My Dreams Kick The Crud Out of Your Dreams

June 22, 2009

BFF BBQ With BHO, Dog Fish Adoption Under The Influence of Lesbian Hipster Polygamism & The Longest Reverse Plane Crash

So yeah, Utah just keeps getting weirder and weirder. I used to dread going back but its becoming such a freak show it's almost fun. Plus, since I'm one of the only people from Utah that doesn't hate black people, I get invited to the presidential BBQ when he rolls through town. (Utahs, don't really hate blacks, I just say that because it makes them so MAD).

Anyway, I was throwing so many one liners at the BBQ I totally upstaged the President. I thought he was about ready to get pissed off but instead he just adopted me as his best buddy for the evening so if you need any presidential pardons in the near future, tweet me.

The big public park that was a few blocks from my house has turned in to a Sea World type theme park with the only difference being no SEA stuff, just fish from the local rivers and lakes. A lesbian girl from the BBQ took me on a tour because she knows some of the trainers. First place we went was to the pool where they keep all the trained fish and do the shows.

"Hey, my friend merkley wants to meet the dog fish, can you call one of them out here?"

"Call him yourself" the trainer said.

No sooner did he say that than out came swimming a fish that looked exactly like a dog. It even acted like a dog, waggin it's tail, making direct eye contact, coming up to get it's head scratched. It was pretty amazing. vegetarians are going to go straight vegan when they find out about this. The dog fish joined a big fresh water sail fish in a 20 minute choreographed routine which was absolutely amazing.

At the end, as we left, the trainer pulled me aside to sign some papers. They were custody release papers for the dog fish.

"Why am I releasing custody of the dog fish? I don't even own it."

"Well actually you do, it's a clone/hybrid of your old dog Chico and that piranha fish you left here so legally we have to get you to release it or we can't do our show that's why we invited you.

I was tempted for a second to be a dick and say no, but how lame would that have been. Plus I don't have a pool. Plus the lesbian chick was giving me a look like she'd beat the crap out of me if I didn't sign. She could've too. I signed them. Biggest gayest signature I ever did. Super loopy.

In the parking lot I caught a homeless dude trying to steal one of my hats out of the back of my Cadillac. Someone had completely smashed the fuck out of the car, ripped the whole roof and trunk open then dumped it in a huge pile of dirty snow. I don't even want to talk about it, way too depressing.

Man, I haven't even told you yet about the really freaky part of Utah yet.

Ok so the new generation of polygamists are now calling it "Polygamism" because they believe in multiple long term relationships but they don't believe in marriage. They are mostly hipster lesbian type girls and it's really just a way for them to have massive dyke orgies while maintaining a very select and exclusive stable of sperm donors so that all of the new generation of dykey hipster kids are all basically related and cool.

For some reason they really don't like gay dudes. I didn't ask.

But, they all know how much I love the gays and how my heritage goes right back to Joseph Smith's inner circle so they were way heavily recruiting me. I have never seen so much ex-Mormon lesbian vagina in my life. They were literally shoving it in my face the whole time. It wasn't as stinky as I would've imagined. I suppose it makes sense that dykes would make an effort to stay fresh considering the lack of options in the interlocking parts department. They dragged me to a hot tub party on the roof of a local dome shaped super market. I knew something was weird about that place. It's called REAM'S, no joke so of course, lots of "reaming" was done.

Yeah I'm gross, I admit it.

I would've been happy to sperm donate on a lot more of them but they really were looking at things long term. I wasn't so into that part.

Anyway, the plane ride home was a the longest plane crash in history, only there was some weird ripple in the universe that made it seem as if the whole entire world was being destroyed by the wake of our plane rather than us being destroyed by the smash of the plane against a mountain. In other words, while we were definitely crashing, it was the rest of the world that was being destroyed, not us. For the first 30 minutes It was really rather frightening watching out the window as thousands of buildings just crumbled to the ground and whole forests were blown away as we made our way past. After a while it was boring so I fell asleep.

Point is:
I need to stop drinking on planes.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught considering leaving in the typo "Moistly hipster lesbian type girls" because it's not THAT rad.
Your Least Favorite Choice for Dog Fish Clone/Hybrid
Chelsea Lately

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June 17, 2009

I Put Dog Poop on The Steering Wheel, I Didn't Steal Jay Leno's Tap Dance Shoes, & JUDGE JUDY DEF CUPPED MY BALLS!

Last night some friends and I stumbled across a cop car with it's window down and nobody in it. We were completely unable to NOT prank it. We looked around for impromptu pranking materials and spotted some little baggies of dog poop which we gently placed onto the steering wheel.

Some onlookers loved it while others wanted to kill us.

"You are going to JAIL ASSHOLES!" one lady screamed as a rep for one half of the crowd.

Meanwhile, the other half of the crowd played lookout for us.

Soon some flat-topped military types in the crowd could no longer handle the blatant disrespect for the law and began charging at me from across the street.

"Get out of there merkley, they are gonna kill you!" a lady screamed.

Although she was probably right I thought I'd stand my ground. I can really pull off the crazy vibe when I want and I have seen how small dogs scare off big dogs on the reg so I went charging towards them at twice the speed they were charging me. Their dogs were the first to respond, backing up with tails between their legs.

"MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS YOU DICKS, IT'S A FUCKING JOKE ON THE COPS!" I yelled at the men still feeling like they were gonna kick the crap outta me.


Of course I wouldn't have, that's just gross, but fat-topped cop types don't like anything that even sounds homo so they slowly backed away.

"NICE JACKET, BY THE WAY, I LOVE THE PATTERN!!!" I yelled to reinforce the threat of gay.

Once we finished dog pooping up the car, we turned on the lights and siren and waited around for the cops to return but after 30 minutes went by we all got bored and decided to bail. Plus the siren was way annoying.

What is this, American Graffiti? LAME.

We ended up at a party in one of Jay Leno's many warehouses. It wasn't a good night for him, someone had broken into his shoe collection and stolen all his faves. He looked really sad. He also looked very suspicious of me. Whatever, I'd probably be suspicious of me too but I had nothing to do with it I swear. I felt bad for him, he really was on the verge of tears and when your head is that bobbleheaded and your body is that puny, welled up tears really get cartoony looking. Cartoony like SAD cartoony. Poor guy.

Judge Judy was there. I get flirty with old ladies because it seems like the right thing to do. This time however it was NOT the right thing to do. She responded by totally grabbing my wang, not in a violent way, like in a way where she was gonna make it do stuff to her kinda way. Like in a cupping my balls kind of way. Yeah, THAT way. She was cupping my balls.


I tried to talk myself into a boner because if Judge Judy is tryin to get up on your pole you may as well. RIGHT?

Boner didn't come though, she is just too macho for me. I'll be honest, she scared me a little. Instead I gave her a ton of shit for completely giving the opposite impression of the idea that we are a nation ruled by LAW and NOT ruled by snippity, smart ass, one lining bitches who care more about being obnoxious Lady Elaines than being JUST.

Yeah, I really did give her a civics sermon, I lectured Judge Judy, even called her "JJ" the whole time. I can be pretty cool when I wanna.

You know, I really think she listened too, probably because I didn't get a boner when she was cupping my balls.


Oh yeah, I also told her the Dog Poop on Cop Steering Wheel story from earlier in the evening. She thought it was pretty funny. Apparently she hates cops. I lectured her about that too. She's fucked up.

There's no reason to HATE cops.

Point is:
Lecturing sounds nasty.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught overusing Lady Elaine to represent red faced dyke types.
Your Favorite Rotating Museum,
JJ's Old School Diaphragm

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June 15, 2009

Hehrro to Hahrryrood, My Special Movie Pants, & How to Beat The Fat Black Child

No secret that the movie business is more and more moving to China, but it's not until you go there to work on a movie that you see why.

Whole towns have been constructed purely for movie making with each proprietor trying to outdo the last. The extravagance really knows no limits and with a total lack of building codes, whatever you can imagine can be built in 24 hours.

For example I took a tour through an entire hotel built out of PVC pipe in 16 hours. It still smelled like purple glue! My tour guide was telling me how Martin Scorsesse had the whole thing built for a film that was only released in Sweden. Apparently the Swedes have so much national pride that not a single copy has been leaked abroad. Whatever, I don't even like Scorsesse, over-rated gum-flapping eyebrow generator.

Anyway, I was there making a film with a supposed up and comer film maker whose method doesn't seem like would produce the best possible results.

I asked him for my script.

"No scripts, all improv." He said.

"Ok what is the story." I asked.

"No story just life." He said.

"So is this a documentary? You want me to just be myself?"

"No, I want you to IMPROV."

"You mean you want me to write your movie for you." I didn't really say that - but I should have.

Normally I'd be interested in this sort of thing but the dude really didn't have his shit together. The pay was crap and he had plenty of other "actors" milling about trying to write his movie for him as well so I told him I needed my "special movie pants" that I left back at the hotel. Really I just wanted to explore the crazy movie sets around town.

I got a little lost on the way back to the hotel, made a wrong turn into the underbelly of a replica soccer stadium. There was a big fat black kid walking right next to me. Whenever I increased my pace, he increased his, if I slowed, he slowed too. He was a cute kid about 8 years old or so but it was still annoying. We ended up in a full on sprint down one of the longest hallways I have ever seen. Guess I'm more competitive that I like to admit. Well at least against fat black children anyway. We both pretended we weren't completely winded. His wheezing was slightly louder than mine which means I WON.

It took me hours to finally retrieve my special movie pants. On the way back I stopped to get a hot cookie at the mall. I didn't really need a hot cookie but something about my genetics causes me to sabotage anything that requires me to adhere to a schedule. FUCK YOUR SCHEDULE I WILL GET THERE WHEN I'M READY LIKE AFTER I HAVE A HOT COOKIE!

Oh yeah I got ahead of myself. Back at the hotel I ran into Rufus Wainright who always seemed like a nice enough fella for a whiney gay. We chatted for a minute. Apparently he lives there. I could see in his room that he had a big custom canopy bed made in the style of a frenchy bombay hutch, it was all inlaid veneer with gilding and such, but the weird part were the old style oil paintings in the inset curvy panels which I am told were paintings of his adolescent nephews as cherubs.

That's kinda creepy even for a homo if you ask me. HI MICHAEL JACKSON!

Anyway, when I finally returned to the set hours later nothing had really progressed. The filmmaker was doing an awful job directing anything interesting. I certainly was not in the mood to take initiative to make his film any better. I'll do my own film if I have to put forth that kind effort thanks.

Instead I just took a seat by one of my friends and I let her talk shit about one of my other friends. She was calling her fat and such, she wasn't much skinnier, but whatever, like I'm gonna get in THAT conversation.

Nobody ever said I don't lead a pretty gay lifestyle.

I never got called to be on camera which is exactly what I PRETENDED I wanted.

Point is:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught forgetting to write the last part of your stupid rigidly formatted sign off on the last blog post.
Your 8th Favorite material for a gay looking 3 piece suit,
Pink Velvet

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June 12, 2009

The Counter Top Diamond Maker, Trya's Long Awkward Hug/Sniff, & The Counter Top Ass Rootering Seminar

So a diamond is just carbon placed under extremely high pressure right? Isn't everything made out of carbon? What about making diamond out of -- oh, say, a dead pet or loved one? Seems like they could make a counter top machine that could make anything into a diamond. You know, like a toaster. I know at least three people who would like a diamond made out of a turd.

Speaking of diamonds and turds, I must go on record as having NOTHING positive to say about Tyra Banks, but certain opinions have risen to neutral in recent days.

Turns out her aunt lives in Springville Utah and is good friends with a friend of mine. Tyra keeps a room and spends a significant portion of the summer there.

Long story shot, I was invited over for for a BBQ, Tyra was there. She gave me a tour of her attic bedroom. The ceilings were so low a person of average height could not even stand upright. Tyra painted the floors all girly, and while I wasn't impressed with the design I was impressed that she did it herself. I mean you gotta give her SOME credit for sleeping in a cramped attic all summer and painting her own room right?

Anyway, as things seem to go in my life, the people I like least, like me most. This licks ass. Why do people gotta rain on my hate parade with their long awkward hugs? Yeah, you heard me right, Tyra gave me a really long, really awkward hug. She even inhaled while putting her face in my neck. YES SHE WANTED TO HAVE SEX WITH ME IN HER TINY ROOM. IMPOSSIBLE TO BELIEVE!

I didn't allow it to happen, I might have, but she had a really cute cousin there and I wanted to keep my options open. I make stupid mistakes like that ten times an hours so big deal.

Tyra also had a fake amputated leg with a seventies suede sneaker on it and she made that herself too. She gets a couple of points there. Right?

Also, did you know she is half Japanese? Well she is. Look at her bellybutton if you don't believe me.

Anyway, The whole time we were upstairs her aunt and some dude that looks like Jesse James were allowing a couple of traveling salesmen to give their pitch. They were saying all kinds of bullshit about hundreds of pounds of impacted fecal matter trying to sell everyone on some expensive counter top enema/rooter equipment. I shouted down some skeptically inspired Google search suggestions to the subjects of the pitch, but they REALLY wanted to believe the salesmen. I mean who DOESN'T want to believe you can lose 40 pounds of turd matter just by putting a hose up your butt?

Oh yeah, Tyra gave me 3 antique watches. Something tells me they are fake.

Point is:
If you're gonna be full of shit, why not sell a machine that deals with exactly THAT?

That's all for now.
Don't get caught name dropping Tyra Banks when it very well couldda been an unrelated half Japanese girl with loose stomach skin, since you really might'a been drunk at the time.

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June 10, 2009

Penguins For Sale, Dumbfounded Corporate Stiffs & The Casserole Rat

So I decided to trim my beard really short. I did a terrible job. I looked like a 1990s Kenny Loggins with cancer for a minute.

Went wandering though some souvenir shops in a really janky town up the coast. One of them had barrels and barrels of real stuffed penguins, or so I THOUGHT. Some of them were stuffed but the rest were alive. Don't ask me why they all stayed put in their boxes and barrels, I tried to coax some of them out but they were all apparently perfectly happy to be for sale to tourists. I suppose it also had something to do with the fact that they were bred right there in the souvenir shop -- you could buy them at any stage of development, from egg to old dead and stuffed.

Not such a bad life I suppose.

Anyway, I was tempted but I really don't need a penguin so I bought some 100 year old overalls straight out of the dryer. NICE.

Later I was hanging out with a bunch of corporate stiffs who behaved accordingly and quizzed me about my finances/ When I told them I haven't had a JOB since 1991 they looked sorta dumbfounded but mostly bitter and jealous. So stupid though because it's not like I was bragging. I'm just simply unemployable is all. Fake authority makes me violent.

Anyway when I got home I went into the kitchen and there was a big black rat taking a nap on the casserole I made earlier. He looked so cute all snuggled up I couldn't bear to wake him. As I went to turn the light back off, it heard me and opened one eye. Man that rat was sure comfortable because it didn't even get up to run, it just rolled over for me to scratch his belly. Truthfully, had the casserole been big enough I would have crawled right in and snuggled with that little motherfucker. CUTE!

Maybe I live in a Pixar movie.

Point is:
All authority is fake unless you've got a gun.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught trying to hang yourself with string cheese.
Your First Choice For Prom Queen,
Some Stupid Bitch

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June 02, 2009

The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer, The Lovable Gay Cop That Never Happened, & The Not So Lovable Provo Experience on Endless Repeat

I don't know why I keep moving back to Provo, it never works out and I always end up back in SF, but there always seems to be someone else convincing me to go back. This time it was an old friend from back then who has recently been living in LA and a totally lovable gay coke dealer friend of mine here in SF that lead the charge.

The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.

I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!

I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.

Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.


Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.

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I don't know why I keep moving back to Provo, it never works out and I always end up back in SF, but there always seems to be someone else convincing me to go back. This time it was an old friend from back then who has recently been living in LA and a totally lovable gay coke dealer friend of mine here in SF that lead the charge.

The Lovable Gay Coke Dealer ended up buying my old house and converted into a really janky mish mash of half constructed rooms built on top of one another all connected with a very questionable spiral staircase. They pitched me by saying they were starting up a new band of all DJs, I'd have to dress up like a Gay Cop which of course sounded like a lot of fun at the time.

I couldn't get my old room back, some other weird artist was there. Instead I was going to live in the old vault in the basement which was being vacated by a lesbian photographer pal also from SF, she is starting a business making automobile mashups and was moving to the mid west. Her flagship design is a mix between an old VW bug and a 57 chevy. It's pretty cool looking if you like that sort of thing, but it reminded me of Melrose avenue circa 1992. I think we have all had enough of that. SORRY LESBIAN PHOTOGRAPHER FRIEND!

I got all geared up to fix the weird staircase and paint in floor numbers so that I would stop walking in on my new roomies during private moments when I realized my life in San Francisco was way fucking better -- like what the fuck was I thinking. I don't wanna be the gay cop in a band of all DJs. SERIOUSLY.

Plus the two friends moved back to LA and SF respectively anyway.


Point is:
Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught throwing the baby out with the Lovable Gay Cop.
Your Favorite Lovable Gay Cop,
The Not So Lovable Gay Indian.

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June 01, 2009

The Underpants & Socks Floor Slide Party, Taze Me Not Amigos, & The Greatest Chase Story Never Told

I cleared out all the furniture in my house and shined up the floors. I had company over so I got down to my underpants and socks and started a slippery-socks slide-a-thon. I don't know why this has never made it as an actual olympic sport. Who the fuck needs SKATES when slippery socks and a shiny floor is just as fun if not more? Anyway, I had to coax them all a bit but eventually we were all in our underpants sliding around on the slippery floor. One girl had sweaty feet which doesn't work so well for slipperyness so I cut out a piece of plastic the size of the bottom of her foot as a sweat barrier. That took care of that.

We all ended up leaving the house in our underpants. I somehow lost track of the group, maybe they ditched me. I doubt it though. I started feeling a bit underdressed. I came upon one of our many mexican cowboy clothing outlets but I couldn't find the door. The only one I could see was up a ten foot ladder which I quickly scaled only to find that it wasn't a door at all. Someone below spotted me and rushed to report me as a vandal. Less than 20 second later there was a team of Mexican security guard waiting for me as I descended.

"Hey don't taze me guys. I'm just trying to find the front door to buy some pants and new socks cuz I wore mine out sliding around on my newly waxed floors with a bunch of girls in their underpants, which is why I'm in MY underpants."

They weren't believing me. I could hardly blame them. Sounded like a big lie. The truth often does.

Anyway, they were circling the wagons like I was a crazy person and before I knew it there were no fewer than 50 men and women with tazers coming after me. I'd tell you the whole long story of how I eventually escaped after beating the crap out of at least ten of them but I realize that highly suspenseful chase scenes with adventure, violence and humor around every corner are really boring so I'll spare you.

I will say that I ended up in the midwest in the snow where I hopped onto an olympic rowing team boat and they raced me to safety in a total off season blizzard.

Fun times.

Oh yeah I also rode home back to SF with a family in their homemade convertible van. I can't remember any of their names. Nice people though.

Point is:
Cadillacs will now be manufactured by the United States Government so If I seem suicidal that's why.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught copying Cuba like it's some how a good idea.
Your favorite President whose dick in your mouth is making it hard for people to understand you.
Yeah, THAT guy, HIM.

also, coming soon: LATE NIGHT FEELINGS

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April 24, 2009

The Infant Head Coach | The Wind That Took My Dog | KISS & The Old Lady Sorority

I met the head coach of The SF Giants. He had the head of an infant. I'm not being poetic here, his head was literally infant sized. His hair was baby fine, he had no facial hair and his eyes were puffy and shut. He also had no teeth.


I didn't check for a soft spot but I'd bet my dad's left nut he had one.

I saw my old dog Senator Ron "Chico" Lopez. He wasn't looking so good. He was swollen and puffy and had what appeared to be multiple stab wounds. If it wasn't for his sweet gentlemanly demeanor, I probably wouldn't have even known it was him.

I asked his new family if they could get me some blankets for him. But they said the wind would just blow them away anyway. I'm sad he moved away. He had his reasons I suppose. I was tempted to ask him to come back home but I didn't want to impinge upon his dignity by inferring that maybe he made a mistake by leaving me for greener pastures.

It was great to see him, even if he did look like a sack of death.

They were right about the wind though, a big gust came along and blew the whole family clean away, hybrid station wagon and all.

Chico seemed indifferent about it.

I left Chico and visited The Blue House which has been a sorority full of 8-15 girls for the last 50 years or so. It started out just being a group of college roommates but eventually, girls stopped moving out and they all just grew old together. It's not the same now that they are all old. They should rename it The Blue HAIR House, AM I RIGHT OR WHAT?

I bet the parties suck now.

On a side note, before the girls moved in someone was brutally murdered in one of the basement bedrooms. I, along with many others, knew about it but most of the girls didn't. I made out with a girl in The Murder Bedroom once. She didn't know the history and I didn't tell her. It was her bedroom for fucks sake. I'M NOT A CREEP YOU KNOW.

Out back by the garage were a couple of old grampa dudes that were probably some of the original visitors to The Blue House. They were listening to KISS as if it was a brand new band. I pretended that they were awesome but really it made me want to cry.

I cry about the gayest shit.

I came away from the day wanting to release my next record on vinyl.


I hate people who blather on about vinyl.

Point is:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught skipping the part where you had lots of disconnected public sex with a girl you never dreamed you'd do but what do you do when that vagina is all up in your face like that?
Your Best Way To Describe The Appearance of That Very Vagina,
Neatly Folded Cold Cuts

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April 22, 2009

The Sheriff of Bullshitsville, The Cowell/Carell Pizza Family Band, & The Questionable Goose Bumps

I saw a couple of kids breaking the law over by the dorms. Since I'm 65 years old and the Sheriff of NotMindingMyOwnBiznizzVille, I put them under citizens arrest and called the cops. I blocked them in their car and took away their keys. They didn't seem too worried and it annoyed me. After 20 minutes waiting I wondered why the fuck I even gave a shit about whatever crime it was that I had already forgotten. My pride obviously got involved because I was still acting all authoritarian and dickheaded even though they obviously weren't the slightest bit concerned.

They were having fun.

I was not.

That goes against everything I stand for and is therefore BULLSHIT.

So I made some jokes and let them go.

It had nothing to do with the fact that one of their friends came along who very well may have been the Incredible Hulk.

Then they invited me to their party.

The party was housed in a multi level Pizza shop. The bands performed behind the counters of the various kitchens. The music wasn't very good, but the pizza was. Pretty impressive when a band can make a decent pizza while playing instruments.

My next door neighbor showed up and demanded I watch the video she made of her sentencing at the courthouse. She and all her friends turned the proceedings in to a choreographed musical complete with singing, dancing and crazy blood stained costumes that I think she borrowed from my girl. They REALLY did it. Look it up on youtube. It's pretty awesome.

She only got a one year prison sentence. I don't know what her crime was, I didn't ask. It's better not to know the prison sentences of your next door neighbors.

Oh yeah, all the pizza chef/band dudes were brothers. Guess who the oldest brother was. Steve Carell from The Office. He wasn't in any of the bands, but his influence was pretty obvious. He was the business behind it all. I had a short conversation with him and he was nice and everything and not at all like his character on TV. He introduced me to Simon Cowell who apparently offered a record deal to the whole Carell Family Band. Simon Cowell was also nothing like his TV persona.

"You know I really like your show." I said.

"Really? I wouldn't have expected that. I think it's pure rubbish." He said.

"You don't think that, it's a singing competition, what's not to like?"

"You're right, it's my attitude that's pure rubbish."

Then he slapped my ass which seemed kinda gay.


finally, a comedian friend of mine came by and interrupted us, he wanted me to help him plan his "comedy schedule". I looked at his calendar where he had an entire month of jokes planned out minute by minute. I took my sleeve and erased it all.

"Don't plan things. Make jokes about the people in your audience. People like to feel included. You are funny, funnier than most, If you invent your routine on the spot using the stories of the people in your audience they will follow you like you were Jesus."

We both got goose bumps from my lame speech. I hope I didn't just wreck his career.

Point is:
Goose bumps are inadmissible in a court of law.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught not telling the part where Simon Cowell chased you across the park while throwing pizza dough balls like they were water balloons.
Your Favorite Secret Ingredient in Paula Abdul's Drink,
Fermented Turtle Jizz

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April 20, 2009

The Bashful Streaker, The Stretcher Spectacle, & The Landlord's Benevolent Ray Gun

Last night one of my fag friends dyed his hair blonde and was hell bent on going streaking through the streets to show it off. I agreed to go because streaking photos are rarely lame. However when we got out there and he was prancing about all naked and oiled up he suddenly got super shy about having any photos taken (I wasn't streaking BTW). Anyway, since he basically wrecked my fun by being bashful about the photos I decided to have some of my own fun trailer surfing which is exactly what it sounds like, when a flat bed trailer drives by, you hop on and basically risk your life acting like a complete butthole.
Gay rating: 4 out of 5 stars.

I ended up finding an old ambulance stretcher in the Mission. I did as expected and stretched out upon it. I'm somewhat visible to begin what, with the beard, sunglasses, purple suit and cowboy hat etc... but weezies, if you are really looking to be seen, a stretcher is a sure win. Don't know whether people thought I was injured or not, but they certainly did like taking photos with me. I even signed 3 boobs on 2 different people. (3 total, not 2 sets of 3 boobs.)
Spectacle rating: 4 out of 5 stars.

At one point a crazy looking black skater/homeless dude was running full tilt in my direction, I could tell that he as planning on jumping over me but at the last second he chickened out. I lambasted him for being such a pussy.
Up In My Shit rating: 3 out of 5 stars,

I also met three girls in matching sweaters. One of them gave me a plastic bag with a ray gun in it.
Precious First Gift Rating: 2 out of 5 stars. (the plastic bag still had sandwich gunk in it)

When I got home one of my tenants was parked in my driveway. I was of course a bit annoyed. When I asked them to move they gave me a ton of shit about it. I let it go because they are generally super duper nice and I could tell they were completely HAMMERED. They probably won't even remember doing it.
Saintly Landlord Rating: 5 out of 5 stars.

Point is:
I know I'll be in that number, when the taints go marching in.

Now dredg:

That's all for now,
Don't get caught leaving out the part where you promised to streak too but really had no intention of doing so.
Your Most Ideal Landlord Unless You Are Black and Afraid of Gigantic Vaginas,
Lisa Lampanelli

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April 16, 2009

The Nine Year Lunch Break, The Insubordinate Typewriter, & The Natives With The Poked Out Eyes

So I've had the same job since 1991. Not very many people can say that. People sometimes ask me how I have been able to do it. The answer is simple, I only go in once every 8 or 9 years, or really, whenever I have a panic attack and remember that I never actually officially quit.

I had the panic attack yesterday so I gathered up all my shit and went in. I always pretend like it hasn't been 8 or 9 years since I was there last. I'm always surprised that my desk was just as I left it.

Being able to convince your boss that you were just taking a long lunch for 8 or 9 years is a talent I am proud to possess.

"Hey Merk."

"Hey Boss."

"Thanks for saving my ass at corporate."

"Oh you'd do the same thing for me." What he was talking about I hadn't the slightest fucking clue but if he wants to believe I saved his ass, I ain't gonna fight him.

"I gotta get busy with all this paperwork, I'll talk to you later boss."

I went back to my desk and took out some oversized paper, crammed it in the typewriter and began typing out all the reasons why I should quit that job. I could fill a thousand rolls of toilet paper.

Do they make toilet paper dispenser slash typewriters? I want one.

I was at work all of 20 minutes when I realized it was time for another 8 or 9 year break.


I also went back to Brazil over the weekend. When I was last there I was a Mormon missionary, this time I was a long haired beardy dude hell bent on ungodly pursuits.

I could have probably chosen a better friend to pick me up at the airport. I ended up in the way way back of his little Brazilian VW station wagon for a 300 mile ride out into the jungle. I tried tweeting the whole thing but fucking SPRINT..

When we finally got out to his farm in the jungle, the natives were playing their favorite native sport. My friend would give you a long explanation with all this "native culture" this "lost culture" that, but it's basically naked football with arrows. Natives seriously don't care about being shot by arrows. They are stupid and half their eyes are poked out.


Point is:

Now dredg:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving porn to the natives and the missionaries trying to convert them.
Your Most Unmotivated Missionary to The Banshees,
Any Old Jew

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April 15, 2009

Fixing The Blind Man's Boat, The Goop on The Poop, & After Hours at The Food Court

I was fixing a blind man's boat when a big wad of goop came rolling across the deck.

"Whut thuh" I said as I motioned to a seagull.

I thought it must be old varnish or maybe even a jellyfish. I sounded the alarms:

"Uh, doods, moving goop over here..."

Nobody gave a shit. Deck goop must be common to boaters. I wouldn't know, I don't know anything about boats. I was only helping cuz the guy was blind so how would he know if I did a shitty job?

I suppose if he drowned he would know. He'd probably be better off anyway, blind people are creepy.

Maybe it was ham jelly.

OR NO, ew gross, maybe it was that blind person eye goop. BARF.

Anyway, the eye goop schlubbed around the deck like it was looking for something. Suddenly it bee-lined for the corner, eye goop can bee-line. I admit the next part sounds made up but I SWEAR ON A STACK OF BUBBLES the eye goop was headed for a pile of poop.

"The goop is getting with the poop!" I mrntioned to the others.

Of course THAT got their attention.

So we all sat around watching this big ball of eye goop have it's way with a pile of poop.

It kinda made me sad because it made me think of Anna Nicole.

Also, I have no idea who's poop it was. But I have my suspicions.


Later on I went to dinner with some friends of friends. They have an "after hours club" in the food court at The Mall. The bulk of the crowd were Mormons so when I asked for a drink I instead got well wishes and invitations to "get my crap together man". I grew up Mormon so I knew the speech and wasn't having it. Instead I turned the tables and gave a really inspirational sermon on the virtues of being wasted.

I had graphs.

There was another ex-Mormon there too. He was wearing a missionary placard with swear words on it and each time I made a killer point he'd point a laser pointer at one of the other missionaries and he'd go "pew pew pew"

Needless to say, he was an embarrassment to ex-mormons everywhere.

"Pew pew pew" was NEVER funny and certainly NOT CUTE, not even when nerd girls do it.



Point is:
Tell your own fuckin' story then.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught slipping in the term "bee lined" as a sneaky joke about the roaming eye goop of the "B" "LIND".
Your Favorite Thing Besides Blind People Eye Goop,
Deaf People Dancing

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April 14, 2009

Making Out With Big Ben, Hanging Out With Dudes Fantastic, & Working Out With Exciting Punctuation

I made out with a girl with a really round face.

It felt like I was making out with a clock.

She had some dude friends that I had to pretend to like. Before you get all indignant, you probably don't enjoy the douchey dude chit chat any more than I do. They wanted to talk about sports, I tried to talk about sports bloopers but it sounded like:

"and then the dude slipped on his butt and then the ball hit him in THE BALLS!!"

Sports bloopers are better seen than described and it doesn't quite qualify as sports talk anyway.

I bet gay dudes like sports bloopers enough to talk about them. I prefer the gays for such reasons.

Anyway, I gave it a good effort, but when they left the room and came back dressed like me I knew I was headed straight to MurderMeWithDranoFiveThousandTimes Town.

Of course I'm exaggerating, they were fine fellows. Actually, we became best friends immediately. They grew beards, put on sunglasses and we hit the TOWN Man! Was it ever FUN! Girls weren't talking to us, we were driving around in a SWEET VW bug. I bragged about the time I went all the way to New York in the back seat of a VW bug. They asked me "how many of them chicks do I bang"...





Ok, would it be rude to mention on my international blog that they both had sorta iffy skin? I think they both probably read my blog. All cool dudes with questionable skin LOVE MY BLOG!


Oh yeah, another awesome thing about hanging out with ClockFace's dude friends was that LUCKILY, my clothes were WAY TOO SMALL!! YES I AM YELLING, IT'S THAT EXCITING! I LOVE TO BE STRANGLED BY MY OUTFIT! BOA CONSTRICTOR CLOTHES ARE COOL! Oh yeah, and my shirt was a Hawaiian shirt and I LOVE Hawaiian shirts. Too bad I didn't have a parrot.

Jimmy Buffet is SOOOOOO GREAT! I wish HE was my best dude friend.





Last thing about Dude's Night Out. The one dude, not the one one, but the other one, yeah that one, guess what.

HE ONLY HAD 2 DOLLAR BILLS WITH THE FACES CUT OUT. Talk about a conversation starter.

Wow, I'm really pooped from yelling so much.

Point is:


That's all for now.
Don't get caught intentionally sports bloopering cuz it doesn't count and everybody can tell...
Your Favorite Sexual Assaulter
Marv Albert

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