If I could teach myself to pee blue, the toilet would always look like it had just been cleaned.


There are a lot of lesbians in women’s professional pool.  This is not a value judgment or an indictment, it’s just a fact (and a rather curious one regarding competetiveness, sexuality, and the female brain.)  But that is besides the point, and you will see shortly why I had to preface with that.

Yesterday I was watching a women’s professional 9-ball tournament on television and the announcer was talking about Karen Corr who, while I’m not certain that she’s a lesbian, is at least very dikey-looking.  The announcer (Eva Mataya-Lawrence) said:

“Karen appears very stoic when she plays but in real life she actually has quite a personality.  I was just with her backstage and she was-”

At this point I sought to anticipate the rest of the Striking Viking’s sentence so I said “munching carpet.”

At the selfsame moment the announcer actually continued “munching-”

For a split second I was like oh my god, can it be true? Is she actually going to say what I think she is???”

At which time she finished with “on a bit of sandwich” and she went on to tell a story about how Karen needs to eat a small meal before the games or her blood sugar gets too low.  So that’s it, she was just backstage eating a sandwich.  Alrighty.

(Twenty dollars says it was tuna.)  OH! (doing the Quagmire fist pump)

Mexican History

At the beginning of the 20th century the Mexican regime, then under the leadership of Porfirio Diaz, was rapidly disintegrating and there was unrest everywhere.  The infamous bandit Francisco Pancho Villa was rapidly gaining strength in the North and he would soon ally himself with other anti government forces and idealogues like Venustiano Carranza and Victoriano Huerta.  In southern Mexico, Emiliano Zappata, who was also the fastest mouse in all of Meheeco, was also leading a rebellion.

The Diaz regime was ultimately overthrown but in the aftermath there were many competing forces who wanted to assume power, among them the aforementioned Villa, Carranza, Heurta, as well as mysterious new personages such as the Frito Bandito and that Mexican guy who dresses up in a bumblebee outfit.  These powers reached an impasse which one person promply referred to as a “Mexican Standoff” and that was such a bad line that everybody else pretty much whupped his ass. 

Eventually there was more bloodshed (both Villa and Zappata were eventually murdered and teh Mexicans, reacting in horror at all the unnecessary violence, unanimously all decided to become landscapers.  The end.

The Day that I had to Think Fast

On my first day of kindergarten I saw some kid punch another kid in the face, making him cry. I thought to myself “What was that crazy bitch thinking sending me here?” But I learned to get along and I got to like kindergarten. In fact I was pretty damn good at it.

Then one blustery autumn day my mom send me to school wearing thermonuclear underwear. I didn’t want to wear it because it was visible at my ankles and I was mortified at the prospect of becoming the laughingstock of the class, but my protests went to no avail. So I’m in school later on that day, having nearly forgotten about it, when this girl points at the exposed and offending product at my ankles and said “What’s that?”

I’m not normally one to think quickly on my feet (I usually think of something extremely witty the day after the situation presents itself) but in this case I calmly replied “It’s bionics.” The little girl was like “Ooh, everybody look, this kid has bionics!” To my infinite horror the rest of the kids came over to admire my superhuman prosthetics and they were all like “Can we touch it?” I was like “I don’t care” and they were completely fooled, every last one of them.

It was a nice out for me and it further goes to prove my other long held premise and it is this: small children are really stupid!Thank you, I’ll be available later for autographs.


In St. Petersburg Flordida, the girl with a record breaking case of the hiccup is missing.  She has hiccups for like months at a time and she’s apparently run away from home.  How will they ever find her? Ok, everybody shush for a minute. . .

 (stifled) hiccup!

So yesterday I was doing a vodka lemon shot with some people I had just met. It was this nice looking drunken chick who was hanging out with this really fat dude. They were nice enough people but since me and the other dude didn’t know how to do a vodka lemon shot, we waited for the chick to give us instructions.

We each had a shot glass of vodka, a lemon slice, and a packet of sugar. The girl showed us by tearing the packet of sugar, licking her hand, and sprinkling a small amount of sugar onto the wet spot on her hand (the saliva keeps the sugar from sliding off). I watched and then did the same. Then the really fat dude licked his hand and proceeded to pour the entire contents of the sugar packet onto his hand, so much that sugar ended up cascading off his hand and onto the ground. “DAMN motherfucker” says I, “It ain’t a Ho-Ho!”

First Impressions

In 2001 I used to have a black winter hat with the Arabic script for “Allah” on the front.  I wore this everywhere I went throughout the winter because Michigan winters get very cold.  I also thought it looked cool although the hat was eventually stolen from me but that is neither here nor there.

There was this gas station around the corner from me where I used to go to buy cigarettes (yes I smoke but pretty much only when I’m drinking which means I only smoke when I shoot pool.  I’ve met two people in real life who I only knew from the blog and they both commented that they didn’t think I was the type to smoke).  Anyway, this gas station was owned and operated by these people from India and since Indians and Muslims don’t get along, the lady behind the bulletproof counter was a little taken aback by my Arabic scripted hat. 

Upon selling me the cigarettes, she asked “What does your hat say?” I smiled and replied “It says God in Arabic.”  She says “No.  I think it says Bin Laden.  Does it say Bin Laden?” I laughed and said “No, it says God.”  She smiled and said “Hmmm.  I think it says Taliban.  Here are your cigarettes Mr. Taliban man.”  Every time I came back to buy cigarettes she would always smile and call me Taliban Man.  Sometimes she would ask how Bin Laden was doing and I’d tell her he’s doing ok, I just have to take him these cigarettes.  All in all the situation was friendly and I thought it was funny.

THEN one day Monique (who shall not be named.   Wait. . . .  damn!) prevailed upon me to take us to Leroy’s because the people at our usual bar (The Point After) were becoming too gossipy and so it was her idea that we should go someplace where nobody knew us.  So we went to Leroy’s and, as I wanted to get in on a pool game, I was told that I had to write my name on the chalkboard.  I did not want to write my actual name because it was my policy then to try and be incognito (perhaps this was the beginning of my paranoia) so instead of writing my name I instead went up to the chalkboard and wrote “Taliban.”  I went back to Monique and we both had a good laugh at this although she was of the opinion that I might be stirring up trouble with the unkosher moniker.  I thought her trepidation was overblown and thoroughly unwarranted but I was soon getting an earful from one of the guys playing pool. 

“What did you write that on the board for? Do you support the Taliban? Do you agree with what they’re doing???”

Laughing, I tried to calm the guy down by telling him the story of the gas station lady and how she had jokingly applied bestowed me with the unfortunate sobriquet (although I’m quite certain I didn’t actually say “sobriquet” because I was in thug bar).  This guy would have none of it, however, and he continued with his tirade.  His body language led me to believe that the whole thing was going to result in fisticuffs although I felt no ill-will towards the guy and I simply desired to smoothe things out.

“Well I’m a patriot and a former military person and that being on the board offends me.  The Taliban is our enemy and I don’t think you should use that nickname.”

Not wanting to prolong the outrage, I reluctantly went up and erased the offending word, replacing it either with my actual initials or with the Bat-Sign.  I say reluctantly because I still thought it was funny but I didn’t want funny at the cost of inciting a public brawl.  Everything was chill for about the next fifteen minutes.  The guy in question left the bar and after I lost and had to put my name up again, since the guy was gone, I went back up and again wrote “Taliban” to mark my place.  Just then he came back in and I was like oh damn.  Presumably he must have seen it but he said nothing.  Oh the humanity.

Within a few months this dude and I were playing a race to 100 series in 8-ball (which took many weeks to complete).  That guy is now one of my best friends.  It’s funny how it began with first impressions.

I don’t have time to edit this so I ask that you mentally pretend any typos aren’t there. 

Real Life

I’m still into this Dostoevsky novel.  This time I was prepared.  When I read The Brothers Karamazov (and none of them were actually black guys which I don’t understand) I started getting mixed up a few chapters in as to who was what in relation to whom because there were so many characters.  Add to that the fact that Russian names can get confusing to people who don’t speak that language and it’s a wonder I got through the book at all.  In fact I had to re-read it in order to figure out all the stuff that confused me the first time.  This time I began The Idiot with a pen and a pad of paper.  As each new character was introduced I wrote down the name, something about them, and who they were in relation to the others. 

This has resulted in a nifty little reference sheet for me to go back to when I get confused and it also alerted me to something of which I was hitherto unaware:  Dostoevsky has more characters in this one novel than the total number of people I know in real life! Not counting relatives and co-workers, do you know how many people I know on this planet? ABOUT TEN! There’s Ken, Bernard, Phelps, UNLV Jacket, Tyrone, “Layla”, Jenn, Kelley, Danny Stowell, and Monique and THAT’S IT! THAT’S ALL THE PEOPLE I KNOW!!! DOSTOEVSKY HAS MORE CHARACTERS THAN THAT IN THE PROLOGUE OF THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV!!!

That said, all that means is that the novel I write is just going to be a little less convoluted than his stories.  I can do one main plot with two subplots and a few twists along the way.  That’s all I will be able to manage without giving myself a headache.  I think there’s something to be said for having very few characters but making them so multi-layered and complex that it can have the same effect as having a lot of players. 

The funny thing is that while I care little to nothing about interpersonal interactions in the real world (I’m bored even hearing gossip about myself), I find it highly amusing to concoct interpersonal relations with my fictional characters.  I think it’s because I have the total ability to contrive situations which will open themselves up for timely one-liners, the kind that are few and far between in real life.  The key is, as Bruce Lee says about fighting, is to strive for natural unnaturalness so that the effect appears effortless. Sometimes I’m within my own mind for so long that I cease to be aware of the outside world until my stomach begins to growl.  Speaking of. . .


I’m reading Fyodor Dostoevsky’s “The Idiot”, which, while not so highly acclaimed as “The Brothers Karamazov” or “Crime and Punishment”, is still a Dostoevsky work so fuck you guys I’m gonna read it.  I’m only on like page 12 but so far this story has me drawn in.  I intend to learn from his writing style which quickly establishes the characters for the reader and then plunges them headlong into complex plots and subplots while at the same time avoiding the effect that the situation is contrived (are you listening you script writers of Three’s Company??). 

Speaking of fiction, I went and saw Disturbia the other day.  The only thing disturbing about it was the popcorn prices.  I need a good horror flick, not some feel-good ending where the serial murderer who lives next door ends up getting killed by the teenaged protagonist and none of the main characters die (except the teen’s dad and that was in a car accident in the beginning).  Hopefully you’ve already seen the movie by the time you read that.  Anyway I need to find a way to get my hands on “One Missed Call”.  It’s a Japanese scary movie about this ringtone that plays on your cellphone and then when you answer it you hear yourself talking and the next day you die and you’re of course saying what you heard yourself saying on the phone the day before.

Maybe I’ll write a screen play where the The Super Friends send the Wonder Twins back to 19th century Russia but then Gleek gets hit by a horse drawn carriage and dies and then Fyodor Dostoevsky warns them not to try anything foolish like burying Gleek in the old Indian burial ground because although things come back to life there they don’t come back quite right and then the Wonder Twins don’t listen to him so they bury him there and he comes back to life and he sucks more than he used to suck when he was alive the first time and then the network cancels The Superfriends due to poor ratings and in addition they edit the Wonder Twins out of all the previous Super Friends episodes.  That would be cool.

And people say I’m weird!


So I met Jenn which means I had to try to use social skills in real life.  God she’s beautiful and  I got the opportunity to drink beer in yet another spot.  It was great fun for me.  I was pleasantly surprised that she turned out not be a transvestite and I told her as much.  Albuqurque is an awesome place for nightlife which surprised me a lot.  I had always pictured it as this dusty Southwest town with Bugs Bunny holes all around it but that turned out not to be the case.  And to top it all off they had Shiner Beer.

Unfortunately I forgot to take my camera with me when I met Jenn but I don’t think she likes having her picture taken anyway because that’s what she told me.  I don’t like having pictures taken of myself either because all the cameras are stupid and they make me look all funny and out of shape.  Mirrors get me wrong too.  In real life I’m handsome and dapper but nothing can actually convey that correctly.  Technology is just dumb.

I’m going to be away from teh internet for large patches of time.  If you leave your name and number at the beep I’ll be sure to get back with you.  Beep!


I can’t find my cloak of invisibility.  I put it down and now I can’t see it.  It’s like it just vanished.