Twinkle Twinkle Little 'Tube..

So it's Februaryyyyyy...what, 8? February 8, and it's 1:30 am. It's been a while since I've blogged, probably because I've been so busy what with being swamped with ignoring this blog. I've been writing in other sources though, such as the crosswords section of The Daily Sun, and signing my John Hancock on various pieces of literature (I get it, Rhianna, I "can't be close" to you again. Bitch, you didn't have to get lawyers in between!! Ahh what am I saying I still love you! Seriously, you'll get around to me soon..)

I'm still trying to decide what to do in life. When I spin the wheel should I draw a Career Card or a College card? Or should I sell it on ebay and use the money to buy Clue? I just love doing the maid by the fireplace with a candlestick!
Is he talking about a game? Meh-heh-heh!

I am also pretty convinced, at this hour, that basically there's nothing on TV except for bad softcore porn (we get it, "tits love soft jazz", now move on and get better writers you mediocre hacks), old horse races (my money's on lucky Forgotten Hasbeen!), and whatever QVC is trying to shove inside my eye sockets.. (The "Magic Bullet" is the tiny blender with HUGE posibilities- yeah if you're only serving ONE lonely person with a stomach size equal to that of a hamster! No, I'll call you back, I swear!) Also, everything and anything that isn't made by Seth MacFarlane or isn't The Venture Brothers, should immediately be canceled off that bullshit joke of a "Network". It's like Disney had a bout of diarreah, and flushed it. Then, it ended up in the depths of the dirtiest, most undesirable sewers, where, from there, it somehow took the shape of a giant brown and green human-shaped blob. Then it crept upwards, and out into the surface, near a brook in the middle of a wooded area. There, it surveyed the landscape, heard the sounds of nature, and the sounds of the streams running. A small yellow bird suddenly fluttered happily in front of it. The thing extended its palm out and the little bird rested itself on top, and looked happily at the blob, and started singing a joyous inviting tune. Suddenly, the thing crunched its hand closed, crushing the poor creature, and then stuffed it into its mouth, and ate it. Feeling a little less weak, it began walking, and walking some more, when suddenly it found itself in the presence of a deer. The deer approached it, and gave the creature a small caressing nudge with its head, then turned to eat from a patch of grass behind it. Then suddenly, as it ate, the thing opened its mouth wide, and the mouth mutated into a monster hole the same size as the deer, and as quickly as that, the deer was gone, and the thing reshaped it's face to normal looking again, and continued walking, to the edge of a cliff, where it discovered it overlooked a city. So, having fed and feeling much stronger, it shifted shapes again, to merge with the streamwater that went into a pipe and led out into that city. When it got to the end of that pipe, it found itself in the very middle of the city, right next, to a giant building. A building, that said "Cartoon Network" on it. It wasn't strong enough to have its own human body yet, so it looked for more food. That's when it saw a comicon convention nearby. IT went inside, and ate every loser virgin nerd there! By the time the massacre was over, it had acquired enough strength to shift into a more permanent and realistic human shape; that of a 20-year old college boy with a piggy nose and 300 pounds of overweight lard and turd. It went, leaving a trail of muck, slime and feces, all the way to the Cartoon Network building and said "Boy, do I have an idea for you guys, I think I should be allowed to walk around a studio, and spread shit and feces everywhere, and we should pass it off as shows! We'll call it, Adult Swim. And you'll all pay me for this, and we'll do it over and over again, for forever and ever! Aand the secretary said, "Sir, thats a terrible idea." So the thing drowned her in muck and slime and feces! Then it went upstairs, opened the room to were all the nerds were animating, and said "Listen up you DORKS, I'm the new boss now, and we're going to shit on television! And nobody, nobody, is going to stop us!
This is exactly how "Adult Swim" came to be. And this is why late night television is gutting my nerves more and more, especially since CoCo was screwed over.. sigh... David Letterman better turn up the funny and quick.
But I think for now I'm going to bed. My eyes are getting heavier than Oprah's arteries.....

Heeyy!! Look at You!!! How ARE You??? Long Time no See!!

Yes I'm back! Did you miss me? Cuz I didnt miss you. What was it four, five days? Ahh who cares. I've been too busy what with dating your sister and cheating on her with your mother. But seriously, you tell both of them you haven't seen me around okay?
So, how are you? How's school? Did you get that thing I sent you? Are you still doing your "paintings"? You really should start doing them again. I like that one with all the brown. It reminds me of that summer we spent in Paris- before I banged your sister. Don't worry though, you're still my girl. My very special girl: Blog. I'm just going through a moment, that's all. I'm discovering myself. I've taken long walks in the woods, I traveled a little more, I talked to God, I banged your sister. Oh, I've also been going to the gym! I'm a little stronger now. I know this because yesterday I lifted a whole dinner tray without throwing up from the pain! Although my liver is starting to hurt...
Hey, did you know? Michael Jackson died. Yeah, it was really sad. Everybody went to his funeral. You were there? Did you see LaToya?? Damn she's hot, isn't she! The other night, I was masturbating to naked pictures of her, but then I kinda had to stop, because I realized she looked so much like Michael, that I didn't know if this meant that I was possibly gay or not..
What? That's not an appropriate thing to say? Well, not at the funeral I guess not. Lucky I wasn't there. Where was I? I was acting in a made-for Walmart-bin, Italian movie called "Angels and Diamonds", a cheap Charlie's Angel's knock-off clone about a director who has no talent. His name is Barilla Boyardee, and he used to be an italian plumber, from the italian side of Brooklyn. In fact, he spent most of the time offset jumping on mushrooms and turtles, and avoiding barrells...
So I hope you sent my condolences to the family for me though, and I hope you also sent my cock-dolences to Mariah Carey.
Well, anyway, you look great, really. Is that a new lipstick? And did you do something with your hair? You look like, ten years younger seriously, Blog! And look at me, I'm so fat now! Jesus, you must think I'm a total cow I'm such a mess! I don't? Really? Aww, you're just saying that! Now you got me all blushing. That bump in my pants? No, it's-a..a.... it's aah, the zipper. Yeah. It's a European design. Wanna feel? Okay, maybe later then. Well, I gotta be off now, you know things to do, people to kill- haha! And-aah, I'm this way so, I'll be off now. But seriously you look good. We should get together sometime you know? You got my facebook? My Twitter? My email? My number? You wanna feel my zipper? Oh I asked you that already.
Siggghh........Ra-ta-da-la-dee-daii. Man this weather hu? Allright, this is my bus soooooyyeeeaah! Talk to you soon then. Right! Oh and remember, tell your sister you never saw me! And your mom should get herself checked. I think I got it from your sister. NAAH I'm only messin' with yah- look at your face, HAHAA! HeeeeEeeEee, is he kidding?............... NAHH I'M KIDDING, look at your face again! Priceless...... Heeeee! *Sniff*, But seriously tell her to get checkedALLRIGHTDOOR'SCLOSINGBYE!!

Z z z zzzzzz........................

Top Ten Reasons I Don't Feel Like Blogging Something:

10) Distracted by release of "Wii Sports Resort", and how much I'm going to get it tomorrow morning..

9) Kate Gosselin started dating the creative right hemisphere of my brain and now all Hell's broken loose*. (*To "Lose" something has one "O", not two; two would make it "Loose" like if you had a loose tooth. Just pretend that "lose" "lost" an "O". Not that I'm addressing anyone in particular, but if I was, I'll change the names for anonymity's sake and call him Davey. Davey Goodberg. Christ Davey, you were my RA, you were supposed to be our example)

8) The orphans that I force to labor in my factory day after day to run the machines that power my brain and feed crumbs to at night are on a "timeout". I don't tolerate crybabies.

7) My fingers have H1N1. And Aids. Which sucks for my thumb, who is already going through a very messy divorce..

6) Who reads old out-fashioned Blogs aymore when the new hot young slut about town is Twitter?

5) My dad made these spaghuetti shells, and now I feel sick. Why? The secret ingredient was Shell gasoline.

4) My keyboard has filed a restraining order due to unwanted repeated physical contact..

3) So I waited outside the office later that night with a bottle of chlorophorm and waited for my keyboard to come out. Once it did, I asfixiated it, knocked it out, dragged it to the back alley, and fucked the shit out of it and sucked the shit out of it's big round Alt keys. I sure love shit! NOW who's the judge!

2) I'm being distracted by a documentary of an apocalyptic destruction our human race could suffer in the future, on the HISTORY channel. Now I'm just confused... and nauseous... but that's from the secret recipe..

And the number one reason I Don't Feel Like Blogging Something:

1) Michael Jackson died. OJ did it.

Till La Semaine Prochaine~

  You know, say what you will about the French, but they sure do know how to run an island. Here's just a taste of what I saw just 2 minutes further up my uncles' house, at the highest point of the mountain, on a place called Lookout Point. There may be higher points on St. Barths, but I haven't seen them yet. I took these pics on my phone, just before sunset. Althought sunset has a way of creeping up on you while you're taking pictures. The other Lookout Point ("Lookout Point 2", as it's ingeniously called") can be seen just next to the higher one I'm on, (but the view's never as good as it is in this one, obviously because it's lower in elevation, and the view's blocked by the one I'm on..). I'm flying back home after this, but there's a chance I'll be back next week, just as soon as I can confirm my seven year old Satan cousin died somehow, please, Jesus..

~Au Revoir!

2 am Timeout

Last night, (Wednesday) Jimmy Fallon had what I thought was going to be a kick ass show. He had harmonica legend John Popper standing in with The Roots all night long, and after his monologue he sat down and started talking about who he had as a special guest standing in with The Roots, and he proceeded to introduce Popper. YESS. Here we go!! The only reason I'm tuning in to this crap show is because of Popper. So Jimmy, five minutes into talking with John, asks him about his harmonica (ALLRIGHT, HERE IT COMES!!!), which is when he asked him if John knows "Oh Susana". Lucky, lucky: I recorded the skit on my phone. John played "Oh Susana", the audience clapped along, and then, it was over. It was the only real single moment to that John Popper really got.

  I felt a range of emotions, of which, with this blog, I now feel I can somewhat express, and because I know that the internet is used mainly by Hollywoods biggest stars, then I know that anyone could be reading this (Brad, Tom, Arnold, Snufalufagus..), so there could be a good chance that a smaller star like Jimmy Fallon could come across this blog, and most probably may as well. So Jimmy, if you are reading this, meet me at paragraph three":

Jimmy, 

ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!! Why don't you ask Mozart to play "Chopsticks" while you're at it, bumblefuck??! Or why not ask Hendrix to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb", fucktard!! Look, I know things have been rough since SNL, what with making only one movie that no one saw and one CD that no one bought, and one suicide attempt that nobody cared to save because you're so awkward and not funny, but, just... take some time before the show to get your conversation pieces straight with famous people. We all know how the Obama's ended up laughing at your face with your weirdness during their Whitehouse BBQ cookout, because you wore a suit and tie to a summer cookout, and because you didn't know what to say to them. Take that as a hint, and learn from that mistake, so you don't end up pissing on your viewers and possible future followers by asking John harmonica Legend Popper to play kindergarten Duck, Duck, Goose music. It was such a waste of a golden opportunity. John even said he's "heard better", and I can say that I've seen better too. It makes me think that if you somehow were knocked unconscious and visited God and were allowed to ask him three questions, you'd ask Him what kind of toothbrush He uses, what His favorite videogame is, and if "Sir Meowrgan Von Catican" would be a good name for your kitten! And even God would go "Get the fuck outta here! Twit." 

   So next time Jimmy, and if there even is a next time, you ask John Popper, to play "Lone Rider", or the intro to "Run Around" or "Hook", or any other badass hamonica tune that you maybe could follow along in the back, but would show off his AWESOMENESS to a whole new crowd of young people who may not remember just how much he can rock- not "Oh babygay Susana"!! 

And do something about those bags under your eyes. You look like you've been in labor for  fourteen hours. They make me tired!

Thanks Jimmy. You can go back to "air bowling" at your audience for comedy.  

(Sigh, I'm surrounded by idiots!! I just can't believe you have such an awesome thing right in front of you, and you let it go to waste like that..) 

                           

   *On a side note, Congratulations to the Nintendo Wii for being named "Babysitter of the Year" for the second time in a row, by the Academy of Parents and Nannies Wordwide! In honor of this prestigious distiction, Nintendo of America and Japan will be left in charge of a combined 1.5 million bratty troublesome shit children that no parent wants to or can deal with at the moment.

Bump in the Night..

At night, the island of Puerto Rico is populated year round by "Eleutherodactylus coqui", or, more commonly, the "coqui", the treefrog that chirps it's native high pitch chant across all corners and nooks and crannies of the island. The loud sound is made just by the males, and can sometimes reach as high as 100 db, at a distance of 0.5 m (wikipedia). The sound serves two purposes: "CO" serves to repel other males and establish territory, while the "QUI" serves to attract females (wikipedia). Because of the sea of "Coquis" heard from 7pm to 5am every day, one would come to expect that there must be an average of 50-80 males for every 50 yards of puertorican soil. This would explain why one hears more "QUI"s at night, since the agressive overpopulation of males has caused the chanting of "CO"s, to be replaced by knife fights. These are more commonly seen in the south of Puerto Rico, and now in the north of Hawaii (!!), where coquis have also been reported to be seen living and thriving. The cause of the fights are unknown in Puerto Rico, although most suspect the blame lies on the mostly wholly negative influence of "reggueton". This is unlike Hawaii, where the cause has been proven to be caused by the stress level of the coquis, a clear end result of the annoyance brought onto them by the constant presence of fat bearded ukulele players.

In St. Barths, however there are no coquis. Hell, I don't think there are even frogs here. Instead, the nights welcome you with a brigade of very different and creepy "night children" that would make any junior scientist pee his microscope. First, at around 8, you better have all your doors and windows shut, or "they" fly in. These aren't your regular moths, these are Mothra. From right behind them , I've seen crickets leap out and onto a lamp bulb out of absolutely, uh.. nowhere! These crickets have been eating, and from the looks of them, eating well. The fuckers are half a foot tall!! Two nights ago, I could've sworn that the one trying to pick the lock on the sliding door with a hanger while smoking a cigarette. All I do know, is that they were wearing socks and Adidas. I almost asked one if he knew how Jimminy was doing, but obviously they only talk in French. And they were constantly on their cellphones all the time! I'm sorry but that's just rude, you're in the presence of company, you put your fucking cellphone away! Jump over, chirp, freak us out with your incredible ugliness, fill the room with your disgusting Malboro fog, and then if the your cellphone rings and you only if you have to take that call, then you excuse yourself, you rub your legs together twice more real quick to give us a show, you jump out, you go to private corner by a leaf, and then you take your call. Come one, who the hell kind of prime minister, Lord of the Flies big dick does your smug condescending ass think you are?? That's the one thing that just pisses the hell out of me about the wild habitat of this island. Yes, we're visitors, but you respect us a little more! It's "harmony", not harmoME". Numbnuts.

Last night I got undressed to take a bath (bom-chika-waah-wah). I turned around, on the other side of the (closed) screendoor that led to the little private patio where the shower is, a Gecko was pointing a camcorder at me. That's how big they are here. I went for the door, fucker bolted out of there. By the time I leaped out into the patio, toothbrush in hand (there was nothing else to fight it with), it was long gone. Gone like Osama bin Laden's chances of doing children's television. Now? The video's all over the internet. If you're interested you can find it in porn sites under the tags "human", "water", "showering", "big tits". I haven't showered at night since. I heard the spiders here are supposed to be so big, you could spray them with venom, and they'll point and laugh at you, and call their friends to come over so you can do it again for them. Then they'll beat the shit out of you and take your wallet and call you faggot. Which in French would be "Le fagot homosexuel", I think. So when I see them, I just say "Bonjour Monsieur araignée géante!" and walk the hell on and mind my own business.

Whatever the case, I just know that no type of ugly french bug is gonna keep me from watching Jimmy Fallon tonight (July 22nd). He's got freaking Blues Traveler on his show. And I know my hero, John Popper, is gonna be playing with The Roots all night long until the final band/musical guest portion of the show, which will be THEM, BLUES TRAVELER!! I'm SO stoked!!!

-*PS:

*The midnight winds here are intense! Everything around the night here is quiet and calm, and everyone else but me is asleep (and I think the little girl may still be watching tv in her bed). But the airfest going on out there, wowee!

Can't stop but wonder if a storm is coming.....

Son of a @#$%^#%&!!.....

I’ll never know the true nature of my six year old cousin, his intentions, or most importantly, how incredibly annoyingly and stupid he really is. He insists himself and his bullshit on you whether you like it or not. It’s almost incredible how something so small could be so powerfully nerve-wrecking, maybe to the point of having the super human ability to make a grown indiuvidual become retarded, from being so stupid. Not just that but I come to find more and more that so far, all of the children I've met to this day are plain and simply, insensitive, selfish little assholes. They want and want and want and gimmie gimmie gimmie, now, now, now, me, me, me. The boys may be even worse than the girls, which isn’t saying much; it's like saying the herpes have been worse than genital warts: they’ve both still been a bothersome annoyance that you have to put up with every day. (I dont have herpes or genital warts) I don’t even know why the people who've made them, think it's a great idea, to continue making more of them!!

There are good young mothers in the earth who are smart and conscious and know when to quit, and then there are young, dumbass mothers who just have them so they could have like a little Mattel doll of their own to play with, like if it was something fashionable to show off to their Pilates friends at Starbucks when they run out of things to say about their iPhone, Twitter and celebrity news convos. That or they crap em out cuz they swear this is going to fix the hole in their lives that Jesus and the gym couldn’t and now this is going to solve all their problems.

But then the craze passes, and the kid turns 7, and now he’s old news, so Crap Mommy bought a Yorkie and is spending all the time at Starbucks with her other young Crap Mommy Pilates friends and their Yorkies cuz that’s the new little thing that needs feeding and changing and burping, from Mattell! But now they can’t return the kid (that was sooo “yesterday"!), so what do they do? They stuff it in a room, chalkfull of Wii and Spongebob, just so the little fucker could go away and leave them alone. Alone to tend to their shopping and Kindling and ebaying and combing their purse puppies, and talking about the boobs their husbands bought 'em. And that’s where people like me get (surprise, surprise!) tangled in the middle, because when jr. sees that daddy’s always too old and busy, and mommy, well, mommys at the “spa” again, and Spongebob and Super Mario got tiring, they run out of, I guess, a role model, or something they can waste their overconsumption of sugar (that the nanny keeps letting them have) out on, and, for some reason, I’m the first thing that pops up. Shit. It’s like being the Pied Piper, but I never cared to play the fucking flute, and these mice and fucking intrusively running my last nerve ragged more and more as the days pass, every day from sunup to sunset, from the first thing when I wake up, to the last thing when I try to go to sleep! And very rarely does anyone jump in, since Spongeme is so much more convenient for these mommies and daddies. I love kids, but a week straight sunup to sunset, moonup to moon..umm, set, especially with ones that aren't even yours or mine, will completely well, make you think thoughts like this:

I think, that all the young, caring, and conscious mothers, of the western hemisphere (or at least this island- the number would be faaaarr less!), should get in a big car (I drive!), and in this car, there would be a shotgun for all of them, and we should go around the island, and find these crap mommies, and shoot them. Shoot them in the vagina! (was that too much? The voices didnt think so). This may not really do much to fix the problem, but it would sure make a lot of us feel much better.

I love my six-year old cousin, but every now and then, not every now not then. Hey, I also like going to the crapper, but if I was around the crapper all the time on a mostly daily basis, anyone would say, that that can't be a good thing, because eventually, shit is going to overflow and hit the fan!