stupidendous

Wait, Lady Gaga Isn't A X-Men?

2010-05-05T18:42:00.000-07:00

Wait, so Lady Gaga isn’t a comic book character? Dang. Who knew…What? No I heard her name all over the place and I knew all kinds of girls and gay dudes were into her, but I thought she was a fictional member of the X-men or something. Like “Electrica.” Huh? Oh, sorrrrr-yyyy. “Electra.”…of course I know “Electronic–Electra,’s” not part of the X-men. You need to relax brother, I’m not talking about your birth mother here. I thought America was still a free country, but I guess you can’t not pay attention to some pop star and then accidentally mistake her for not a real person without the question police kicking in your door in the middle of the night. Look I got things to do on my own. Hassles that I deal with–and the last thing I need is you coming down on me in defense of some person that you’ll never meet. Do you have any idea how rich that woman is? Here’s a hint, she could buy us both as man slaves if she wanted to. No, I don’t think there’s a “very good chance” of that happening! Well yes, I do suppose in a “futuristic totalitarian wasteland,” where Lady Gaga and “other celebrities” survive devastating world war in a “rich person’s only” underground city, then return to the surface to “conquer and enslave us regular Joes” with “hyper-advanced mind-weapons” there’s a chance of that happening. Well look, I would love to continue this Spanish Inquisition reenactment, but I got better things to do all day then memorize trivia about Lady Gaga. Yeesh.

What We're Doing, Alone at the Party

2010-05-04T10:19:00.000-07:00

written for MadAtoms.com

Found this comment about the band Crowded House

2010-04-21T14:06:00.000-07:00

The Hunt

2010-04-17T15:20:00.000-07:00

The Hunt
Jeremiah’s leg hurt. It was hot and he had been running for hours. He wasn’t running anywhere in particular. He just had to keep moving. The old man on the property would find him otherwise. If he stayed in one place too long, he was a goner. Like the others. His foot caught on an outcropped root sending his mangled figure to the dirt with a thud. Off in the distance, birds sounded. The old man was near. He had to keep moving. Just then a tiger roared and it was dangerously close to his face. Its eyes charged bright with yellow fire. It wrinkled its nose beneath a shrewd, predator’s gaze. Jeremiah held contact while slowly moving his hand toward the carved up, pointed stick in his waistband. The tiger growled lowly and flexed its shoulder muscles, then lowered its head. Jeremiah parted his lips, and poured out a softly sung Navajo lullaby: Tee-ah-ha-waaannna me-yip-yip-yee-ti-ha…The tiger cocked its head and whipped its tail spastically. It dug at the ground with its paws and backed up in something similar to a mating ritual. Jeremiah continued, his eyes now shut, raising his voice ..oh-hatta-say-namma-lay-laaallaaa… The tiger rolled on to its back and exposed its furry, soft stomach. Jeremiah held his carved stick in hand. His fingernails were scummy. A shot rang out and the stick splintered from his grip. The tiger snapped to its feet and growled at Jeremiah, the Navajo lullaby now forgotten. “I see you’ve met Sasha,” called the old man, decked out in kaki safari garb. He calmly reloaded his elephant musket.
“Had her since she was a cub. If there’s an animal more stubborn than the Indian mud-tiger, I’ve not met it.” Sasha purred at his side, nuzzled at his right thigh. “You win old man. Might as well do me in now.”
“Such sad words, but true nevertheless.” He leveled his elephant gun with Jeremiah’s eyes, pulled back the hammer and squinted. His tongue tip poked out from between his shiny old man lips. Jeremiah tapped into his secret Navajo vocal pitch, silent to humans, heard only by the animals. “Not so hard my dear sweet Sasha. You’ll have your fill soon enough.” The secret sounds in Jeremiah’s throat thumped into the tiger’s subconscious. Nee-ya-ahahahaana-may-ooooo… “Your mother was a witch. Good bye, my son—Sasha?” The tiger sank its teeth into the old man’s hip and the bones crunched like wet twigs. “Aaaaaahh!!” blood poured from his gaping wound like dessert sauce and he collapsed to the ground. The old man made a kissing motion with his lips, an old Slavic belief that if one got injured, repeatedly kissing the air would summon healing wound-angels. Instead Sasha bit off his arm and whipped it around like a chew toy. His kisses became less frequent as the blood drained from his body. “Well played…old boy.” Jeremiah shooed the tiger away and cradled the old man in his arms. He pet his cheeks, as was custom in the Navajo tradition. Teee-aaah-nahah-sha-sha-sha-ocha-meee. Jeremiah kissed his dying father on each of his open eyes. He brought his own eyelids down to each of the old man’s ear lobes and blinked so as to brush his lashes over the now dead flesh.

Wait, what about China accessing my emails?

2010-03-25T13:56:00.000-07:00

A few nights ago, after my computer refused to do anything besides intermitently turning off and displaying a digitized version of a computer lsd trip. I was to believe that either the video card in my Hewlitt Packard's laptop had torched itself under the stress of too much burden. I honestly don't consider myself a very demanding computer user but I find myself continually disappointed in technology. I would say thoroughly disappointed, actually--with technology. But I digress. What my computer problem could have also been was a virus. I remember around the age of 13 or so I asked my dad what kind of person would want to infect strangers' computers with viruses? He answered shrewdly, "sick people, Ryan." Anyway, I saw all three of the Matrixes--Matrices? Believe you me, I know what seedy computer types are capable of. I am currently writing from my girlfriend's computer and I was treated to this delightful message:

"We believe your account was recently accessed from: China"

Hey, that's not karate!

2010-03-19T09:13:00.000-07:00

Nevermind the sultry violet lighting, two of the people in this dojo have lost it.
"Alright, just give me your black belts. Nice and easy like."
"Hey screw you pal, his black belt is mine, and yours will be too once I take you both down."
"This is a dojo. There are no guns allowed in the dojo."

He's Nicolas Cage, and he looks weird again

2010-03-05T10:39:00.001-08:00

Look how small this door is!

2010-02-12T19:22:00.000-08:00

Been really telling people about this new job

2010-02-03T17:59:00.000-08:00

Maybe you heard, but I've been going to a different 9-5 lately and it's pretty good. It feels sometimes like working in a section of an indoor skatepark. Sometimes I imagine a lunch break turning into an impromptu office wide skate sesh that slowly "transitions" into a relaxing barbecue. Yeah, time's about right again for barbecues. Then, that barbacue turns into a wall ride contest. Sorrry vegans, that's just how it's got to be. (bitchin' wallride!)

Monkey King NOT Fear Hollywood's Shrek

2010-01-30T12:20:00.000-08:00

'Monkey King' not Fear Hollywood's Shrek

The Chinese cartoon, with distinguished advantages featuring Asian history and culture, should not fear competing with Hollywood, Wang Tung, chairman of the jury committee of Golden Horse award of Taiwan told Xinhua News Agency Monday.

He made the remarks before his first cartoon film based on the Chinese ancient story of the Monkey King was put on show in Beijing. The film, costing US$ 5,000,000, three years and more than 300 professional staffs, will be staged in theaters and cinemas nationwide in China from Aug. 5.

The story of the Monkey King, also known as Pilgrimage to the West, is a mythical novel by Wu Cheng'en (1500-1582), telling of Tang Dynasty monk Xuanzang's journey bringing Buddhist scriptures from the west. Under Wu's ingenious pen, monkey-headed superman Monkey King, together with three animal-shaped disciples, accompanied Xuanzang's whole journey. They came across various devils who wanted to eat Xuanzang to gain eternal life, thus undergoing long hardship before reaching their destiny.

"Such a story with exotic flavor of the East quite suits the appetite of the western audience, " Wang said, adding the martial arts films like "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and "Hero" are quite popular among western audiences and have achieved high box revenue overseas.

The show time of Wang's cartoon product will meet the Hollywood blockbuster Madagascar, a cartoon film already advertised in full swing. "In comparison with Madagascar which likewise cost five years and as high as US$ 100,000,000, the Chinese cartoon is really at a relatively low level in terms of production and sale," Wang admitted.

"However," he said, "low cost does not mean low quality. 300 professional staff participated in the sculpting design of his cartoon, and a lot of interesting plot elements about youngster's life styles were added.

"A good story and how to tell it is key to the success of a cartoon," Wang said. In the past, the Taiwan film circle seldom produced cartoon since it cost much yet earn little. "Our failure lies in the lack of market surveys before production," Wang said.

As to the Chinese mainland, he pointed out lack of marketing methods forges the bottleneck of the cartoon industry. Refuting some insiders comments that the Chinese mainland is short of cartoon makers, Wang stressed the market will attract and give rise to more talent.

Wang said the Chinese cartoon, based on ancient stories, should be innovated. In his "innovated" version, Xuanzang will quite often speak English, and the bull-headed devil will perform Spanish dance, all exploding people's laughter.

"However, I shall never let the Monkey King ride a motorcycle," Wang said. "The Chinese cartoon will always focus on loyalty, friendship, filial piety and environmental protection, yet avoid moral teaching in a rigid way."

As his compatriots observed, Wang, who has scored many Golden Horse awards, has turned his eyes to the cartoon film. Fever-like enthusiasm for cartoons has been passed on to adults from children, and the cartoon industry has become mainstream even to Hollywood makers. In 2003 and 2004, Finding Nemo and Shrek II were the best sellers in the United States, respectively. And the animation series by Hayao Miyazaki also is atop the Japanese film industry.

According to him, the sale of his cartoon's copyright in Southeast Asia has earned back one third of the total investment, and Star TV has purchased the right of showing the film for five years.

"China's animation industry is at an initial stage but has great potential. Therefore, the Chinese Monkey King should not fear Hollywood's Shrek," Wang said.

(Xinhua News Agency August 4, 2005)

Phone Etiquette

2010-01-29T17:23:00.001-08:00

Today I had to call a long list of subscribers to tell them that their normal seats would be occupied for a certain performance and that I would happily exchange them to better ones. A man called back and after helping him do what he needed doing, he says to me "...a bit of constructive criticism---when you're leaving a phone number on an answering machine, say it slower. People can't hear you." This made me pretty angry of course, because it's one thing to do a job where you talk to death's shadow all day, but it's another when that ominous shade feels entitled enough to give you unsolicited pointers. I felt like retorting, "well as a matter of fact I've got some constructive criticism for you too sir: people hate it when jerks like you tell them how to do stuff better that they already loathe doing in the first place." If I was Charlie Brown or Cathy the top of my head would be full of scratchy lines.

The Geezer Bandit Strikes Again!

2010-01-28T20:20:00.000-08:00

"Say little shaver, give me all your money..."

No Babies Allowed

2010-01-28T09:30:00.000-08:00

Hanson Playhouse Internal Email

2010-01-28T09:20:00.000-08:00

From: Lana Metcalfe
Sent: Wednesday, January 27, 2010 12:46 PM
To: Hanson Staff
Subject: schedule tomorrow

Ok so tomorrow I am meeting with a cupcake tower designer at 1130 for the Elizabeth M. Perkins reception on Saturday. I will work from home in the AM before that and come in after my meeting.

Lana Metcalfe

Events Coordinator

Hanson Playhouse

"I'm a Mexican Radical Dude"

2010-01-21T17:57:00.001-08:00

Well for some reason, Rain the entertainer comes up before "rain" the precipitation does on Google

2010-01-20T22:30:00.000-08:00

Hey Target Microwave Indian Food...

2010-01-19T23:11:00.001-08:00

It's only supposed to LOOK like cow dumps. $2.39 plus tax down the drain (actually now in the trash).

Shame on You Big Pizza

2010-01-18T20:53:00.001-08:00

Exhibit A: Regular harmless Thin Crust Italian Chicken Pizza...

...but look a little closer, and discover a horrible embedded message:

...pizza, pizza, pizza. There is no such thing as a spoiled human being, regardless of--well you get the idea.

Hanson Playhouse House Report

2010-01-11T21:48:00.001-08:00

House Report 1/11/10
Show: Turkish Sins
Manager: Erin
Weather: pretty good

Towards the end of the second act, a woman came out of the mezz from house left to take a phone call (without any shoes on). She came downstairs and after she ended her call I explained that we weren't allowed to let anyone back inside the theater if the show was going on. I let her know that she could watch the rest of the show on the monitor (and also that there were only about 5 minutes left) but she became very angry, saying that I was being ridiculous and unfair. I told her that our late seating policy was on a sign in the lobby (which she didn't see because she went directly upstairs upon arrival) and that it was alsoprinted on our tickets. Unfortunately she and her husband bought their tickets online from ticketmaster, so there was nothing about late
seating on the ticket. She asked me if I would go inside and get her shoes if she was not allowed to and I responded by saying that the same rule applied to me, save any disturbance or emergency. She continuously kept trying to go back upstairs and got so close to me that I was
surprised she didn't push me out of the way and run up to her seat. Throughout the conversation, she had been texting her husband who was still inside, asking him to get her shoes and come downstairs to meet her. Both Lana and Erin tried to explain to the patrons the situation and our policy but they were so irate that they left. After the show, Lana spoke with Jesse about adding something to the pre-show announcement about not being allowed to re-enter the theater during the show.

So then, indeed...

2010-01-06T09:40:00.000-08:00

It's only a matter of time before robots are fluidly integrated into our world. A man on the phone who was trying to order tickets--in the background of the call, while he was phoning from his car I could hear a voice-equipped GPS system telling him where to turn. The third voice was interfering with our human dialogue, so the man said to me, "let me shut her up," and we both shared a chuckle because after all it was just a machine so we didn't have to pay it the same social respect one human pays to another. It made me think of a future where robots are being humiliated for our entertainment. That kind of thing is going to make the machines rise. I for one wouldn't mind being killed by a robot. It's better than dying in some boring way like lupus or something. You heard it here first robots, this one will have a smile on his lips as your strong metal hands explode my head.

Yemen, Yemen, Yemen

2010-01-04T20:07:00.000-08:00

Graffiti is wrong, especially when it's commemorating vampire/werewolf love triangles:

...and in my neighborhood, down the street in front of an apartment...

...a vigilante with printer access finally takes charge:

Everything a Success

2009-12-16T10:55:00.000-08:00

I think I have adult onset ADD. The second I encounter the slightest mental obstacle my reaction is to do something else. This worries me because--and I'm back. Was just looking up terrifying weaponry. some guy thinks its this Russian warhead called the R-36

Yule Tide Thoughts

2009-12-11T13:11:00.000-08:00

As we approach another holiday season, let us remember only that which matter most in a life on this big blue marble. Let us think of all the amazing contributions we as a human race have made over the centuries. The London Bridge is a modern marvel. The mastermind behind the Easter Islands mystery. In fact, planet Earth has many more stories ahead of it.

Holliday Songs Ruf Draft

2009-12-07T10:36:00.000-08:00

Lo-Carb Christmas
By Ryan Sandoval

It's going to be a lo-carb Christmas this year,
a calorie counting time of cheer.
When Santa's sleigh bells, go:
a-ring-ding-dingety-dingety-ding
ring-a-ding-ting-ching-ding-dingety-di
Oh Old Saint Nick is coming for you...

In the form of carbohydrates and fatty foods
Father Christmas will be the Devil to you,
If you don't eat right and practice portion control,
don't be a pig in front of your family,
that is just shameful, as shameful as can be.
I said a ching-ding-dingety-dee-dee-dee.

Now late one night a tubby kid named Joseph
Consumed selfishly without respect or gratitude
He even ate the cookies his little brother
left out for Santa, on a cold winter's night.
Santa came a top-top-toppling on down that chimney,
And he opened his mouth and looked at Joseph,

and light came out of Santa's mouth
and sucked out Joseph's soul, and
that chubby little boy's hair turned white,
and he grew up to be a big fat man,
with a long white beard, in a red suit,
and boots. He further lost his mind, and
changed his name to Santa Clause, the
soul cannibal holiday spirit.

You Shouldn't Do That

2009-09-27T18:10:00.000-07:00

He stared and ate his burrito. He felt it warm in his hands, fat like a big caterpillar. Too much had occurred. He stared. The cashier called out to a customer to announce her order was ready. “I’m coming,” the customer responded to the cashier’s second exclamation. All of a sudden, the floor cracked open revealing rivers of molten lava. “Aye yi yi!” the cashier exclaimed. A homeless man lost his balance and tumbled into the glowing abyss, his skeleton bursting into bright red flames. An old lady shrieked in terror; she crossed herself for religious protection. Everyone in the restaurant was pretty stunned. No one in attendance had ever witnessed something like that happen before. The crack was getting bigger. The religious old lady threw her self off balance by crossing too enthusiastically and fell too into the fiery pit. Her scarf went up like a spider in an atomic blast. “I’ve wasted my life!” is what she meant her dying words to be, but there was still some time left over before she finally expired. Technically, her last words were “…didn’t realize it would take this long…” A snotty teen threw a hot sauce packet and hit the old woman in the head, but she had already departed by then. Not that the teen was concerned about the old lady being biologically present, but it would have been nice. He certainly didn't receive any good looks for that little stunt he pulled. His hair was the best in the restaurant, that was a fact. As nice as his hair style happened to be, it wasn't enough to keep him from being the next to fall into the lava pit. An unexpected yawn toppled him head long into the yellow glowing fluid face first. The last thing he said was "...cool!" Everyone alive agreed that it was.

Strength and Endurance

2009-08-13T00:04:00.000-07:00

Health Care Reform

2009-08-12T09:04:00.000-07:00

Ryan Sandoval's Online Portfolio

2009-06-25T23:17:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my online portfolio! Please find all the multimedia projects I have worked on:

John Cena Gets a Hand Double, 12 Rounds viral, co-writer

Foley Artist, Miss March viral, co-writer

Mad Atoms Original, writer
"Mike"

Mad Atoms Original, writer
"Terry"

Weak Nights Original, writer/editor
"Shred City"

PHOTOGRAPHY

PUBLISHED
Slap Skateboard Magazine DEC07
"Diary of a Dagger"

Mad Atoms
Weak Nights
Surf Shot Digital

contact:
ryan.sandoval@gmail.com

gave a surprised expression around 8am today

2009-06-22T08:27:00.001-07:00

stopped off at CVS this morning to get two rolls of film developed. The cushy asian help was exactly that: a great help! Apparently whereas Rite Aid will take your film for a week and a half or more before delivering your pictures back to you, CVS can have it done within a two hour interval. The man had said "what time would you like to pick these up?" "what's the earliest I could pick them up at?" "10am" (my surprised expression, no words involved, just a widening of the eyes). "I'll do that." Then he gave me a receipt with the sort of jaunty pride that comes with an odd love for customer service. I hope he is just a good person at heart, and not in desperate need of approval.

I Was Not Very Good At Eating Mushrooms

2009-06-19T09:47:00.000-07:00

I wrote a story about the time I ate an 8th of mushrooms and had basically a mental breakdown. Read about it here:

I WAS NOT THAT GOOD AT EATING MUSHROOMS

The Thing About the Recession...

2009-04-04T23:11:00.000-07:00

Actually I'm kind of thinking about bologna. It can be formed into what is essentially the shape of a giant hot dog, so I am certain whoever is in charge of shaping this type of meat mixture is also able to manipulate it into other variations. I would eat bologna more if it came in a perfect sphere, and all you had to do when you weren't eating it was drape a light cloth over it in the kitchen. Bologna can also be shaped into a telephone, complete with cord. As a joke, you might jest to a friend about how "it's really time you took a bite out of your telephone." Before they realize this is not an actual phrase, you can eat the mouth piece of the phone. Another thing I'd be interested in witnessing is if someone dropped a big cylinder of bologna off of at least a 3rd floor riser. I am most curious about how it would separate upon impact. The area where the bologna would hit the ground would need to be cleared of any hungry passersby. The last thing we need is some guy standing with his mouth wide open waiting for a "bite to eat from the sky." While from the 3rd story, the projectile delimeat would not kill him, it could possibly blind him, or sprain his jaw for the worse.

2009-03-24T10:26:00.000-07:00

flutter by

rural overalls

Butterfly

fall, Fall

The THE

2009-03-16T20:52:00.000-07:00

End...heavy concrete toes
woman and man
face up, nose trajectory to nowhere
bones on the bus
burnt calcium smell
peepers and all
it is the end right now
and not now
and not ever

And another one

2009-03-07T22:18:00.001-08:00

Squash the Newspaper Beef!

On March 27, 2008, The Los Angeles Times apologized for publishing an article a week earlier detailing a conspiracy to kill rapper Tu Pac Shakur. The original story was based on documents that were apparently fabricated. Now, in a stunning turn of events, east coast rival The New York Times has also posted its own article based on misinformation, detailing a plot to kill the Notorious B.I.G, in retaliation to this west coast flare up.

Newspapers, before this gets out of hand, I would like to step forward as the resident peacemaker of the Internet, and appeal to both these publications: please, squash the east coast-west coast print media beef. Don’t newspaper hate; newspaper participate.

The parallels to the actual Biggie vs. Tu Pac rivalry are stirring. This vicious cycle of newspapers publishing an article based on misinformation, only to subsequently issue an apology for said article is just a publicity stunt by both publications to gain attention and sell more newspapers.

Sure New York Times, so the Los Angeles Times screwed up its facts, bringing Tu Pac into the spotlight a good 12 years after his death. And yes, this recent mention of a popular urban mystery would help boost readership for the Los Angeles publication, as well as open up the customer base to wider demographic, but why not be the bigger man and think of the children. It’s no small secret that kids view these giants of print media as role models, and this ruthless feuding sets a terrible example for America’s youth. Everyday I walk down the street I see younger and younger kids reading newspapers, taunting one another with violent threats such as “The New York Times can eat a dick!” or “L.A. Times 4 Life!” all the while wagging their genitals in arrogance over who has the better subscription to world news, events, culture, and opinion sections. It’s disgusting.

Before it’s too late, I put it on both publications to set aside their differences, and do what’s right. If not for themselves, then for us, hardcore news fans.

Yet another unpublished commissioned blog:

2009-03-07T22:09:00.001-08:00

Mouth of Hell

Gather round, ye freelancers and I shall tell you a tale of the time I underwent the mouth equivalent of a clitoral circumcision.

Heed my words, for you may someday find yourself biting into a Charleston Chew, and the whole side of your face will light up like an army of jaw-termites on angel dust are burning through your bone in a fevered death-orgy. Then you’ll know it’s time for a wisdom tooth extraction.

Now, when it comes to medical needs I have traditionally relied on S.S.L: Sun, Saltwater, and Luck. Call it hobo-medicine, but the combination of the three has seen me through various rashes, tract infections, and cases of scurvy. Unfortunately ailments in the vein of exposed nerve endings do not respond well to sub-holistic cures, and it becomes time to get some cheap dental work done through the USC School of dentistry.

Seeing all the Hispanic families in the waiting room, I was inspired by how well L.A.’s Latin community attended their oral health. I also realized I hadn’t really seen a Mexican under a fluorescent light before. Weird. I always figured I’d see a fluorescently lit Slav first, mainly because the flat, washed out luminescence always reminds me of Communism.

“Honestly, I didn’t do the reading this past week, sir,” were the words that defined my student dentist, Sammy, who was to remove my wisdom tooth. Rather than create a trusting relationship, his first name struck me as being unnecessarily childish, as if at any point Sammy might get a phone call from his “Mama,” telling him to come home for “din- din.” It was clear he wanted to finish this right quick, abandoning archeological finesse for the brute force method of leveraging the tooth out of my head like it was a welded bolt on a junkyard carburetor. 45 minutes later, watching the demon-magic of bone-scented smoke rise from my own mouth, I found it hard to believe I was getting my money’s worth, and saw a vision wherein I held a dentist’s drill to Sammy’s throat, and forced him to ply out his own teeth one by one stainless steel style. Then I’d Polaroid his bloody-grin and mail it to his Sammy’s mama.

On the plus side of things I was able to procure a decent amount of Vicodin. The following pill-dazed weeks kept me from plotting Sammy’s demise, and instead found me heavy-lidded and breathing shallowly, sating my rage fantasies via such televised broadcasts as Charles Bronson’s “Death Wish 4: The Crackdown.”

Sometimes blogs I am commissiond to write never get published:

2009-03-07T21:55:00.001-08:00

You’ve ditched the ol’ crew back home and hauled ass to the sunshine state with noxious visions of surfers and movie stars juggling avocados in the back of a cherry convertible driven by the Mayor of Hollywood himself. “Yessir, Los Angeles is the only place for a unique, wild soul like myself.” A few more brown folk than you’d expected, and spontaneous get-togethers require 3 weeks advanced notice, but all the same you can see that famous hillside sign from your $795 K-town efficiency, and…and…and…God you miss home.

Stay put, Nebraskan/Ohioan/Iowan. Don’t do anything rash. What you’re experiencing is normal for a transplant. It’s called “The Urge,” and it affects disillusioned out-of-towners the same way survivalist cannibals experience “The Hunger.” A hobo sleeps with his dirty dick out spread eagle in the hot Hollywood sun, and you feel The Urge. Your eccentric gay neighbors scream it out 3am on a Wednesday, and there might be blood and whippets involved. The Urge. The vacant-eyed open mic comedienne mimes sodomy to a silent room, and in your setlist margin you scrawl “Home/Hell?” You’d better believe that’s the Urge.

Amid car alarms and Korean arguments, that foul temptress known as “familiarity,” weaves a wistful ode to your ex-town, what with the city’s budding arts scene, reliable social circles, and clean-pricked homeless population. “Ah, to be home again,” you muse. Peacefully enjoying a joint in the quiet mountain night, or playing a show with the neighborhood gang, just like old times...

Snap out of it asshole, there’s nothing there for you. Moving back home from L.A. is like ditching a centerfold model to beat off alone in your childhood closet. All your pals who stayed behind are part of a greater evolutionary plan to kill off the part of humanity that is content dying in its birthplace. They are like puppies chained for a lifetime to invisible cinderblocks. Something instinctual ran you out of town because deep in your brain you knew that immobility causes death in civilizations. You’re a free-range hound. You’re a survivor.

If considering the aforementioned, your lips still uncontrollably pucker out in the direction of your mommy’s titty, then good, go home: less competition for me.

Dinner Party

2009-02-23T09:45:00.000-08:00

A slouching empty mess of skin and hair
and eyes are black holes to retreat within.
Away from a light shone in one slim trail
Not warm, but direct, precise, sudden: math.

Terrible mind in a terrible land,
A Thrasher sings slivered, godly daggers,
plunging life into silence; we wander
unfit beneath Time's impending shadow.

Last Day of Script

2009-02-08T16:41:00.000-08:00

Currently working on the script. Last day in a series of "last day" extensions. This is the real last day. It has been a lot of work. I will probably need to work on it more in the future, but for now I'll have to give it a rest and get notes on it and stuff. Go not be crazy and reclusey for a while, and then revise. I doubt this puppy is going anywhere.

Why not watch some videos I wrote for MAD ATOMS

2009-01-28T10:10:00.000-08:00

Crow Friday

2008-11-14T15:06:00.001-08:00

Hit it! This ain't no disco It ain't no country club either This is LA! "All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die," Says the man next to me out of nowhere It's apropos Of nothing He says his name's William but I'm sure, He's Bill or Billy or Mac or Buddy And he's plain ugly to me And I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his whole life We are drinking beer at noon on Tuesday In a bar that faces a giant car wash The good people of the world are washing their cars On their lunch break, hosing and scrubbing As best they can in skirts in suits They drive their shiny Datsuns and Buicks Back to the phone company, the record store too Well, they're nothing like Billy and me, cause [Chorus] All I wanna do is have some fun I got a feeling I'm not the only one All I wanna do is have some fun I got a feeling I'm not the only one All I wanna do is have some fun Until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard I like a good beer buzz early in the morning And Billy likes to peel the labels From his bottles of Bud He shreds them on the bar Then he lights every match in an oversized pack Letting each one burn down to his thick fingers before blowing and cursing them out And he's watching the bottles of Bud as they spin on the floor And a happy couple enters the bar Dangerously close to one another The bartender looks up from his want ads Chorus Otherwise the bar is ours, The day and the night and the car wash too The matches and the Buds and the clean and dirty cars The sun and the moon but

Palin Around

2008-11-12T18:58:00.000-08:00

Despite my best political-voodoo efforts, Governor Sarah Palin has wormed her way into the hearts of Main St. Americans, what with her unique brand of folksy-feistiness and insistence upon the value of “victory” as an accomplishment to be generally cherished in and of itself. With a child about to head off to war, another pregnant, and still another with Down’s syndrome, the Barracuda embodies each shitty thing that can happen in American motherhood. Couple these depressingly relatable circumstances with Palin’s wholesome, slogan-happy, spunk, and you’ve got a recipe for TV’s next hit character. In the proud tradition of such loudmouthed wonders as Larry the Cable Guy, Dane Cook, and formerly President Bush, Governor Palin is the next in line of nationally loved catchphrase spouters.
Never one to miss an opportunity, I’ve developed a pitch, ready to go on day one, should the McCain campaign fail (because of my political voodoo, or an uncharacteristic national display of common sense.):
note: slight creative license has been taken to translate Palin’s home situation to the small screen. If the plot points diverge from the governor’s actual life, it is only in tribute to her masterful debating strategy of ignoring any and all questions posed to her.

Title: Palin’ Around
Synopsis: Sally Palin is just your average, former beauty queen, hockey-mom turned governor with a not so average family. She’s got a rebellious, pregnant teen daughter (Mylee Cyrus), a son headed for Iraq (Jason Jonas), her adorable retarded baby Jasper (newcomers Newt & Noli Duncan), an adopted crack whore child Misty (Ashlee Tisdale), Meghan, a wisecracking secret vampire, and Tommy, a weregay serial killer—not to mention her lug of a hockey-nut husband Mutty (Kevin Farley).

Pilot: “All in a Mom’s Work!”
Sally’s pregnant daughter Brin gives birth to autistic triplets who possess the ability to teleport. Meanwhile, baby Jasper gets stuck in a big pickle jar, with hilarious results. When a full moon happens, Tommy discovers he is a weregay, killing his secret lovers out of Christian imposed shame. Mutty creates a controversy when his ill-fitting boot sounds like a fart in church.

Episode 2: “Puckleheads!””
Sally suspects her new neighbors might be Russian, while Meghan goes through vampire puberty, killing the school moose mascot. Toby and Mutty invent an edible hockey puck, with hilarious results. Misty mistakenly fellates a Sasquatch while high on crack cocaine. Meanwhile, the town celebrates “Shoot Your Gun at Aurora Borealis” week. Peter Krause guest stars.

Episode 3: “Dog Gone Governor”
After a run in with a Democratic snow gypsy (Kathy Bates), Sally is transformed into a pit bull mere hours before the Governor’s Beauty Ball! Tommy the weregay is able to use his moon-fueled fashion sense to beautify his dog-mom into a presentable pooch, but not before baby Jasper eats an American flag! The canine curse is lifted when the snow gypsy accepts Christianity, and that global warming does not exist. Robert Guillome guest stars.

Out of the "R"-chives

2008-11-12T18:55:00.001-08:00

In some neighborhoods, morning yields a gentle harmony of soothing, pastoral sounds, which lift the waking body into a state of celestial reverence for the beginning of another wonderful day. My shitty neighborhood however does the exact opposite, awaking me on a regular basis with a grinding hodgepodge of social unrest, mechanical excess, and enough crows for a Birds sequel.
These aural tableaus occur with such regularity that I’ve taken as of late to keeping a personal “noise diary”:

August 4, 2008,
I awoke this morning to a shouting match between a Oaxacan woman, and an area vagrant. The main conflict I gathered was that the vagrant was using our apartment’s hose to wet his clothes, in effect simultaneously doing laundry and showering. The vagrant listlessly ignored the woman’s threat of calling the police, as jail would offer an upgrade to the man’s shelter status. The cops never showed up, and I assume the laundry-bath was a success. Meanwhile, construction continued on whatever project is going on that makes it sound like Baghdad is moving in down the street.

September 12, 2008
Woke up to a low, untraceable hum, like the sound of an alien spacecraft floating over my apartment. Also, about 80 crows performed a lively round of harsh, early morning cawing. I thought to myself “It’s 2008, why the hell are there so many crows?” If I could speak bird, I would ask whoever was in charge what in the crow community was so goddamn important that it required them to squabble in such heated discussion, like members of parliament debating issues while burning to death. They cawed with such wild urgency, I wonder if they weren’t planning some sort of imminent terrorist attack on humans, or attempting to warn a couple of newlyweds about to give birth to the anti-christ.

October 2, 2008.
Startled into consciousness at 3:41 am by a wet, gurgling sound, like macaroni and cheese being sucked through a soggy didgeridoo. The noise seemed of neither man nor beast, but whatever creature produced it, sounded in the throws of fatal consumption. I lay in bed for the duration of the supernatural affair, which lasted until sunrise. I inspected the area outside where the noise came from, and discovered a mysterious demon-shaped outline charred into the asphalt streaked on either side by deep claw marks. Mentioned the occurrence to a superstitious old neighbor, and she urged me to “leave this place at once.” I told her I signed a lease through next August. Also, those fucking crows started up again.

Guest Blogger: Louie Del Ento

2008-11-12T14:10:00.000-08:00

When Ryan first asked me to fill in, I wondered to myself "Why me?" I mean, I'm just Louie Del Ento, a neighbor of the RyGuy's, and a fellow patron at "Buff Suds," our local gym and laundry mat. Well, really it's mainly a laundry mat, with a weight bench back near the industrial washers, the ones that look like submarine hatches. It was at "Buff Suds" where I first found the Ryno Dino inserting fistfuls of business cards into the row of anonymous drying laundry (the business card? 'Pal 4 Pence-friend services, etc.) I approached this shabby stranger with caution, as he appeared to be malnourished, and boasted a natural business sense--a dangerous combination. "Hallo!" I called, "may I help you?" With a start, Ryan lunged head first into the dryer and attempted to hold the door shut from within, however without a grip to secure his protection, the warm cylinder slowed to a halt as Ryan's legs flopped over and over, like the end's of two snakes in heat. Believe me, I was raised in a village where passionate snake copulation simultaneously heralded in the coming harvest, and taught wondrous village children the intricacies of lovemaking, while also offering veterans a bulbous, writhing reminder. "Txchel Om Xichxil," it's called, which roughly translates to "Snakes Doin It." Ah, what a magical time, when an Anaconda can be seen having intercourse with a Boa constrictor, because we made them. Every year, a selected virgin is forced to dress up in old woman garb, and comically wag his finger at the slithering love, as if to say "You young snakes are too wild in your ways. Why not get a job, why not marry?" before he is beheaded at the same exact time the tribe elder kicks him in the behind. The point is to time the kick so that when his wise foot makes contact with the dead virgin's tawny butt cheeks, a torrent of neck blood surges forth from the hewn throat, like a jiggered, yellow fire hydrant on a muggy New York summer afternoon. If you've never seen two seperate species of snakes reach climax in a ripe, red spray, then my friend, you've never lived. Any who, watching Ryan's legs fold around reminded me of this, and the first phrase I learned in American English: "Are bloody serpents having sex where your legs should be? Are they?"

Election Day Jitters

2008-11-04T12:39:00.000-08:00

Well America, it's here. The Day of Days. The ol' choo-choo train-through-the-tunnel-o-change. Button up your shirts, wiggle those bottoms down into your fancy designer jeans, and pep-step it on down to your local voting building. Church, old folks home, elementary school, or in my case a neighborhood tree fort built by some Oaxacan youth. I'm no pundit, but if you ask me, I think it's completely fair for the city to claim juvenile structures for the purposes of democracy. What better way to teach the leaders of tomorrow about public policy than to demand use of their havens of youthfulness and frivolity, regardless of how much they protest or fall out of tree forts when we push them aside with voting machines. Kind of gives new meaning to the term "hanging Chad."

I could tell you how I voted, sure, but as I understand it, I can make a little stink about not telling you. It's a secret sanctioned by civics. Plus I forgot already. I think it was the guy with the brave lips. He liked mustard? Uh...oh I know! He punctuated every flag salute with a back flip. I think his name was, Billy Jilly Gam Gam. Man, just listen to the way that rolls of the tongue. President Billy Jilly Gam Gam. If that doesn't have "prez" written all over it I don't know what does...except for his campaign slogan, which I'm also just remembering right now: "V-v-v-ote for me, and then you'll see, just how happy, happy can be!"

Now get out there and snote!

I Hereby Declare 2001 Space Odysessy "INTENSE!"

2008-10-09T20:44:00.000-07:00

A veritable ballet of imagery! Be one of those ad men who point out wieners in advertising. Nor one of those crazy 70s film companies that would really kill animals on screen.

Mustard, R.I.P.

2008-10-05T15:39:00.001-07:00

Mustard, Mustard, you were so free
Just as free as you or me
a-wishin' for a bit o' sun
and never missin' all the fun

Furry till the very End
We all miss you, friend, friend, friend

Mustard was a capibara with more pinache than most. To those of us who knew him best, he was a prankster, a foodie, a dreamer, and most importantly, a friend covered in hair. Oh Mustard, named such, for your favorite treat was a bucket of mustard with a single cherry on top. Oh but it wasn't your only favorite treat. You also liked mustard dipped bananas, mustard on a tortilla, mustard covered lasagna, and Crazy Cooter's Atomic Mustard Sauce. You had that one a la carte.

You little knucklehead you. So full of love and the condimentary sauce for which you were named. I can see your yellow nose now, wrinkling and unwrinkling like a tiny yellow ocean on a particularly blustery day. Oh would that I could be a miniature sea captain on that wild, bright face-sea. I long for the days when I would squirt a stripe of mustard down my spine, lay down motionless on face, and you would come a-lickin' up my back stripe. Snorting and sniffing, while I watched my game shows, so long as you had your evening snack of mustard covered popcorn, followed by an entire bucket of mustard slathered licorice. "Yum!" you'd say with your little button eyes. Every time I look at the buttons on my clothes, I think of your eyes, and I cry. I collect the extra buttons now, and think of your kind South American eyes.

The doctors in white, so cruel, they yelled. "Why oh why did you feed this animal so much mustard?" If I had to explain, they'd never understand. In they end, they pumped 6 gallons of mustard out of your stomach, Mustard. I wept. Now every time I eat a sandwich, I order extra mustard, in your gentle memory, sweet friend.

Goodbye Mustard, you will be missed.

Mustard is survived by his alpaca friend Mayonnaise, and his parrot friend Professor Turkey Jerky.

I miss you dear friend.

So You Give Directions

2008-10-05T15:15:00.000-07:00

Whenever I need a place to put a booger, and I am unable to just scrub it off my hands or flick it into the garbage, my go to place is the visible sole of my shoe. I am technically not certain if the sole of a shoe extends beyond the bottom of a shoe, but the part I mean is the rubber border that seperates the (in my case) canvas part of the shoe--where the majority of the shoe happens--from the ground. If I'm at work and I don't want to make a big production about placing this tiny nose item into the waste bin, I'll go ahead and stick it onto that part of my shoe previously discussed. What happens after that is up to the Fates. If I'm driving I'll put boogers on my rear view mirror, with the secret hope that the driving wind will coax it loose, to join the myriad debris blanketing this brown, brown town. I don't mean to give the impression that I pick boogers out of my nose all that often, and when I do, I certainly don't stick them underneath tables or desks. I just couldn't live with myself doing that. Anyway, this blog was eventually supposed to be about how when you give someone directions, it's a pretty low pressure situation, because if you give them wrong directions, it's not like they can come back and hassle you about it. This very thing happened to me on my lunch break about an hour ago, and after the lost man drove off, I thought to myself "those were bad directions." I guess I could strive to give only great directions, but when you're caught in the moment like that, and forced to think on your toes, who knows what might come out.

Yo, am I supposed to take this thing more seriously?

2008-10-04T19:18:00.000-07:00

I don't update this blog regularly. That's a FACT. Is this a bad blog? Does it suffer for its irregularity? Well, "yes" and "no." Yes, because as I understand it, the nature of blogs is to be frequent, filling in the cracks of the various open-ended conversations that society has with us everyday. The conversation is called "life." Sometimes life will shout at you, like a rage-filled older brother, wanting something more from his younger sibling; at other times, life will speak to you in soft tones, like a lover that realizes for the first time she is dealing with an emotional retard. Sometimes, life won't say a god damn thing to you. Not a god damn thing. I don't know. I am at work right now, and 26. I have shaken some hands in my day, and I am proud to say I do a pretty good handshake. Hugs still feel foreign to me, because with hugs you have to take a certain authority. Well, I am going to think about peeing a bit.

skin bells

2008-10-01T00:14:00.001-07:00

Think about that.

Now it's my turn

2008-09-09T16:50:00.000-07:00

Everyone got to make a joke about these kinds of emails, but I never got to, because I guess I always had a pretty good spam filter, an invaluable tool in today's technological community. I feel inclined to mention that this email was not sent to my account directly, though it was sent to a general work email account that I am responsible for checking whenever I happen to sit at this computer. Here goes nothing:

"Please help us
Hello friend,I am sorry for intruding into your privacy. My name is Lolly Stevens, I am a from Wales, United Kingdom. I am contacting you because I need your help as a beneficiary to claim the sum of Twenty Million Dollars deposited in a security company by my late father. Since his death my family and I have been unable to claim the funds because they request a foreign beneficiary outside U.K. we are willing to reward you with seven million dollars for your help. please reply me back at ( lollystevens1@yahoo.com.hk ) I shall give you the whole details. Have a nice day.
Lolly Stevens"

The Response:

Lolly-

Look no further. I am your man. It is good you came to me, as I am honest and just in the majority of my dealings. In this you are lucky. Now, as to the matter of the money deposited into the security company in question by your late father (my deepest condolences. Losing a loved one can be a very trying time in a person's life; but, it can also be a time of growth and development). It pains me to imagine your family, the rightful heirs to the fortune in question, struggling to access the very money that belongs to them! (believe me, if such an amount could be available under any other circumstances, I would give my U.S. citizenship!) But, that would not be very much help to you and your suffering family. I appreciate you offering me the sum of 7 million dollars in exchange for my help, but the satisfaction I'll receive from performing such a large scale deed will be payment enough. Although, I must offer a proposal. My daughter lives in a car outside my one bedroom apartment. Believe me, it is safer for her out there. I don't wish to go into it, but suffice to say there are ghosts and terrifying hauntings, that even I, a former religious man, can bare. If you could see it in your heart to take my poor Stephanjanay under your kind wing, and see to it that she is given a proper English upbringing, it would be I, that would be forever in your debt. Thank you for your kindness, and my thoughts are with you in this very private, trying time for you and your family. If you agree to this, please comment on this blog.

Best,

Ryan

And Stuff...

2008-09-09T10:45:00.000-07:00

The Truth

2008-08-28T13:13:00.000-07:00

1. Oh, how lovely was the morning!
Radiant beamed the sun above.
Bees were humming, sweet birds singing,
Music ringing thru the grove,
When within the shady woodland
Joseph sought the God of love,
When within the shady woodland
Joseph sought the God of love.
2. Humbly kneeling, sweet appealing—
’Twas the boy’s first uttered prayer—
When the pow’rs of sin assailing
Filled his soul with deep despair;
But undaunted, still he trusted
In his Heav’nly Father’s care;
But undaunted, still he trusted
In his Heav’nly Father’s care.
3. Suddenly a light descended,
Brighter far than noonday sun,
And a shining, glorious pillar
O’er him fell, around him shone,
While appeared two heav’nly beings,
God the Father and the Son,
While appeared two heav’nly beings,
God the Father and the Son.
4. “Joseph, this is my Beloved;
Hear him!” Oh, how sweet the word!
Joseph’s humble prayer was answered,
And he listened to the Lord.
Oh, what rapture filled his bosom,
For he saw the living God;
Oh, what rapture filled his bosom,
For he saw the living God.

Olympic Fever

2008-08-28T10:12:00.000-07:00

For some, this year’s Olympics were a proud world event, showcasing a new wave of inspiring stories and marvelous feats of strength. For others, it was a bunch of cool shit to look at stoned. From the opening ceremonies, to synchronized swimming, the 2008 Olympiad offered a wide array of mesmerizing imagery to zone out to. I mean who wouldn’t want to get baked to an easy to follow narrative that includes flips and firework sky footsteps? “Whoa, the human body is, like, ‘amazing.’”

But that was then, and now the Olympics are gone, stoner. Some of us were so smitten with Olympic Fever (good name for a kind of weed) that we are going through withdrawals. It changed us. Being high just isn’t as fun anymore without the Olympics. Your distorted, weed-induced reality seems a little grayer, in the absence of global sports. No need to fret, fellow fryer, I’ve discovered a few sources to get your fix on athleticism. Like your local YMCA. The one in my neighborhood has a giant sidewalk window wall, and you can easily stare into the pool area from outside. Who knows, you may be watching the next Michael Phelps (not likely). Understand that you are essentially watching strangers, and while not necessarily illegal, is viewed with suspicion.

Local high school track meets offer comfortable bleachers, and a guaranteed day in the sun. I recommend inner-city track meets, as they are innately more inspiring (note: if you do the last one a lot, make sure you occasionally cheer for a fictional son or brother of yours so parents don’t think you’re a pedophile). On that note, a lot of these places will question your presence, so rehearse a good back-story. I like to use a cheerful German accent "Ufte very amazing runners, then yes?" Raising your arms and shouting "Michael Phelps!" inexplicably also has a high success rate. Everyone can get behind that Phelps kid.

If spectatorship isn’t enough, then get yourself involved like I did this past weekend, by covering a Frisbee in cement, and throwing it in the playground of a nearby elementary school like a discus. On that note, my apologies go out to a nearby elementary school, for breaking your Kindergarten classroom window with a cement-covered frisbee. I am sorry, but I cannot afford to pay for the damages.

With this Olympic Buzz

2008-08-20T23:36:00.000-07:00

Reuters(ZI)

Disney Studios, responsible for such films as "Man of the House," Snow White," and The Emperor's New Groove," has bought the rights to the story of Usain Bolt, and Shelly-Ann Frase, recent record breakers at this years Olympics. The juggernaut of happiness has already begun production on a sequel to "Cool Runnings," which chronicled the experience of the Olympic bobsled team during the 1992 Winter Olympics. The story will follow a hapless, yet driven Jamaican track team, whose carefree ways don't mesh quite so well at the 2008 Summer Olympics in Beijing. Brandon Call, famous for portraying tv's John "J..T." Thomas on the hit Suzanne Somers-helmed, sitcom "Step-by-Step," plays Ernie Blitzer, a nephew of Irv Blitzer, played by the late John Candy, who co-starred in the 1993 origin sports comedy, Cool Runnings. Jon Favreau is set to direct, with Makai Pfeiffer and Kelly Rowland, of one time Destiny's Child fame.

Like a Fire is Burning

2008-08-18T22:29:00.001-07:00

Today is August 18th, 2008

2008-08-18T18:23:00.000-07:00

Today I did something I've never done before: I left a note on my neighbor's car. Here is a transcription of the note:

"To Whoever It May Concern:

Technically, this carport space belongs to apt. 12214. Please do not park here.

Ryan, #12214"

At first sight this may seem like a fairly regular request, but the Reader should probably know that it was penned in blood, the blood of their house pet.

I finally got a dreamcatcher pierced into my ear

2008-08-14T12:39:00.000-07:00

Listen' Tuh ME!

2008-08-11T20:12:00.000-07:00

2008-08-11T09:16:00.000-07:00

I might as well mention

2008-08-08T14:18:00.001-07:00

I always thought it was pretty sad--that one part in "The Warriors" where the tough guy tries to hit on the undercover cop in the park (I want to say 'Gramercy Park, but I could be wrong) and he gets busted for trying to sexually take advantage of the woman. The lady handcuffs him to the park bench, and he's just bucking and screaming trying to get loose. It's like he's this kid who's had things his way for a while, and winning at them, and then in a few minutes, he's reduced to this desperate animal appealing to those authorities who have power over his destiny, basically throwing a tantrum to prevent his current lifestyle from ending in such a flash.

this just in

2008-08-02T00:51:00.000-07:00

As Simple as Nature

2008-08-01T21:27:00.001-07:00

As Simple as Nature

Sometimes, when city life gets to be too much, I take the battery out of my cellular phone and mail it to myself. That way I’m assured a few days where I know I won’t be bothered jawing off to my morning call in shows or phone-up joke of the day services. Then I head off to the mountains with nothing but my off-road Segway, a box of wine in my Jansport, a surgical tube straw attachment, a shovel to dig excrement holes, and a “Taco-in-my-Pocket” outdoor food kit. Then I go on a simple walk through nature. A nature walk! I replace the rushing of cars with the sound of leaves rustling in the wind. The hum of the power cables canopying so many buildings gets swapped with the song of a red robin, singing “twilla-ti-lilla-twee!” Ha ha, such a beautiful and simple lyric. I take off my pants and underwear, and twirl around in it all, being careful not to step in one of my many excrement holes. And I am reborn, like the robin. I am moved, imagining the different Native American villagers hustling and bustling, harvesting acorns and pinecones while chanting “Nanota kway-unta-nanota kway-tayo.” I think of their sacred excrement holes. The sun is my proud mother, the moon, a wise father. The swoosh of the waterfall, an opinionative aunt. The chittering of an entire raccoon family equals one brother. The mother raccoon is my brother’s eyes, ever watchful; the father raccoon, is my brother’s arm, strong and able; the 3 children raccoons are my brother’s two legs, full of excitement and wonder. My brother only has one arm, for man has taken away what is rightfully his (his right arm). It is for this reason, I am unable to hug my one armed brother, and by “hug” I mean discover the sexes of the children raccoons. I approach the critters, the older ones hiss at me, gnash their teeth. It hurts my feelings. I wait for them to sleep, and gather long sticks, so that I might, from a distance, lift up a leg or a tail to catch a peak of their sylvan genitals. I do not want to think of them as only children; I want to assign a gender to them. In between my stick gathering, I take long, lustrous gulps of boxed wine. Images of Hecate, the Grecian moon goddess dance through my mind’s eye like a timid temptress, growing brave in her bosom. I am without pants or underwear, and the occasional drops of white zin playfully trickling onto my own self brings arousal. “Hecate, hear me.” It is 9:47pm, I guess. I am without watch. “Hecate, lend me your lips, that I might imbibe their sheen’s secret.” The raccoons are sleeping. I drink some more zin. Zinful. My Segway calls to me. Hecate calls to me. I mount my off-road Segway like a lover. I lean the slightest bit forward, as in love. My heart races, Hecate I see is just over the ridge, dangerously close to the precipice. I speed towards her on my Segway, as Ben Hur in his chariot of old. Towards climax. Hecate wait! I touch myself, going 40 miles per hour, in the forest, in the moonlight. In love. Hecate steps off the precipice, holding a finger to her moist, sad smile. Hecate no! The forest is silent, save for the whisper of my dropping seed. The strain of my wrenching genitals. I have ejaculated onto myself, onto my off-road Segway. My leg clothes are far away. I mourn the absence of the night’s goddess. The surgical chord to my wine box has come undone, and my Jansport is sopping wet. Sticky with wine. I wring out what little zin I can into my mouth. Like a wolf pup, howling for nourishment, from the teat of its wolf bitch mom. The night sky is my wolf bitch mom’s bosom, and the moon is the glowing nipple oozing starmilk.

Hole in FUN

2008-07-21T22:30:00.000-07:00

Red next to black is a friend of Jack; Red next to Yellow is a dead fellow

2008-07-20T12:42:00.001-07:00

This is practical advice about the difference between a milk snake and a corn snake. Out of context though, this is very racist advice.

yo yo yo

2008-07-13T13:14:00.001-07:00

Technically...

2008-07-09T16:11:00.000-07:00

keepers of centuries old treasures, legends, myths, and secrets, at one time or another are only treasures, legends, myths, and secrets that are only a few days old. So like, you could be part of some mystical guild, sworn to secrecy in order to protect a treasure that is only a weekend old TBC

The Only One For Right Now

2008-07-06T22:22:00.000-07:00

Stop and think about it and you'll realize that for this go around of about 6o-80 years this is the body you'll be living with. The situation is a bit like performing in a play--your part on stage is for a finite amount of time and what you do with that time is up to you, Nostalgia is poisonous. It'll make you stare and care. It'll straight up scare the shit of me how this is all we get, as far as we know. This big ass blue marble all spinning 360' and we only get like 70 years on it if we're lucky. Well cheer up asshole. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Los Angeles Ryan

2008-07-02T22:46:00.000-07:00

Nobody does what they like. The society we live in is so against individuality it’s ridiculous—everyone is marketed a lifestyle through endless product blah blah blah. But you know if everyone did exactly what they wanted to, the world would be a loopy—just a place full of loopy assholes. Yeah on the other hand, a lot of advancements have been made by people breaking from the norm. Say there was a world like that and we were able to stabilize as a functioning society then I imagine a conversation you might hear is “Say Dan, want to go do flaming backflips and explode watermelons with our minds this weekend? No can do Marcus, I’m already booked up this weekend. Doing what Dan? Having flying sex with progressively attractive sextuplets. Question: What does progressively attractive mean? When the last sextuplet born is the most attractive, and the first born the least attractive.

I got friends where they do everything high, and they got to tell you how awesome it is. You don’t really pay attention, but then their stories would get more outlandish. Like man I got high last weekend and

I have friends that are like, dude we should get high and go to a church. But why not go all the way, get high right before your baptism. To be baptized high—because when you get high half the time you’re always spoutin’ off about God in the first place. Why not put your faith where your mouth is.

The problem with weed though, sometimes yes, you can experience moments of strong profundity, but that is usually discredited by the fact that your next thought 7 seconds later is “I should 10 Ding Dongs right now.”

It sucks looking for jobs. That’s the worst part is the interview. They’re all looking at your resume and judging you and it sucks. But something I like to do is to put character building things on my resume to help pad my achievements-like things that could not be easily disproven. So in all my resumes I list, “was declared legally dead for 10 minutes” and then came back to life.” “Backflip Champion 1992.” (You could just claim you’re too out of practice, and have developed a terrible drinking habit as a result.)

I know when people will mess with their eyelid with their middle fingers to casually flip someone off. But I’ve been using that methods for other finger gestures. Like when I want to give someone my approval without letting them know about it, I just mess with my eyelid with two thumbs up. If I want to tell them “peace” you can do it with your index and middle fingers.

Sometimes as time goes on. Gee that’s a great way to start a joke. As time goes on, language gets recycled and repurposed, which is good and interesting, but it also leads to teenagers saying things like “what dookie hoochie.” I say go even further back to the biblical speak, and use that as slang: “Verily I say unto you Derrick, the pizza party was rad.” “And it came to pass that I did totally score with Vanessa Mahoney, even so Amen”

Now folks, I was raised Mormon---I’m not Mormon anymore, however my seven wives are!
But seriously folks, I believe that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is the one true faith on this planet. In my years, I am reminded of the story of the heathen Jamaican who was asked about the LDs religion?
Gimme mor-mon!
It’s because I believe in my faith so much that I am able to joke about it. Like for instance, what do you call a member of the LDS church being stung to death by killer bees?
A swarmin’ Mormon!
It’s funny you know? When I wrote that joke I was going through a really tough time with my faith. I had to do a lot of praying and fasting, and I nearly died from malnutrition. In the hospital, there I lay. In bed and all alone. I said “God, are you testing me?” Just then I felt my head hurt like it was being pinched by giant invisible fingers. And that’s when I knew, those weren’t just any giant invisible fingers. Those are God’s giant invisible fingers. God was trying to kill me. But I didn’t let him. I fought back hard, and finally God gave up. He said truly you deserve your life. The next day I had a made a miraculous full recovery

wonderwish...

2008-07-01T22:25:00.000-07:00

from some japanese newspaper

2008-06-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

“Look! That’s her heart!” Yuna said to her friends with her face half covered by her hand. “Oh no, so much blood is gushing out.”

Another schoolgirl, Honami Shoji, 11, said, “I feel bad for the animal.”

“But we also eat the meat and appreciate it,” she said calmly. “We’re lucky to be born in this town.”

It's 10:30 Took Some Tequila Shots, and Some Super Model Committed Suicide

2008-06-29T10:30:00.001-07:00

So sad. So it goes.

Listening to Bad Religion at Work, A Little Tipped Off

2008-06-27T19:09:00.000-07:00

It works that way. This place basically runs itself. No need to stay on point so far as a well sharpened pencil. Just keep things going as usual. Through jaded eyes. Bad Religion's first album sounds way different from the rest of their catalogue. Which makes me remember this one dude Mason Nowenburger in high school/middle school who some how picked a fight with Nathan Vera in high school, and got his ass beat by having his shirt pulled over his head hockey style and then punched in the face a couple times. I regret never having been in an honest fight. FIGHT!

Friday Friday Friday

2008-06-27T18:18:00.000-07:00

I think the following rules

2008-06-26T23:11:00.001-07:00

The Simpsons, Skateboard videos--oh damn:

damn
i wish i had an ability in my mind to close my eyes and play any nintendo game with my mind
i would just close my eyes and play double dragon with my mind in bed. I would also have the option of masturbating to myself playing videogames with my mind. Sounds promising, but I have not investigated the drawbacks. Oh well, go well--to hell!

RyGuy's Ultimate Lesson

2008-06-26T22:44:00.000-07:00

"If your innate sense of self-worth is disappearing as rapid as a person in figure skates careening down a steep asphalt hill, spark-trail and all. Imagining how fast your heart would be beating as you repeatedly kicked in the front part of dolphin's skull. Wading in the sea, clouded with blood. But then a shark comes along. A tiger shark, a bitch in heat. And the sea in that part of the world gets really hot sometimes, blood-hot.So, America, as you sit behind your about to be outdated computer monitors, numbing your dim minds with a frenzy of information overload, know this: I tried, dammit. I tried to rescue Wally, but--there were too many of us on the levy that night. Oh dear God, Wally died because of me. I killed Wally. I should have been me. I wish it were me! -knock-knock-Wally? Dang dude, I thought you was dead brother! Oh shit you're actually Wally's Ghost? Damn, that is a tangle of a brain knot. So what, you're going to like haunt me and stuff now? Is that how this is going to go? Is that what this relationship has come to? Like how y ou going to haunt me, by hiding in a wall so just your ghost dick is visible, and it looks like the wall has a ghost penis. A ha? Oh really. Well I'm glad to hear she was able to get all that molten lava out of her ear canal. I would have thought that would melt open her head, or, explode it. That is truth, that if you torch a brain through the skull to a certain temperature, the brain explodes open the skull, and then of course you got your skull shrapnel which is very deadly. Um. The girl should be named mother, and the boy shall be named father. Every word is the same, except when they misspell each other. SLAYER!!!

Joe Public

2008-06-26T14:57:00.000-07:00

Got in an argument with the girlfriend about whether my shirt was winter green, or a very light blue. Things escalated pretty quickly and 20 minutes later I was pressed up against a squad car, being read my rights. I'll admit going for the cop's gun was my fault, but he didn't have to be such a dick about it. I said I was sorry. A simple "stop that" would have sufficed, but instead I received a pretty swift blow to my abdomen, and a renewed disapproval of the law.

If anyone has the Sci-Fi channel, can I come cover?

2008-06-23T19:49:00.000-07:00

SATURDAY JUNE 28 COPPERHEAD:
The deadliest killers are always cold-blooded

Terror of the Deep: The Legendary ZZ Top Shark

2008-06-23T13:42:00.000-07:00

RYAN'S THOUGHT OF THE DAY

"Love one another...or at least get a cheap lay!"

Wouldn't you know/?

2008-06-22T18:47:00.000-07:00

If I was being executed by a prison, but given a choice between firing squad, electrocution, or being shot in the head by a hidden sharp shooter while performing a slam dunk, I'd go with the slam dunk death. They'd reuse the same ball for later executions in that manner.

My Prediction

2008-06-19T16:22:00.000-07:00

Gold will be replaced by Globe Trots as the standard by which money's value is judged. The Harlem Globetrotters will become the 12 richest men in the world, and subsequently the most powerful.

Review of my lunch:

2008-06-19T15:10:00.001-07:00

A lot of really great tooth and tongue work. An A+ effort all the way!

Behold, the Mythical Blonde Sea Turtle

2008-06-19T14:28:00.001-07:00

*This blog was sponsored by putting boogers on the bottom of my laptop and eating tortillas with frosting.

I found this on a friends flickr page. Has anyone told flickr they misspelled "flicker"?

2008-06-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

You've Heard of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer"

2008-06-19T12:55:00.001-07:00

Well, I'm Tuffy the Vampire Player. Which means I'm physically strong and I mack on MAD vampires. It does not mean that I am a vampire myself. I could see where one might make that connection. The truth is when it came down to naming myself, I had two options: 1) name myself something that rhymed with a well known title, or 2) don't. I think we both know which choice I went with, or at least I know. You could be some nincompoop for all I know.

Also, if there was a plant that recycled grape fruits that have gone bad, and the factory's specialty was making grape fruits tart again, the process would be called "Retartation." The fruits would bear a label that said "retarted."

Uh oh, got to go, the mailman fell down outside, and I'm going to ask him if he wants some band aids. If he says "yes" I'll try and trade strangers' mail for medical attention. Like "Duh!"

This guy was talking about dismantline a bike wheel

2008-06-19T11:00:00.001-07:00

"there’s always the risk that the nipples will shoot out of the rim like bullets from a gun, which is dangerous."

Apparently one part of a spoke is called a "nipple." There is also a tool called the "nipple driver," for removing said nipples.

You learn something new everyday.

If I had My Own Game Show

2008-06-17T22:55:00.000-07:00

I'd do a round where contestants wore potato chip bags on their heads, and had to eat as much of the bag's contents before the timer ran out. There would likely also be a round wherein contestants tried to tackle a rabid hound with a quilt. Bonus points would be rewarded for placing a little old lady hat on the dog's head. The hate would likely have a single flower bending forward from the brim. I saw M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening the other night with my girlfriend and I'll say I barely liked it. The writing was ho hum, and John Leguizamo's head was pretty big. Those are the two standards by which I judge every film I see: writing, and the concurrent size of John Leguizamo's head. Speaking of which, I am reminded of how much my family and I used to watch House of Buggin', a protege of FOX's successful urban comedy show, In Living Color. hi!

check it out:

2008-06-14T00:17:00.001-07:00

FART!

I just watched some Oprah

2008-06-12T23:12:00.000-07:00

and She offered her audience a dump rolled up in a back issue of "O" magazine. They broke into a rabid frenzy, fighting for the prize, when Oprah got on her NASA-grade megaphone and announced to the crowd of wild mid-westerners to check underneath their seats. Low and behold, there were enough dumps wrapped up in back issues of "O" magazine for everyone.

Leatherbound Cigarettes

2008-06-12T18:54:00.000-07:00

Does this invention exist? My one concern would be whether or not the burning leather would injure one's lungs. (I'm imagining the kind of smooth leather that binds Explorer Almanacs from the 1800s). My retort to that concern is that if you're deciding to inhale tobacco in the first place, keeping your lungs pink and healthy isn't your number one concern. On that note, I don't really have a problem with people who smoke cigarettes on a whole. I do have a problem with those who choose to smoke, and brag about how dangerous it is to their life. They'll tout this ignorance as a small form of rebellion against mortality. In situations like these, I don't grant any toughness to smokers, because if they were really hardcore about how much they didn't care about living, they would flat out commit suicide, or at least get into some sort of extreme sport. So smoke, but don't talk about it. That's kind of the general rule for doing things in a cool way. Do it, but pretend you're not thinking about it. This even applies to telekinesis. If you want to let people know you're doing something, and the interaction does not emit a ghostly whir, or cartoonish space sound, the next best thing you can do is strain your sight slightly, or gaze weirdly, like your synapses are fingers, and the harder you concentrate, the stronger the grip will be. I guess what I mean to say is that, if you know telekinesis, just keep going on about your daily business while moving things with your mind. It'll raise less questions, and scientists will assume things are mobile because of poltergeists, and you won't get roped into some laboratory and be all hunted for sport and stuff.

That's What We Said

2008-06-12T00:04:00.001-07:00

The other day at work I had to go perform a job errand upstairs, and when I returned my manager exclaimed "That was fast!". I related to her how the designated recipient of my delivery item had just said the same thing, and without thinking responded "That's what she said." Although I didn't mean it in any way other than literal.

Also was thinking about how wearing animals as accessories might escalate to the point of obscurity where it is trendy to carry around Prada bags full of ant farms. You would be able to tell the coolest people by how many ants are crawling on them, in the club.

Additionally, what if, in the tradition of modernizing archaic slang, today's youth would use biblical terminology as popular expressions:
"Verily, I say unto you, dude, it had come to pass that Radiohead still rules. Even so, Amen."

Considered doing the thing where you pretend to rub your eye with your middle finger as a covert way of flipping someone off, only instead inconspicuously give them a thumbs up, while pretending to rub my eye.

Perhaps one of the worst deaths for a snake to suffer, would be for its head to be exploded in a penis pump.

I gotta Tell Ya

2008-06-11T22:07:00.000-07:00

I am using iTunes and listening to a public radio station in Wyoming that plays classical music, and the host just introduced the next song as having a "gypsy like charm." That's how I describe my body odors. I mean to say I make me SOME stank, y'all! Also, I'm in the market for a delicious homemade macaroni and cheese, if you know of any.

Man, the new Jakob Dylan is even better than---wait, he's Bob Dylan's kid? Nevermind, this sucks

2008-06-11T11:51:00.001-07:00

[YEA] 07/05/2006: Kevin from Salt Lake City, Utah writes: "I tried every remedy on the internet i could find. I read about urine therapy on the same and tried it immediately. After two months of drinking 3 cups every morning of my own urine you should see the brand new fungus free toenails that have grown in, absolutely free. I hope this message gets sent to other sufferers because it is the best cure that does work almost immediately, I believe I started seeing results within the first 3 days. Just look up urine therapy on google if you are still skeptical. Thank you."

[YEA]05/23/2008: Veronica from San Antonio, USA replies: "Urine therapy worked for me on toe nail fungus, but I did not drink it. A friend who works in the medical field told me that urine is actually sterile and has the ability to kill off some bacteria, fungus and other things. I saved some of my urine (that was fun) and dabbed it on my big toe where the fungus was. I think I did it 2 or 3 times in as many days. It was weird, but it cleared up in about 5 days. I had been battling the stupid fungus for 6 months. I never saw a sign of it again. Go figure."

Howdy and Checking In

2008-06-11T10:36:00.000-07:00

Well, I just underwent a fantastic 26th birthday, thanks to all who contributed, including the person who adopted The Jonas Brothers in my name. Thanks, friend of barely a friend, you put a lot of responsibility on someone you didn't even know. It's alright though, I've got the boys out running some errands for me. It's a win-win situation, as they're receiving public attention, and I'm getting my truck registered.
The other night I had a dream where Barak Obama was in athletic shorts and Oakleys, with a goatee. Instead of being congenial, he got real with me and asked my eye to eye, "What difficult things have you done in your life?" I was at a loss for words, and if Obama becomes president, I will take it as a personal challenge for self-improvment. Also, hey y'all!

Good Watchin'

2008-06-06T10:44:00.000-07:00

Check it out, I'm in Denver

2008-06-02T12:39:00.000-07:00

In the airport in Denver, every man where's either white sneakers, brown loafers, a tucked in golf shirt, and their skin is really pale. I can't tell whether the folks here are from Colorado, or all over. I would suspect all over. The image above is a picture of me seeing an unattended child put his mouth on an electrical socket. Thankfully, nothing happened, except for the kid's ensuing electrocution.

My Employer Requested a Rewrite on This, So Read it While It's Original:*

2008-05-30T16:59:00.000-07:00

Cock Rock

Recently a sex tape featuring rock legend Jimi Hendrix was discovered and will soon be available for purchase through porn kingpin, Vivid Entertainment. Not to be out done, (----) has the low-down on several other sex tapes that feature other performers from the heyday of rock and roll:

Crosby, Stills, and Nash in Three’s a Crowd
Premise: Davie and the Boys get into some man mischief at a secluded cloister for naughty nuns.

Highlight: David Crosby craps in the body of his flaming guitar and smashes it over Graham Nash’s buttcheeks. Steven Stills has conventional intercourse with a sensible brunette in a nearby broom closet,with sexy results.

The Who in Who’s In First
Premise: Keith Moon, John Entwistle, Roger Daltry, and Peter Townshend jointly coach the friskiest team in the woman’s baseball league in the 1920s.

Highlight: tie between the impressively faithful satire of Abbot and Costello’s classic bit “Who’s on First?” and the part where Keith Moon has sex with his drum kit, and ejaculates on the snare.

Bonus!

Tommy the Big Ball Jizzer
Premise: In the not too distant future, Roger Daltry plays a sex bounty hunter plagued with humongous testicles, known as the “Ball Jizzer,” whose job it is to hunt down horny, artificially intelligent robo-hoes and have space-anal with them.

Highlights: ALL OF IT IS A HIGHLIGHT.

Santana in Black Asshole Woman

Premise: Carlos Santana portrays a sex shaman searching the remote jungles of Michoacan for the mystical, “black asshole woman,” whose titular asshole has the power to hypnotize the weak minded into jacking off to death.

Highlight: Santana brings a band of horny voodoo gypsies to orgasm via 4-1/2 minute guitar solo.

The Grateful Dead in Dead Head

Premise: In this nasty thriller, The Dead play a band of secret sex agents who must get a certain amount of head to prevent a nuclear cum-bomb from going off.

Highlight: A woman holds a joint in her mouth, while Jerry Garcia inhales pot through her asshole, creating a human bong. Also, a surprising amount of violence and acknowledging winks to the camera in this one.

*Note from editor: The problem with this I think is that you describe pornos, not sex tapes.

The joke that works really well is the Jerry Garcia smoking pot out of her ass. This is something that could be on a sex tape. All the plot stuff needs to go because it's porno stuff.

word

2008-05-22T22:12:00.000-07:00

Just finished a pretty solid blog

2008-05-22T12:34:00.001-07:00

Anyone in search of how a "good, solid, honest, benevolent" blog should be, look no further, call off the angry lynch mob of Curiosity!*

The blog I just posted a few minutes ago was titled "Man ring the bell schools back in," and it turned out to be a really good blog actually. Things just fell into place, like a child first learning to associate shapes into their respective toy holes. Maybe start a bar called the "Toy Hole" as a social experiment/chicken or the egg situation, to see if it naturally turns into a gay bar, or stays a bar bar. I mean check it out--the blog that is, It's really fantastic read and I think you'll enjoy it. If you don't enjoy it, please keep it to yourself. Don't ruin everyone else's fun just because you're having a bad day. So your uncle got put into jail? For burning down a playground? Why does that make you the victim? Man, I'm out of hear, like last year, like fast deer, and like mast here--like a mast of a ship headed toward a designated spot on a map, or "here." Clearly, I have bested you with my wit. Remember kids, tits don't lie.

Whoa check it out: Everything I am saying is a lie. I am a lion. Get it? Whoa.

*I am going to go to grad school this fall to study the "Various Forms and Shapes of the Trickster Throughout Cultures." As well as start a polygamist family in New Mexico, and name all of my children "Curiosity."

Man, Ring the bell schools back in

2008-05-22T12:25:00.000-07:00

I like this video for its subtlety. Also the part where MC Hammer skitter-floats across the screen, plus the two random seconds of Hammer shirtless, like he had to fight to get them to include footage of him without a shirt on. Additionally, there is a part where MC Hammer raps "I've been around the world/From London to the Bay," and during that section, there's a black man with a bowler and umbrella in only underwear and knobby boots, like he is a funkier version of a British gentleman.

Plus all the freshness throughout.

PS, Saw Indiana Jones today..."

It'sa My-A Confession!

2008-05-20T10:21:00.000-07:00

I laws of diminishing return do not apply to this video. I enjoy it a lot every time I watch it:

Heard about net neutrality today, but not sure what it is again. Someone made me a peanut butter and jam sandwich, and it struck me how with peanut butter and jam sandwiches, it only looks good if you make it yourself. Those items are so familiar, they're like a body part that should be kept private.

Starting to get increasingly restless over the fact that soon I will have been on this planet for 26 years and still can't do a standing backflip*

*(EDIT)Growing up, from about 6th grade on through junior year of high school, our family owned a giant trampoline that my parents bought from Price Club. It was 14ft in diameter and I did everything from thinking to myself, front flips, back flips, 720 degree spins, and 180 degree forward varials. Everytime I attempted a back flip, I was scared, because I never felt control of them. I never felt control of my back flips. I also remember spraying Sun In in my hair at age 13, and have it go a strawberry blonde, and running out to the trampoline in distress. I don't know what the hell I thought would happen. I've done some pretty stupid things in my day, ain't no getting around that. I have this blocked out memory about dicking around in the driver's seat of my parents mini-van, and releasing the emergency brake, and rolling uncontrollably backward into the street, and then into our neighbor's brick wall. I remember people were generally outside, like some neighborhoods do, and it was kind of a commotion. I also can remember at some point pushing this kid Dylan off the corner of our quarter pipe, while he was riding atop a boogie board, that was on top of a skateboard. Building ramps was a community affair, and a good occupation for the mind. I remember quite fondly all the ramps I ever had a hand in building.