Monday, July 27, 2009

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.

Friday, July 24, 2009

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!

Thursday, July 23, 2009

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":

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 tooIt 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.

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

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!!!

*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.....

Sunday, July 19, 2009

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!

Saturday, July 18, 2009


Looks like the rains not so stuck up after all....... 
I still think it was forced to visit by the winds.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Oui Oui..

St. Barthélemy (St. Barth for short, or St. Barts in english), is one of the four territories along the Leeward Islands in the Caribbean that comprise the French West Indies. According to Wikpedia, it lies almost 250km east of Puerto Rico (why they can't say it in miles boggles us). It is also 1/5th the size of Puerto Rico; from end to end you could car tour the island in one hour. Just one. So if your car has a DVD player and screen, you could pop in a movie and finish touring the whole place before your copy of "Superbad" finishes! As of 2006, the last time anyone gave a damn to count, its population was almost 8,400 people. It's capital is Gustavia, its cuisine is French and it's people are french first, english speaking second. I've been here before. On June 1st I came back from three days at the place, which would have made it the 15th time I've tied 100 balloons to a lawnchair to fly over to this island, which is the ideal size flight craft to land on the Leggo runway of the Barbie Dreamouse Airport/Ice Cream Shop they hold here, until, I guess, a Quizno's buys it. I've seen Walmarts bigger than this place. But anyways, as of today, I have been two days back in this island and I still can't get tired of saying this:

The French women here are very, very, breathtakingly hot.

Like, Maxim hot. I see girls that look like Megan Fox but with blonde hair over here everywhere, and they're like, serving you wine at the restaurants, working as your uncle's maid (!!), or giftwrapping your cigars in some shithole mini shopping plaza (everything's mini here, the cars, the beaches, the tits :-( ..). It would be abso-fuckin-tively fully awesome that the beaches here are topless, if there were any actual tops to fucking look at :((

There are only two absolute problems with this potential Dear Penthouse forum experience: 1) I don't speak a lick of French (unless the only thing said in this island was Un skunk LePeu! Then I'd be set), and they don't speak a lick of anything else (on some occassions, two or three english words they just barely manage to remember), and 2)

These girls are generally five-star, wicked-witch
bitches when it comes to addressing or even making any type of eye contact or acknowledgement whatsoever with people they believe are tourist, or don't speak french.

How's that for warm natives?? Condescendingly looking down at your probably biggest and only source of income like that. Jesus Christ you wouldn't get as cold a reception if you poured two buckets of icewater into your nuts! And you always get a feeling that when you come into a place, like a store or a restaurant, they want you gone. I don't feel this kind of hostility even among the Puertoricans back home who think I'm American from first sight!!

I'm spending what possibly could be a week in my uncle's over here. A funny thing about my stays here: I have never seen it rain. I know it has to rain here, because this place is not arid. It just never happens when I'm around (I sure hope it's not because the french rain here is as stuck-up as the french girls ). Instead, every day is Kodak/Hallmark picture-perfect Somewhere Over the Rainbow on ukulele, bright, happy, sunny, Care-Bears stare perfect, with barely so much as even a fully formed cloud in the sky. Sometimes I even get to the point of feeling somewhat fishy from this whole thing; I did see "The Truman Show", after all.......

I'm here on both business and pleasure. I'm on the business of getting away from stressful situations with, "dramatic associates" at home, and on the pleasure of getting free mojitos and an magically delicious drink here known as the teapunch. Just wait till I show the waitresses here my special drink, the teabag, if those bitches can muster up the downright decency to take a 5-minute break from their Napoleon complex and get off their high horses to let someone who's name doesn't include the letters "Le" or "oux", talk to them.. In fact, I think if I was to have a shot around here, I should just change my name to "Le Oux". How's that for Frenchy. "Le Oux Baggette" over and out. Follow-up coming probably tomorrow night.
Just gotta let let the Pepto finish running it's course.....

~Thank God for family, especially family with money~

Man am I bored!

If I could be any dog, I definitely wouldn't be a chihuahua. I don't think I could stomach that much Taco Bell. That and being the embarassment of the entire animal kingdom. If I could be any dog, I would be a Snoop dog. That or a cat. I already lick myself for hours at a time, and string fascinates me. Plus all I do is eat out of a bowl and sleep anyways, and I wouldn't mind being stroked by women's hands for an hour or so, I'm practically there. Also, I may or may not be partly responsible for a recent string of dead birds showing up at the front door of my mom's house on mother's day. I just didn't know what to get her, and perfume seemed so cliché. If I could be any cat, I would be a Thunder Cat. Or Tony the Tiger. He works as an assassin for the US government when he's not playing sports and eating cereal with children.


If I could be any plumber in the world, I’d be the liquid Plumber. Because, frankly, I think the Drano Plumber, is a secret meth head.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

This Just In...

I recently became aware that CNN’s darling White Knight, Anderson Cooper, is in real life, gay! This could finally put an end to the mystery of why he has to Goddamn squint his eyes all the fucking time, as it is because he’s making the best effort he can to not fart all that sperm out of his asshole. Lord knows Blitzer would be all over that live shot in a cockbeat (cockbeat= 0.4 seconds, according to the George Michael bathroomstall dictionary).

Side note: there are also reports that Jack Cafferty could be an alien.

So it begins...

Hello everyone. I guess you could say that I am finally starting, yes, a Blog. As much as I hate the thought of being a part of, (bleegh) “Blogging” I guess I have no choice, because two girls floating in a beach told me that’s what I need to do to be recognized as a writer and be able to pack my crap and move to New York. Hell, I think if I could even go to San Francisco, well, that would be nuts and gravy too! You know what else would be nuts and gravy? If anyone actually said the phrase “nuts and gravy”. I don’t care if I have “followers” or “stalkers” of my blog. The only people I care that read my stuff in the end are the ones who write the checks.
Blogging started about six years ago, and the craze burned out about 5 and a half years ago. And yet NOW, six years after it’s invention, is when I’m beginning to Blog. Six years later. How’s that for staying fresh? At this rate, come back and check me out in 2015 when I maybe finally give a shit about Twitter..