just peeled an orange and pulled out an apple. that said, i talked to some guy this weekend, i might be selling my bmx bike. i dont' really ride it anymore, and the bottom bracket is fucked up from dropping from various hights, and i want to pare down before i leave here. once back in the states, i dont' know if i will buy a bmx bike or not. probably not, i think i will go with the track bike. and i want to buy a digital video cam and a small lens that i can put on a helmet, and take video of me doing incredibly stupid shit and put in on the web on my very own website, where i will also sell "INSTANT JUSTICE MAN," "SUNSHINE THE HAPPY GOTH" and "AFRO-CAT" t-shirts.

speaking of quicksilver, as noted by deryke, there is a small video place nearby where i get videos now and again, and they always had quicksilver, i think i got it once but didnt' end up watching it. anyway, i decided to go check it out, and wouldn't you know is no longer there. another instance of "get it when you see it, there is no going back for it later." this lesson keeps popping up.

damn, i had all these other thoughts and crap i wanted to write about, and now i can't. yeah, i'm tired of singing that song, but right now, it's the song that seems to be stuck in my head. and that is the only thing that is stuck in my head, all my other thoughts and ideas probably felt they were wasting thier time with me and moved to someone else who will act on the ideas and make them realities.

see, that right there is a story....thoughts and ideas who want to become reality, and get into someone's head, but he is lazy so they move into someone else's head who acts on them etc etc. there is something there.

think i shall do something else now.

Comments from original post

Saturday, February 19, 2005

saturday morning, 5:38 am, sun's not even up yet. why am i? cause my mind thinks if i lay in bed i might miss something, so i have to get up.

it snowed last night, there is a whipped cream topping on grass and trees, the roads are clear, but it looks calming and peaceful, at least from the quiet inside of my dwelling.

there are no right or wrong ways to live, we all end up the same, and life is a very temporary gig, no matter how long we think 80 years is. there are, however, admirable qualities and better ways of going about life, and sadly, i don't have them, or at least the ways i go about it don't seem to me to be the better ones. when i begin to feel overwhelmed, i shut down, i ignore, i back away, and i assume it's my way of controlling the overflow. when faced with an onslaught of things, if i back away and shut down, i can approach them one at a time, and not be outnumbered, however, this leads to a backup of things, because life doesn't pause, and i run the risk of letting something fall through the cracks and move on unaddressed. it would be better if i just dealt with things as they came up.

none of this makes sense. but it's what was on my mind today.

lately i have been thinking, dreaming, planning, fantasizing about getting a track bike. track bikes are the purest form of bicycles, no gears, no brakes, just a frame, wheels, handlebars, chain, sprocket and peddels. sleek, basic, it would be a zen master sort of bike, pared down to the bare minimum. there is no coasting on a track bike, if the wheels are moving, the pedals are moving. there is a lesson in that. riding a track bike makes you way more aware of your surroundings, you are more alert, you flow, not much stopping and starting, you are constantly moving and like water you find the best path and take it. many bike messengers use track bikes. i think the track bike is definately the way to go. perhaps i might hear god while i ride?

today i shall attempt to bake a loaf of bread. i will read. i will maybe do laundry. i should not ignore life, i should jump in and do what i need to do, but i can't shake the feeling that much of it doesn't matter. i call it "realizing the value and worth of an action" but really i am just rationalizing me being lazy and irresponsible. i know the person i want to be, but i don't want to be him hard enough to actually change and be him. hmmmmm.

Comments from original post

Thursday, February 17, 2005

soooooooo drnk

i am sooooooo fucked up rightrenow...
me and wonderboy

started with absinthe, went to neruotoxin venom sake,, then on to alcohol.....

can't type

i cant feel fingers,

cant type

wonderboy playig guitar

rock out with cock out

Comments from original post

Wednesday, February 16, 2005


i just finished BLINK, THE POWER OF THINKING WITHOUT THINKING by Malcolm Gladwell, 254pp.

I would reccommend this book to anyone who would listen to me. It is an incredibly interesting subject, Gladwell writes engagingly and well, not one dull spot in the whole book, and i think you could, if you cared enough to put in a bit of effort, benefit from this book no matter what your job/role in life is.

This is not a self help book, not at all. This book talks about snap decisions, and uses so many examples, you start to realize how large a part of your everyday life this is, and how much you just don't realize it. the gist of the book, from what i got, is that although we are taught the more information we have about a subject, the better we can make a judment/decision on it, that is not always the case. there is so much going on in our minds that we don't even realize, quite often that "intuition" or feeling you get is your mind already processing the information and trying to guide you based off of the results.

another facinating bit was the part about the possibility of temporary autism, based off of being in an intense situation. this was well illustrated through a few stories of cop shootings when the cops were wrong. they could have sworn they saw a gun, but the person had no gun.

i really enjoyed this book. it was informative, entertaining, enlightning, and well worth my time.

Comments from original post

Tuesday, February 15, 2005

my socks are made of meat

as if green tea kit kats weren't enough....there are also passion fruit kit kats, and let me say, they are super thing going right now...

so today i went around and took a bunch of stupid pictures, they are in my photobucket, click the link on the side right over there if you want to see them, but i am telling you now, they are not worth the energy it takes to move your mouse and click....

what if you could get an IV or something with scented water, then when you sweat, you would smell like lavendar or rose or chocolate? if you eat a bunch of garlic, when you sweat it smells like garlic (been to korea? then you know.) well, what if you overloaded your body with something sweet so when you sweat, you smell nice?

you know what you never ever see? a cat with an afro. so, here is my three step plan to having fun and making so much money that just rose can write to all her friends from my villa in st. kitts (actually, you will all be invited, i just mentioned her cause she said something). first i shall go upon the line and do some digital shopping, getting what i need so, using the magic powers of photoshop, i can cut an afro off of one picture and place it seamlessly onto the picture of a cat, thereby creating..."afro-cat." next, i shall make a few one to three panel online comics starring afro-cat, saying witty things and such. finally, once i have a bit of a following, i shall put afro-cat on a t-shirt, with one of his cool catch phrases, like "smell my butt" or "hey, let me sit on that for you" and sell out to hot topic, who will also be carrying a line of t-shirts featuring "sunshine the happy goth." then you are all invited to party your collective asses off at my place. hopefully, some of the people at the huge non-stop party will be so drunk i will be good looking and interesting and they will let me touch them in bad ways (talking about the females here, sorry fellas). there will be a snack truck with refreshments, perhaps a dude playing bagpipes (must figure out how to hook up pick-ups to a bagpipe) and it shall be just grand.

of course, now that i said it, there will be cats with afros all over the damn interneto.

onward to mayhem

Comments from original post

Monday, February 14, 2005

she has a black cat named "rainbow." she plays bass for "Upbeatica," a band that weaves dark and brooding melodies with positive motivating lyrics. she is...SUNSHINE, THE HAPPY GOTH. created and brought to you by retarius industries.

Comments from original post

Sunday, February 13, 2005

the wind cries retarius

i really don't like changing guitar strings. i love the feel and sound of brand new strings, the lively and robust exuberance that emanates from them as they vibrate. but once they are more played out than the emo scene and saggier than grandma's tits, they need to go, and that is when i stop playing for a while. it doesn't take that long to change them, it isn't that difficult, it isn't taxing or tiring, it is just a nuisance.

so where am i going with this? what is my point? what witty observation will i point out?

nothing. i just hate changing guitar strings.

so i think i realize the beauty of american idol. it is reality, and teaches a beautiful lesson. as americans, we grow up with the awful lie that "you can be whatever you want if you put your mind to it and want it bad enough." it is a great motivator, and a great ideal and should teach kids to realize that if they work hard and persevere, they can often acheive thier goals. the harsh reality, that seems often overlooked, is that you cannot be whatever you want just because you want to. reality have to be realistic in your desires. just cause you *want* to be a pop idol does not mean you can.

american idol tells these morons "you suck, you won't make it" and they get all upset because their "freinds" tell them they are good. if the people were truly freinds, they would say "you need a new dream." these people get all upset and think that just because they want it really really bad, more than anything, they are entitled to make it. well, you need what those in the biz like to call...talent. i am pretty sure that simon, the guy whose job is to sell these little puppets to the masses, knows what he can sell and what he cannot, and he is looking for something specific. if you dont have it, accept it and move on, don't argue because you *want* to be a star more than anything in the world.

american idol, as inane as it might be and i am thankful i don't watch it, is a great lesson, if only the people would learn it.

but really, i hate to change guitar strings.

Comments from original post

Saturday, February 12, 2005

peristaltic bum rush

mother fucker, i just wrote a bunch of crap and lost it because i think i hit the backspace button. gaahhhhhdammmit.

so it is 7 p.m. and after much sleeping and drinking cups of "tea of regeneration +2" i think i am almost back to full hitpoints from last night.

i have wondered for a while how important font is in book printing. some books seem to be printed in "read me" font, the words leap right into your brain without any effort on your part. with other books seem to be printed in "don't look at me" font, and reading each word is like skateboarding uphill on a gravelly road. this has nothing to do with content or writing, this has to do with the actual font.

so right now i am reading BLINK, the art of thinking without thinking. it is fascinating and kick ass, seems to be written in "Read me font" but also seems to possibly back up my wacky little theory. the book talks about how our minds subconciously pick up things that affect our opinions and attitudes, and ways we approach people, events, and things. so i wonder if subtle differences in font affect people's ability to take in information. not just the difference between large and smaller print, but the subtle nuances of how the letters are drawn, the curves and lines.

it shouldn't make any difference, should it? yet the font of a book seems to be part of the equation, along with storyline, content, etc, of how i take in the book. i wonder if the subtle differences of font can also control emotion, like if i wrote something in a certain font, would you feel a certain emotion regardless of content? could i write a treatise on colonial furniture in "erotica" that makes you horny when you read it? (dude! does everything have to be about sex with you? well, yes it does) could i write a cookbook in a "horror" font that makes you feel unsettled and slightly scared (i don't know why, but suddenly the thought of baked brie with carmelized onions is freaking me out)?

i know, from reading this book, that certain words can have an effect on us even though we don't percieve any change at all. so what if i could write something with words that effect your subconcious, causing certain emotions in you, and in a font that also causes certain emotions, making me able to manipulate your mood. what if some of the great writers aren't any better than others, they just use the right words and right font that leaves you feeling "addicted" or whatever. of course, using the right words is what good writing is all about, but i mean, inserting words in an otherwise crappy piece that makes you remember the book as wonderful.

anyway, time to drink more tea, read a bit more, and fall asleep early. yeah, saturday night, living la vida dull. of course, there is still a half bottle of absinthe......but i shall save that for, perhaps next weekend.

Comments from original post

Friday, February 11, 2005

don't tell me shoes

masturbating bitterly, he grabs a handfull of buillion cubes to wash away the eggplants of his soul.

knock knock....
"retarius? hey, it's me, the green fairy, open the fuck up and let me in."
"glad you could make it, havnt seen you in a while, COME ON IN!"

that's right, i am drunk on the absinthe, again. been a while, but here i am. big deal.

i think a great idea for a service that is greatly needed would be the DCR, the "department of carthartic representatives." here is how it works. it is a small office of a bunch of guys, on the road all week long, they visit various corporations and businesses, set up a desk in a small office, and allow workers to come in and yell and scream and "vent" as if they are talking to the incompetent fucktard bosses who are so far removed from reality, the light from reality would take years to reach them. so, let's say your boss gives you the most worthless advice, which is completely idiotic, and you must comply with his nonsensical wishes. you contact the DCR and give them the name of the MENSA candidate you want to poke in the eyes, and they give you a date. on that date, you enter their "office" and they are sitting there, with the name of your evil nemisis on the nameplate on the desk. you go off like vesuvius went off on pompei, you rant, rage against the machine, say all you want, mention illegal sexual activity between his mother and various marsupials, whatever you need to get out. this guy takes it, perhaps offers weak resistance at first, to give you some kind of feeling of fight, and when you are done, you feel better and leave, to continue with your productive day. he changes the name on the nameplate and recives the next customer, and the serive goes on for those who need it, until everyone is done. the DCR packs up and moves on to his next call.

this service will be offered to any business, allowing the workers to tell their "bosses" how they feel without fear of unfair reprecussions, the bosses fragile egos are not threatened, the workers, who are the only ones who really know what's going on, feel vindicated, and everyone is happy.

i think it will work. if i wern't all fucked up i could probably explain it better. now it is time to pass out, possibly waking up in a puddle of my own sick.

Comments from original post

Thursday, February 10, 2005

fruit of the swine, work of human hands

it's late, i cannot sleep, my mind won't leave this world and venture into the uncharted depths of sweet unconciousness that my body craves like Namor, prince of atlantis craves salt water. i have smoked a half pack of cigarrettes, something i only do when i am trembling with the heady mixture of frustration and rage, with a pinch of fear.

it seems that the meek shall indeed inherit the earth, or more correctly, the weak shall band together to take down the (percieved) strong and make them impotent to escape to saftey. makes sense really, if you think about it. a bunch of hyenas band together to bring down the big game. those without band together to bring down those with. the rebel alliance brings down the empire and fucks up the deathstar (but they had a jedi helping). it is a balance. if they didn't, the strong would go around doing as they please, and even if they are benevolant, good will bearing strong, the weak see a threat, those with fragile egos and small penises see a threat to thier insignificant manhood, and the one is no match for the many, except if the one is bruce lee, which in this case, he isn't.

on a subconcious level, i know that no matter what happens, i will, much like gloria gaynor and later, cake, survive. but like the fighter who sees the kick coming and knows he cannot block it, i am anticipating the pain of impact, and my mind will not let it go, not even for a few hours in bed. so this is what jesus felt at the garden (not comparing myself to jesus).

yes, i did request the firing squad, and declined the blindfold and last cigarette. it is my self destructive nature, if things are going well i have to shake them up, i have burn the bridge while i am standing smack dab in the middle. conflict causes change which causes progress. i am sure there are happier and easier ways to progress, but i seem to tend toward the painful way.

parable of the scorpion. he wanted a ride on the frogs back across the river, the frog was like "fuck that, you will sting me." the scorpion is like "if i sting you, we both drown, so no i won't. halfway across, scorpion stings. as they drown, the frog is like "dude, what the hell did you do that for?" and the scorpion replies "it is my nature." dumb ass scorpion. why do i have to have his nature?

of course, i could be all wrong and worrying for naught, which would be fine with me.

but hey, at least i'm not on fire. that would suck and ruin my clothes.

time to brush up on epictetus, who knew how to handle such things. time for another smoke and another feeble attempt at sleep.

Comments from original post

Wednesday, February 09, 2005

kick ash wednesday

i long to lay in your dark embrace
kiss your blood red lips
you take me to that place
where only angels go
and devils pine
your legs around my hips
nails scratch my tattoed spine

what if you continued to have deja vu, and it seemed the more intense the moment, the more violent and chaotic the molecules in that time/space were, the more frequent and long lasting and closer to reality the deja-vu was? what if, life as you know it were actually only a shell, and we lived in memories, asleep. as if what we percieve as an intense moment, heart pounding, palms sweating, was actually our conscious coming to the surface, "waking up" to see as we really are, and the deja vu is not a misfiring of the synapses, causing the present to be catologued into the long term memory and rememberd as it happens, as believed, but actually a glimpse into time iteself. as i write this, i am having a deja vu, tell me, as you read this are you? so, am i just fatiuged, and brain weary, or did i honestly get a quick glimpse, did i come close to the surface, like someone trapped beneath the ice who can see the world above, mere centimeters away, yet an eternity, a lifetime, out of reach.

sweet, sour, salty, spicy, these are the things our tongues crave. add lime and peanuts, with some rotten fish liquid, and you have the makings of a tasty treat.

so today i embark on a vegetarian journey, and it won't be the first time. i use lent as the excuse, i use losing extra fat most likely caused by meat as the excuse, but really, i just feel like fucking with my body. they say (who are the "they"?) that if you eat nothing but celery for three days you poop clear. imagine translucent shit. how wierd would that be? i highly doubt you could, but damn, if you could, that would rock. i assume if you ate nothing but celery, colored red, or blue, or whatever, you would poop that color. imagine taking a huge yellow shit. if shit were a different color, would it still be disgusting, not counting the smell?

so today begins lent. for you non-catholics, and you catholics who don't follow along with the rest of us, lent is the 40 day period leading up to easter, when we celebrate the fact that jesus was crucified, died, buried in a cave, and emerged, risen from the dead, three days later...and if he sees his shadow we get two more weeks of winter. most people think of lent as a time we have to give up stuff, like booze or spanking it, or whatever. me, i start drinking and smoking for lent, cause lent is a time of sacrifice and denial, and smoking and drinking hurts me, so i get my suffering in, and i think that counts.

i am tired and need to sleep, today drained the fuck right out of me, it was right up there as far as bad days go. for anyone who reads this, sorry i haven't responded to your notes, please don't think i take them for granted, i appreciate each one, but i am just feeling a bit....stand-offish, a bit of a recluse, like the dog who is hiding behind the toilet and does not want you to pet him. i was not going to post but i felt like typing, so i did.

i've been thinking lately of a conversation i had with this way hot chick that i want to do. i told her i felt like i was in a slump, and she said somehting to the effect of "write what you feel like, be jackson pollack" and it stuck with me, struck a chord like kirk hammet or steve vai. so, what i kind of want to do is just....type stuff, free form, see what happens, make the screen my canvas and be a verbal jackson pollack. i kind of do that a bit now, i think, maybe i dont', but i shall, some day soon, just do that.

Comments from original post

kick ash wednesday

i long to lay in your dark embrace
kiss your blood red lips
you take me to that place
where only angels go
and devils pine
your legs around my hips
nails scratch my tattoed spine

what if you continued to have deja vu, and it seemed the more intense the moment, the more violent and chaotic the molecules in that time/space were, the more frequent and long lasting and closer to reality the deja-vu was? what if, life as you know it were actually only a shell, and we lived in memories, asleep. as if what we percieve as an intense moment, heart pounding, palms sweating, was actually our conscious coming to the surface, "waking up" to see as we really are, and the deja vu is not a misfiring of the synapses, causing the present to be catologued into the long term memory and rememberd as it happens, as believed, but actually a glimpse into time iteself. as i write this, i am having a deja vu, tell me, as you read this are you? so, am i just fatiuged, and brain weary, or did i honestly get a quick glimpse, did i come close to the surface, like someone trapped beneath the ice who can see the world above, mere centimeters away, yet an eternity, a lifetime, out of reach.

sweet, sour, salty, spicy, these are the things our tongues crave. add lime and peanuts, with some rotten fish liquid, and you have the makings of a tasty treat.

so today i embark on a vegetarian journey, and it won't be the first time. i use lent as the excuse, i use losing extra fat most likely caused by meat as the excuse, but really, i just feel like fucking with my body. they say (who are the "they"?) that if you eat nothing but celery for three days you poop clear. imagine translucent shit. how wierd would that be? i highly doubt you could, but damn, if you could, that would rock. i assume if you ate nothing but celery, colored red, or blue, or whatever, you would poop that color. imagine taking a huge yellow shit. if shit were a different color, would it still be disgusting, not counting the smell?

so today begins lent. for you non-catholics, and you catholics who don't follow along with the rest of us, lent is the 40 day period leading up to easter, when we celebrate the fact that jesus was crucified, died, buried in a cave, and emerged, risen from the dead, three days later...and if he sees his shadow we get two more weeks of winter. most people think of lent as a time we have to give up stuff, like booze or spanking it, or whatever. me, i start drinking and smoking for lent, cause lent is a time of sacrifice and denial, and smoking and drinking hurts me, so i get my suffering in, and i think that counts.

i am tired and need to sleep, today drained the fuck right out of me, it was right up there as far as bad days go. for anyone who reads this, sorry i haven't responded to your notes, please don't think i take them for granted, i appreciate each one, but i am just feeling a bit....stand-offish, a bit of a recluse, like the dog who is hiding behind the toilet and does not want you to pet him. i was not going to post but i felt like typing, so i did.

i've been thinking lately of a conversation i had with this way hot chick that i want to do. i told her i felt like i was in a slump, and she said somehting to the effect of "write what you feel like, be jackson pollack" and it stuck with me, struck a chord like kirk hammet or steve vai. so, what i kind of want to do is just....type stuff, free form, see what happens, make the screen my canvas and be a verbal jackson pollack. i kind of do that a bit now, i think, maybe i dont', but i shall, some day soon, just do that.

Comments from original post


i dont feel like being witty, don't even bother reading, just move along.

OUTLAW LAND by Bradford Scott, 127pp.

the first western i have ever read, not counting the dark tower books or other western backdrop books. it was from 1962 or so, pure pulp. i guess it was ok. i feel like i am cheating, but i will count it as one of my '52 books a year' books.

Comments from original post

four wheeled tricycle

i can only assume it was mardi gras 1993, we went into the voodoo shop and i made a smart ass, snarky remark, something along the lines of "this is tourist stuff, where is the 'real' voodoo?". the guy behind the counter, whose name was jinx, looked at me with a wierd smile. i can only assume i was hexed, cursed, whatever, right there and then.
i am getting worn down, i am tired, i am about to give up, if i havn't already. in a way it is liberating, knowing that whatever i choose will be the wrong choice, that i will be screwed at every turn, that nothing will go right for me no matter what i do. i no longer have to care, i don't have to work hard, because no matter what i do, i will lose. every time. life will go out of it's way to make me the loser in any situation, regardless of what the outcome should be.
imagine if your job was to get kicked in the nuts, once a day. you knew, when you woke up, sometime during the day you would be kicked in the nuts, just once. for the first few weeks, you would think "the rest is great, i can deal with it once a day" but, after a while, you would dread going into work. you could wake up, have a great morning, but as you near your workplace, you would cringe, expecting, knowing, what was going to happen. you would come to dread going to work. but also, you would know that no matter what you do, you are going to get kicked in the nuts, so you could work hard and try, or you could go to work naked and piss on your desk, and the outcome would be the same. a swift kick to the nuts. and not from instant justice man either. it would be from instant injustice man, his negative.
the circumstances are hilarious, if looked at from the outside, not happening to you. but it is tiring. really tiring.
how do you remove a curse?

Comments from original post

our men, and women, are working hard, sacrificing thier freedoms, for us to enjoy our happy and safe lives. war is indeed hell.

Comments from original post

thinking of our troops during this difficult time, the hardships and suffering they must endure.

Comments from original post

Sunday, February 06, 2005

pastor of muppets pulling your strings

animals aren't "things"...they are little fuzzy people that we eat.

so whenever i get bummed and feel like a total loser i just remember...there are hundreds of marriage minded russian women who want to meet *ME*. there are also hundreds of marriage minded asian chicks who want to meet me, but really that does me no good.

i was feebly attempting to make won tons/spring rolls/whatever. the first two came out nice, but by the 6th won ton, they were just retarded and fucked up little pieces of dough with crap falling out of them. the downfall of a short attention span and little talent. what i need, and what i think i can make a million bucks on by supplying, are hundreds of won ton minded old asian ladies want to help you cook. i need a bunch of old asian women who can chop carrots and cabbage without losing flesh, and stuff and make wontons that don't look like they were made at the lighthouse for the incredibly incompetant. so i tried steaming them, then i deep fried them, then i baked them. they each sucked in thier own special individual way. perhaps i should just quit trying the wontons.

so, last year i read a book called "coffee and kung fu" by some filipina chick....yes, i read chick lit if it's good, and this was good. in it she loves kung fu movies, but also she reads westerns with her grandfather and makes a comparison between westerns and kung fu movies, showing the similarity. as i have said, i am easily influenced by what i read, and it made me want to read a western, having never done so before and blew it off as a wierd genre. so, now i am reading a western for the first time and i feel kind of silly and stupid for reading it, but i am looking at it in kung fu sort of light. also, i thought, i read sci-fi, which is a wierd genre, but to me more legit, as it has hard science, soft science, and is a bit more involved. a western is just a story of a guy with a gun who shoots other guys. big deal. but, i might feel different when i am done. i will post the review shortly.

so yesterday, monday here in the japan, i went snowboarding. joe mama said he was going a few days ago, i said i would go along. we went to naeba, conditions were great, it was a bit crowded, but overall, i wasn't into it. maybe a bit burnt out (oh my god no, can it be possible?!?!?!?) or a bit tired, but i just wasn't into it. i will lay off the snowboarding for a while. sorry, not pictures. actually i stuck an icicle i got off the bottom of a car up my nose, so it looked like a huge frozen booger, the picture is ok, but no, you will not see it. just imagine my mischevious grin with a large frozen booger hanging out of my nose.

Comments from original post


hey, how's it going? you look good today, but then again, you always look good. no, really, i mean it. i know to you it's just "this old thing" but you seem to shine through whatever you wear, you always look like a model to me. whether it's formal wear or jeans and a shirt, you wear your clothes like the sun wears light. face it, it's just you, you are beautiful.

i've been thinking about telling you this, i'm not sure, i don't want to ruin what we have, but i have to tell you, just so you know. you probably know i am attracted to you, with all my playful flirting and all that, but it's not all just playful. i want, this is so funny, here we are, adults, able to talk about whatever, but it seems that whatever words i choose don't fit. i think we should fuck. there, i said it. blunt, to the point, Hemmingway would be proud. but it means more to me than just that, i just couldn't figure out how to say it. i want to say "i think we should have sex," but that sounds so clinical, and i want to say "i want to do you," but that sounds so high school jock-ish. but really, i want to spend time with you, alone, naked, being intimate, inside you, two bodies as one.

yes yes yes, i know you have a boyfriend. so what? look, i am not asking you to fall in love with me and pledge your heart to me and leave him. he is a great guy and can give you what you need, and you are so good together, and he makes you happy, which i love. i love to see you smile. i’m not trying to take you away from him, i just want to spend one day with you. and i am not asking you to cheat on him. you cheat with your mind and heart, not your body. think of it this way...when you masturbate with a vibrator or dildo, are you cheating on him with those things? no, they are merely spices in the soup, adding extra flavor. so, treat me like a huge, living, warm, talking sex toy. use me for your pleasure. yes, i know for women it's different, sex is close and there is a giving involved, and quite frankly there is for me to. i know i appear cavalier about it all, but i just don't go around having sex with anyone, much as i want to. first of, yes, i am a loser when it comes to that, but also, a small piece of me does get involved, and i leave a bit of me, there is a small connection made, so i don't just go around scattering pieces of myself to the four winds, like you would a vampire after you stake him so he doesn't come back.
so yes, i understand that it might be more intense for you, but i would not take that for granted. and i know you have thought about it, if only for a nano second. you had to, you are female and i am male and we are both humans. we size each other up every day, as soon as we first meet. i have no idea what you assess me as, but you know me enough to trust me, and i am sure if we spent a day together i would answer whatever questions you had, truthfully and without hesitation or regret.

it's just that, you are so appealing and attractive. you are smart, beautiful, sexy as hell, and i can't help but wonder what it would be like to be with you. i can only imagine how it would be to lie next to you, kiss your neck and smell your skin, feel your nipple grow hard in my mouth, hear your soft moan of delight, or maybe a laugh when i tickle you. i want to run my hands all over you, your curves, your mountains and valleys, like an suv offroading and exploring. i want to run my fingers right along the outside of your lips, just to moisten them, like dipping them into the holy water font at church, just so i can taste you on my fingertips. i want to lick you, dipping my tongue into you as deep as it can go, making your legs come up into the air. i want to take you from behind, kissing your back and neck and ears as you push your butt against me with each thrust, you fucking me from in front as much as i am fucking you from behind. i want to look in your eyes when you come, and hold you close to me when we are done. i'll show you my tattoos.

maybe i do have more than just a physical interest in you, and maybe i do want just a small piece of you to keep with me wherever i go. can you fault me for that?
so anyway, i hope i didn't ruin what we had because i want more and made it known. please don't take this as some kind of ultimatum or challenge or something. i just want you to know how i feel. maybe you wondered, maybe you didn't' care, but either way, i am baring myself to you now so you never have to wonder. unless the uncertainty was the magic, and now that is gone, which would just be another page in my book of romantic failures.
hey i’m hungry, wanna get lunch?

Comments from original post

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Anatomic Localization for Needle Electromyography

lance boyle loved wood. his love for wood most likely originated when, as a child sliding down the wooden bannister in his grandmother's old victorian mobile home in the mountains of lousiana, he became sexually aroused to the point of full release. he spent a whole summer sliding down that bannister, and was the calmest kid anyone had ever seen, always with a glow and a lazy smile.

while all his other freinds were making Revell brand plastic model replica's of the nitro burnin funny car of "big daddy" don garlits or a tank or battleship, lance made balsa wood models of the red baron's fokker d-8 triplane and british spitfires.

when he was 14, while on a school trip to china town, he bought a set of wooden chopsticks, which from that moment on was all he would use to eat his food, shunning the cold, unfreindly steel of the fork and spoon for the earthy, silky feel of wood. he didn't do this to be pretentious or flashy, like the mornons who use chopsticks in thai restaurants because they want everyone to think they are cultured and "internatoinal" and they don't know thai people use spoons. he did it because he loved wood.

lance also developed an affinity for cellophane. not a kinky fetish interest, like you see on the internet or in wierd bars in washington d.c. on a friday night, but a healthy appreciation for the way the plastic would cling to the outside of a bowl and keep his leftovers from spilling out into his tiny refrigerator.

one day, while engaged in his favorite hobby, playing the jew's harp along with his cd of verdi's masterpiece opera, "la traviatta," the god's of the good idea smacked lance upside the head with the sacred two by four of inspiration, and lance had an epihpany that would rock the world....

lance went into his workshop in his garage, and worked and struggled for two weeks straight, barely eating or sleeping, not emerging until he had created pure perfection....lance had come up with the colored cellophane decorated toothpicks often found sticking out of cubes of cheese at ritzy social functions, weddings and bar mitzvahs.

the early days' were heady and wonderful, lance was on top of the world. his hand crafted, cellophane decorated toothpicks were everywhere, and in high demand. he was on covers of magazines, chicks were all over him like flies on meat, and he was riding high. people were dining "ala boyle" and once details of his life came out, there was a large increase in chopstick sales and use. but we must all wake up from the dream sometime, and eventually, all the tying colored cellophane around toothpick jobs were farmed out to third world countries for thier cheap labor. lance worked and worked, but he could not compete, and soon, the industry he created rejected him and treated him like he peed in the pool at the garden party.

lance boyle passed away, quietly, and was buried without even a service, with hardly any notice from the world he made so much better with his decorated toothpicks.

ok, yes, i made all this up, and yes, this was pretty lame, but it was nagging me in my head all damn day, i had to get it out.

Comments from original post