The Art of Name Dropping

As a resident of Los Angeles who has mucked my way through the sewers of the film and television industry for the last 8 years I am going to go ahead and give myself an honorary doctorate in name dropping. For the purposes of this post I am Dr. Krankiboy.

Yes, everybody name drops. It's okay. I accept that. It makes you feel cool by association and sometimes you just want to feel cool. You just do. Call it an ego boost, don't be ashamed to do it. I've seen even ludicrously famous movie stars drop sports figures names and vice-versa. But if you're going to be an effective name dropper there is a style to it. Do it right for fuck's sake. Let me give you a couple of examples.

Person #1: You want to go get something to eat?
Name dropper: I went to this great restaurant for Kate Beckinsdale's birthday.

BAD - Forced, why don't you just fellate yourself while you're at it.

Here's the Good Version

Person#1: You want to go get something to eat?
Name dropper: Yeah, how about Italian?
Person#1: Is there a good Italian place around here?
Name dropper: I went to one near here for a birthday party. I was really good. Fun party.
Person # 1: Who's birthday was it?
Name dropper: Umm... I think it was Kate's birthday.
Person #1: Kate Beckinsdale? You went to her birthday party?
Name dropper: We just have a mutual friend.

Well dropped - Give some details and make them do the digging. Then you get to drop the name you wanted to drop so badly and they end up looking like the starstruck idiot and you're Captain Hollywood A-List party person.

The rule on flat out name dropping is the more obscure the better. So don't go leaping for Tom Cruise or George Clooney right away. You'll get there.

Here is a good flat out name drop.

Dropper: Hey, you know who I saw the other day?
Person #1: Who?
Dropper: You know that guy who played the little Asian kid in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?
Person #1: Yeah, I remember him. "Indy, I love you Indy!"
Dropper: Yeah, a really nice guy. I was talking to him for a little while and then Russell Crowe came over and asked him "hey are you the the kid from the movie Goonies?" We all had a good laugh about it. I love that movie. Classic.

Subtle. You get to tell your friend you casually hung out and bonded with a big shit star and the only reason you mention it because it had to do with your the obscure actor you met.

So, please the next time you're out with somebody and their name drop lands with a loud obvious clanking sound. Go ahead and clue them in. Or better yet tell them you're a close personal friend of Dr. Krankiboy. That'll impress them. I'm as obscure as they come. And proud of it. If you have a celeb and you're dying to drop their name. I can help. I don't make housecalls but I can do a brief consultation. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm running late for my dinner date with Tom Hanks, Jodie Foster, and Steven Spielberg.

Photo-Auto-Biography (Chapter 1)

CHAPTER ONE
Where Did I Come From?



Hi, I'm Krankiboy and I am wearing my cyberspace suit. I invite you to suit up and join me on a pictorial journey through the bizarre events that I refer to as my life. This is all true. Strange, baffling, narcissistic and meandering, but all true.


I grew up like most kids. Except I didn't have a father or an octopus sibling. Not everyone is so lucky to have those things in their life.



This is me. I was born in San Francisco, California. Now I live in Los Angeles and I own a car. Cars can go much faster than tricycles. I wish there were no such things as cars. I wish we'd all kept our bikes and big wheels.


My mom was a hippie chick and made me wear red jelly sandals. At Easter time, while all the other kids got milk chocolates and fantastic candy, my mom tried to get me to eat a carob Easter Bunny. I don't think that's directly related to my cranky nature, but I don't see how either could have helped. I am really just happy that I wasn't born a girl. Why? Because being a girl is much more complicated than being a boy. You have so much more maintence on a wa-wa than on an wee-wee. There is an entire medical field devoted to the mysterious and complicated vagina. As a woman there are so many products you need to buy and know how to use. Some have wings and strings and tabs and applicators, and it's all too much to remember. I couldn't do it. Plus where men have soap to wash themselves. Women have astringents, and cosmetic remover and facial wash and moisturizer and pre-moisturizer. It's insane. When I go with my wife to the drug store I'l get maybe tooth paste and deodorant and she needs to go get a cart and fill it with 145 dollars worth of toiletries. It's inhumanely expensive to be a female. And of course there's too much pressure put on women to meet the warped standards of our society so they will be considered pretty and therefore worth talking to. It's horribly unfair. God forbid you're born a girl and you're not a symmetrically beautiful perfect physical specimen. Because if you aren't then there is clearly something wrong with you. And if you are attractive then everybody just assumes that you must be an air head. There's no way to win because before they've even met you people have pretty much already decided what they think about you. There are plenty of fat successful men, and plenty more ugly and successful men. So if you're an overweight, not terribly attractive yet successful woman then I greatly admire you. You're a rarity. We should all have tremendous respect for any and all obese, unattractive women because they have had to overcome so much of society's scrutiny to get where they are in life. So the next time you see a physically unappealing, heavyset woman who still has a positive attitude towards life, give her a hug, god damnit she's earned it. And, no, your grandmother doesn't count. But how did I get on such a rambly tangent about the struggle of women? All I intended to say was that I'm glad I was born a male. If I was a girl my parents (before dad split) were going to name me Fern. Imagine if I'd been born ugly, female and named Fern. You might as well just tossed me off a cliff like some innocent, Chinese baby girl. I never would have become the mildly-well adjusted person I am today if I had to start life with that much baggage. "Say, have you met my not-attractive female friend named Fern?" "No. Nor do I want to." I suppose I should just be grateful I wasn't the little boy that got saddled with the name Fern. It makes that Johnny Cash song about A Boy Named Sue look pretty sweet by comparison. Hmmm. It seems I've gotten way off track with my photo-auto-biography. I'll just add that I'm sure I'll end up having a girl and giving her a boy name. I will also strongly encourage my daughter to become a lesbian. I can't even imagine some sleazy guy (or any guy for that matter) putting his hands on my little girl. I don't even have a kid yet and I already feel that way. Maybe they'll have a pill I can take by then, they have one for everything else.

To Be Continued...

Celery & Cube # 2

The Spellbinding Adventures of Celery & Cube!
by Krankiboy, Copyright 2004


- How are things going with that girl you're dating?


~ Oh, her? I dumped her.


- Why? Yesterday you were telling me how smart and attractive she was.


~ She was. I just didn't think she sounded good on her outgoing message.


- You dodged a fat bullet there my friend.

Celery & Cube are registered trademarks and may not be republished without asking me very nicely first.

Celery & Cube! # 1

The Spellbinding Adventures of Celery & Cube!
by Krankiboy, Copyright 2004


~ Hey, Cube. You wanna go grab a beer?


- Actually, I was planning to watch the Republican National Convention. I wouldn't want the alcohol to distort any of the information in their speeches.


Celery & Cube are registered trademarks and
may not be republished without asking me very nicely first.

Altar Boys Do It On Their Knees.

I thought I'd take a short break from attacking politics so I could sharpen my pointy stick and poke at religion. Jabbity jab.

It seems that the church has been encouraging priests to take advantage of young boys. Take a close look at this stained glass picture.

Welcome to Shit's Creek! Population, You.

We're Not in Lake Wobegon Anymore

How did the Party of Lincoln and Liberty transmogrify into the party of Newt Gingrich's evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull and rigid man, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts trying to walk?

By Garrison Keillor August 26, 2004

Something has gone seriously haywire with the Republican Party. Once, it was the party of pragmatic Main Street businessmen in steel-rimmed spectacles who decried profligacy and waste, were devoted to their communities and supported the sort of prosperity that raises all ships. They were good-hearted people who vanquished the gnarlier elements of their party, the paranoid Roosevelt-haters, the flat Earthers and Prohibitionists, the antipapist antiforeigner element. The genial Eisenhower was their man, a genuine American hero of D-Day, who made it OK for reasonable people to vote Republican. He brought the Korean War to a stalemate, produced the Interstate Highway System, declined to rescue the French colonial army in Vietnam, and gave us a period of peace and prosperity, in which (oddly) American arts and letters flourished and higher education burgeoned - and there was a degree of plain decency in the country. Fifties Republicans were giants compared to today's. Richard Nixon was the last Republican leader to feel a Christian obligation toward the poor. In the years between Nixon and Newt Gingrich, the party migrated southward down the Twisting Trail of Rhetoric and sneered at the idea of public service and became the Scourge of Liberalism, the Great Crusade Against the Sixties, the Death Star of Government, a gang of pirates that diverted and fascinated the media by their sheer chutzpah, such as the misty-eyed flag-waving of Ronald Reagan who, while George McGovern flew bombers in World War II, took a pass and made training films in Long Beach. The Nixon moderate vanished like the passenger pigeon, purged by a legion of angry white men who rose to power on pure punk politics. "Bipartisanship is another term of date rape," says Grover Norquist, the Sid Vicious of the GOP. "I don't want to abolish government. I simply want to reduce it to the size where I can drag it into the bathroom and drown it in the bathtub." The boy has Oedipal problems and government is his daddy. The party of Lincoln and Liberty was transmogrified into the party of hairy-backed swamp developers and corporate shills, faith-based economists, fundamentalist bullies with Bibles, Christians of convenience, freelance racists, misanthropic frat boys, shrieking midgets of AM radio, tax cheats, nihilists in golf pants, brownshirts in pinstripes, sweatshop tycoons, hacks, fakirs, aggressive dorks, Lamborghini libertarians, people who believe Neil Armstrong's moonwalk was filmed in Roswell, New Mexico, little honkers out to diminish the rest of us, Newt's evil spawn and their Etch-A-Sketch president, a dull and rigid man suspicious of the free flow of information and of secular institutions, whose philosophy is a jumble of badly sutured body parts trying to walk. Republicans: The No.1 reason the rest of the world thinks we're deaf, dumb and dangerous. Rich ironies abound! Lies pop up like toadstools in the forest! Wild swine crowd round the public trough! Outrageous gerrymandering! Pocket lining on a massive scale! Paid lobbyists sit in committee rooms and write legislation to alleviate the suffering of billionaires! Hypocrisies shine like cat turds in the moonlight! O Mark Twain, where art thou at this hour? Arise and behold the Gilded Age reincarnated gaudier than ever, upholding great wealth as the sure sign of Divine Grace. Here in 2004, George W. Bush is running for reelection on a platform of tragedy - the single greatest failure of national defense in our history, the attacks of 9/11 in which 19 men with box cutters put this nation into a tailspin, a failure the details of which the White House fought to keep secret even as it ran the country into hock up to the hubcaps, thanks to generous tax cuts for the well-fixed, hoping to lead us into a box canyon of debt that will render government impotent, even as we engage in a war against a small country that was undertaken for the president's personal satisfaction but sold to the American public on the basis of brazen misinformation, a war whose purpose is to distract us from an enormous transfer of wealth taking place in this country, flowing upward, and the deception is working beautifully. The concentration of wealth and power in the hands of the few is the death knell of democracy. No republic in the history of humanity has survived this. The election of 2004 will say something about what happens to ours. The omens are not good. Our beloved land has been fogged with fear - fear, the greatest political strategy ever. An ominous silence, distant sirens, a drumbeat of whispered warnings and alarms to keep the public uneasy and silence the opposition. And in a time of vague fear, you can appoint bullet-brained judges, strip the bark off the Constitution, eviscerate federal regulatory agencies, bring public education to a standstill, stupefy the press, lavish gorgeous tax breaks on the rich. There is a stink drifting through this election year. It isn't the Florida recount or the Supreme Court decision. No, it's 9/11 that we keep coming back to. It wasn't the "end of innocence," or a turning point in our history, or a cosmic occurrence, it was an event, a lapse of security. And patriotism shouldn't prevent people from asking hard questions of the man who was purportedly in charge of national security at the time. Whenever I think of those New Yorkers hurrying along Park Place or getting off the No.1 Broadway local, hustling toward their office on the 90th floor, the morning paper under their arms, I think of that non-reader George W. Bush and how he hopes to exploit those people with a little economic uptick, maybe the capture of Osama, cruise to victory in November and proceed to get some serious nation-changing done in his second term. This year, as in the past, Republicans will portray us Democrats as embittered academics, desiccated Unitarians, whacked-out hippies and communards, people who talk to telephone poles, the party of the Deadheads. They will wave enormous flags and wow over and over the footage of firemen in the wreckage of the World Trade Center and bodies being carried out and they will lie about their economic policies with astonishing enthusiasm. The Union is what needs defending this year. Government of Enron and by Halliburton and for the Southern Baptists is not the same as what Lincoln spoke of. This gang of Pithecanthropus Republicanii has humbugged us to death on terrorism and tax cuts for the comfy and school prayer and flag burning and claimed the right to know what books we read and to dump their sewage upstream from the town and clear-cut the forests and gut the IRS and mark up the constitution on behalf of intolerance and promote the corporate takeover of the public airwaves and to hell with anybody who opposes them. This is a great country, and it wasn't made so by angry people. We have a sacred duty to bequeath it to our grandchildren in better shape than however we found it. We have a long way to go and we're not getting any younger. Dante said that the hottest place in Hell is reserved for those who in time of crisis remain neutral, so I have spoken my piece, and thank you, dear reader. It's a beautiful world, rain or shine, and there is more to life than winning.

Garrison Keillor is the host and writer of A Prairie Home Companion, now in its 25th year on the air. This adapted excerpt is from Keillor's new book, Homegrown Democrat

I agree with everything except the idea that Republicans are the major conspiracy theorists. I think the American Liberals Left has that honor.

Also I heard that Dubya is an avid reader of both the Marmaduke and Ziggy Sunday Comics.

It's enough to make me want to start studying Chinese.

HULK DIARY, GOOD.

Please enjoy the following link and tell Hulk that I sent you there.

HULK'S DIARY

Hulk's Diary clever. Hulk Diary funny. Hulk Diary have Hemmingway-esque quality it do. Say Hello to Hulk but no make Hulk angry. You not like Hulk when him angry.

This is the Khronicles pick for belated Blog of the Week. I'd tell HULK that he's won a Bloggy Award, but Hulk might smash the Bloggy Award or pawn it for a cheeseburger meal. I'll give it to Captain America for safe keeping. By the way, has Captain America officially endorsed a presidential candidate yet?

http://incrediblehulk.blogspot.com/

Maybe you can tell Hulk that he's won a Bloggy.

New Yorkers Love Bush

See Protestors who I'm hoping will be able to storm the Republican National Convention and take hostages. One lady screams I've got a a kid in Iraq and I want him back. Drama.

Sunsets, Squirrels, Eurotrash Dreams and Spiders

I stayed up until 6:30 in the morning last night and then began to fall asleep on the couch while resting my head on my dogs back while he watched a squirrel go about his early morning activities. My last thought as I drifted off to sleep at sunrise was that a squirrel has so much free time. He doesn't have to shower, or brush his teeth, or check his email, shave, go to work. Then I realized that I had better get up and brush my teeth because all I had done was check my email and scavenge for food. I brushed and returned to my dog pillow and I was out cold. Penny woke me at some point in the late morning. She asked me why I was sleeping on the couch and I think in my drowsy state I told her that I want to be a squirrel. Then as she lead me to bed I told her about my dream in which she and I were in a bar/club type place and two sweaty Euro-trash shirtless guys forcibly cornered her into a side room and the bouncer pulled me away. Now I can't believe that it's already late afternoon here and I'm watching through the glass as a spider sucks the innards out of a bee. Taking my cue from the animal kingdom I shall go find something to drink as well. I wonder where the hell my wife is.

A Chat with Mall Rat - Fun and Games for All

Mall Rat wrote to me and said:

"i have sent off murder marry fight fuck and gay chicken to a bunch of friends of mine and blogrolled you. Have you seen this site?
F THE VOTE - it's a pisser:

"SEXY LIBERALS OF THE U.S. UNITE in taking back the government from the sexually repressed, right-wing, zealots in control! Everyone knows liberals are hotter than conservatives - we look hotter, we dress hotter, our ideas are hotter, and we are infinitely hotter in the sack. We must use our sexual appeal to our advantage, as one more weapon in our already diverse arsenal. By stripping conservatives out of their clothes, we can also strip them of their power." i was out at our main mall, nbourke street yesterday, and there were three americans trying to find other americans to enrol to vote. this is unheard of in australia. we only have about 60 american expats - most here because they thought they were going to Austria and then got stranded.they were democrats, of course.
x
mallrat

Dear Mallrat. Thank you for "blogrolling" me. I like the term. My Murder, Marry, Fight, Fuck Post was posted by Ms. Fits. Just look for the Murder, Marry, Fight, Fuck title amongst her posts. I told Fits about it in an email and she realized that it was something that Australians could benefit from.

Mallrat: "Got any good election party/road games? We have just been told we have a general electio coming up..."

Okay, first off, what do you mean you "have just been told you have a general election coming up?" Aren't these things planned in advance? Or is like a last minute come as you are party? Do you know who the candidates are or is that kept secret until after the election?

My suggestions for other games to play, besides M.M.F.F. and Gay Chicken are:

1) Strip Road Trip

Each person picks a color of car that they will take off a piece of clothing for. So if I pick "Red" and then we see a red car-- Off comes one piece of my clothing.

2) Would You Rather...?
This game is not my invention but I like it. You pose two scenarios to a person and they tell you which they would rather do. For example: Would you rather cut off your own ear and eat it or be required to offer sex to anybody in uniform for the next five years.

3) Curse Off

You go back and forth trying to name as many offensive words or insults as you can. So, I'd say "Cocksucker," then you would have to come up with something before the other people can slowly chant F. U. C. K. You must do it in alphabetical order to make it more challenging. You can also make up offensive words like "Turtle Humper" or "Ass(Arse) Sauce." Three strikes and you're out.

And a less tawdry game that you can play with Mum or Mom that is called...

4) The MOVIE Game. You name an actor and the next person must name a movie that actor was in.
For Example: Tom Cruise - Days of Thunder - Nicole Kidman - Mulan Rouge and it keeps going until somebody gets stuck. So if I didn't know the name of somebody in Mulan Rouge I would say challenge then YOU have to name another actor in the movie. If you can then I get an "M" If you can't then you get the M. When a player gets M O V I and E they are out. And then you tease them about how stupid and uncultured they are while poking them with sharpened sticks (optional). I play this with my friend Legum and he always kicks my ass (arse). The loser of the round starts things off again with a new movie or actor.

5) I'm Taking a Survey (very fun)

Get a clipboard a pad and a pen. Find a stranger and tell them that you are taking a survey for the University or some vaguely official sounding organization.
If you are brave you can pull up next to other cars, bike riders or strangers by the road and take turns asking them very strange questions and see how many they will answer before getting mad, leaving or telling you to go fuck yourself. *

Sample Questions.
- Miss, what is your favorite season?
- Excuse me sir, what's your favorite Ice Cream Flavor?
- Pardon me ma'am, how many people have performed oral sex on you?
- Did you ever wet the bed as a child?
- Have you ever wet the bed or used ice cream to make oral sex more fun?

You can also ask strangers would you rather questions. "Would you rather be spanked on national television or not eat for six days?

* We don't play many of these games in Los Angeles because strangers are generally not friendly here and some carry guns in their car. Los Angeles can be a strangely isolating place where you go from your home box, to your car box, to your office box. So much driving is bad for the soul and your social skills. Although I hear that in Finland it's sometimes considered rude to even make eye contact. The entire world is screwed up somehow. It's not healthy living here and I should probably move to Melbourne and help recruit Americans for Fuck the Vote. But I am going to be an elementary school teacher here in L.A. and play kid friendly games all day long.

If anybody is at all interested, I'll tell you about a popular game called Celebrity and then we'll do a six-part study on the rules, tactics and strategy of Chinese Checkers, won't that be fun?

Sally & Johnny

Just go and enjoy this site.

Black People Love Us

Who has a PhD in Boobie-ology?

Breasts. They are truly wonderful things. They are the givers of nutrition and sustenance. It's hard to believe that I once spent a full six months of my life drinking nothing but breast milk. I lost a great deal of weight during that year of college.

But I should back up just bit. Let's start you off slow with some basic breast questions.
1) Do you know what breasts are?
2) Have you or somebody you know ever seen a pair?
3) Do you like breasts?
4) Women's breasts?
5) Or are you just some catty chick who likes to see what you're up against in the Boobie von Tah Tah department?

6) Are you a good judge of breast size?

7) Do you think you can out score me? Without cheating?

8) I landed a 63 out of 100.

This post is dedicated to BEVIS and his breast obsession. The highest score gets an embarrassing picture of me.

Play Guess Her Bra Size - Because everyone likes breasts.

And if you don't like breasts then maybe you like helicopter games.

Helicopters are a lot like breasts when you think about it. They both float, they both require lift and thrust and must overcome drag in order to function properly and they can both be equiped with deadly machine guns.

So send me your score, and remember, we're on the honor system. When you cheat at breast games you're only cheating yourself.

From the Creator of Murder, Marry, Fight, Fuck!

I brought you the wholesome game of Murder, Marry, Fight, Fuck. - which, now that I think of it, could be the greatest & highest rated reality TV show ever. Wow. I'm hypothetically rich!

Stay with me. This blog pays off. Here hold my hand. Off we go-- Well..., my little blog reader, you have rather soft hands. Soo smooth. Like a baby's bottom. Sorry. Anyway... I was reading the Bloggy Award winning blog of my friend and (Big -Time Australian Television Mogul) Ms. Fits and she brought up an interesting phenomenon. Click this now and read just the post entitled "Boys" and then come right back here and read the rest of this post. Go. My blog isn't going anywhere.

The rest of this post
You're back. Isn't Ms. Fits witty and talented? Yeah, whatever. Now back to me. So, it's a good question. Why do straight guys, and I mean genuinely straight guys, not sitting on the fence swing both ways or college experimenty types. Why do they often do little comedy bits in which they pretend to be gay when there is an audience. I suppose it's for attention. Who can one up the other person with how comfortable they are with their sexuality. I'm so cool and liberal. No, it's attention. Any question about actors and the answer is "because they crave attention."

I will now embarrass myself by sharing information that will no doubt be used to mock me and forever ruin any chance I have of entering politics.

My friend Ted and I are both straight guys. Teddy is an actor and I am a writer, and recovering sketch comedy performer. We would try and make the other person as uncomfortable in public as possible by doing or saying something "gay" to the other person. For instance, a bunch of us would be out at a bar. Perhaps I'd be off talking to a wickedly hot girl (pre-my wife) and this gorgeous female is hanging on my every word, lost in my hazel-brown eyes and laughing at my clever jokes. (Hey, it's my blog, and it has happened before) and Ted would come over to us and in a mildly lispy and slightly jealous voice ask me if he should order me a Cosmo or some other fruity drink. (No pun intended there.) If I couldn't immediately retort with something "gayer" than that or if I laughed (broke character) he would score one point. We made it into an entire game and it was amusing to our friends and to us so we kept it up. It was like going through on a dare that makes you squirm. We called the game "Gay Chicken." In the standard game of Chicken two cars go at each other and they see who looses their nerve first. Like in the movie Footloose. Only this variation has two straight guys going towards one another trying to top each other with queer behavior to see who'd back down first. It was endless fun and our friends always looked forward to it. I almost always gave up points when he Ted called me "snookums" and wiggled my earlobe. It was my Achilles heel. It was especially challenging if we were around other alpha-grunt-grunt-cro-mag Frat boy types. Because the only thing worse than getting gay bashed is getting Gay Chicken bashed. I'd be on the floor protecting my face as three thugs pummled me. I'd say "You guys, it's just a game of Gay Chicken, we were just trying to make each other uncomfortable in order to score a point." I'm sure they'd immediately apologize profusely, pick me up, dust me off and buy me a drink. Fortunately that never happened. But I always wonder about people who are so threatened by a show of male affection or gay behavior that they need to get violent. It's not unlike those two boys who lived down the street from you growing up, who you knew were going to be gay, and were constantly wrestling with one another. What would Freud say? In The United States Homophobia gets WAY out of control. In many places in Europe, like, Greece, France, The Netherlands, Italy, etc... men kiss each other on the cheek as a normal greeting. Cool no problem. On the contrary, American guys get wigged out if say they have a sharp muscle pain in their shoulder and their male friend offers to massage it. If I was in pain I wouldn't care if Prince and Boy George unknotted my muscles. Okay, bad examples, but I don't really care if a guy rubs my shoulders. I'd prefer a girl of any sort, but I can handle shoulder contact. Most guys can't. They feel totally threatened. You know who you are John Dough, Giggles. But back to G.C., our abbreviated name for the Gay Chicken game. The great thing in G.C., the Gay Chicken slam dunk, was the moment when the other person snapped got freaked out and you won a point. My tactics for scoring points were running my finger up Ted's arm, while other guys watched and wiping something off his face with my spit-covered finger in true mom style. I think we were comfortable-ish with each other. But the rounds certainly didn't last very long. Points were pretty easy to come by. And we only played when we had an audience.

I don't hang out with Ted much anymore, mainly cause he's a ginormous* flake when it comes to making plans. He didn't come to my bachelor party. He bailed on me two days before. That pissed me off. Plus, I'm a married guy with little need for extroverted, single, male, actor friends to improvise with. I recall that Ted got most of his points from being loud and acting flamboyantly, flamingly, faggy in public and calling me pet names. I was more likely to make goo goo eyes at him and unbutton his shirt in the middle of say... a crowded baseball game. Thank got I never got past the third button cause THAT would be totally gay.

* gigantic + enormous = ginormous

Note: You should really stop reading now if any of that made you uncomfortable.

If we had been closet homosexuals I think the game of Gay Chicken would have gone more like this.

GUY #1: "Oh, you unzipped my jeans, you naughty boy. Well I'll kiss you softly on your fingers."
Guy #2: "Yeah. Well what if I take your dick in my hand like this?!"
Guy #1: "Sure, I dare you to cradle the balls."
Guy #2: "Done."
Guy #1: Oh now you think I'm gonna back down just because you have my dick in your mouth? No chance. In fact I'm gonna rub my neck as you do it and make little moaning sounds. So there!"
Guy #2: (muffled) "Man, you are a tough competitor. Take this wet tongue on schlong action! Give up yet?"
Guy #1: "Nope, not yet. You're gonna back down first."
Guy #2: "Woah, you came all over me. How do we score that?"

You and your imagination can take it from there. I'm actually getting genuinely uncomfortable with the image of Ted touching me anywhere near my bald warrior region. And I'm seriously considering not posting this at all. In fact I think I'm going to go shower and then proposition my wife for heterosexual intercourse.

George W. Bush: A Man With Vision

Okay, Mr. President, if you look up at the top left window, you'll be able to see my darling, twin daughters, Kelly and Nelly. They've been so happy since they joined the soccer team.

A Bittersweet Tomorrow

Tom Tomorrow's Rips on Bush will be the only thing I miss when Kerry is President.

SAY SOMETHING KETCHUPPY?!

Well, it appears to be a contest to suggest something for Heinz to put on their Ketchup. Care to help me? 8 words or less. Hmmm... Make sure it's appropriate like: "Eat Safe Always Use a Condiment" not something like "Mustard is my Bitch." If you send me your saying I will put it on a card and send it into the contest. So give me some suggestions.

Civil Servant Savants

I had to go down to the Culver City Police Department to get my Live Scan done. Live scan is basically a fancy real time finger printing machine. I was expecting this seedy police department with fat officers eating donuts and hookers and junkies getting shoved past me into dank musty holding cells. Pretty much like when you ride the subway in NYC. But when I got there it was immaculately clean with a fresh lemon scent. More like a college library than a police department. I told the short blonde officer at the desk that she didn't look like the grizzled and surly police sergeant that you saw on movies and TV who bossed you around with a snarl. She was all smiles and dimples, pleasantly plump and about 5 Ft two inches tall with a little pony tail. Where's the real desk officer I wondered. But officer Gallagher assured me that she could be mean when she had to be. Then she giggled. I have seen girlscouts who are more intimidating. So I waited my turn to get scanned. They're scanning me because I'll be student teaching soon and they want to make sure I don't have a history of luring children to my gingerbread house and hacking them up into little kid coleslaw. Since the only thing I've ever done to a kid (since I was a kid) is put one of them in a soft headlock I wasn't particularly worried. I joked to the man doing the finger scanning that I sure hoped that the Department of Justice and FBI files aren't connected to Interpol." Har-har-har. "What's Interpol?" He asked. "Um... It's the international police force." I told him. He had no idea what I was talking about. I tried to explain what Interpol was and that if I had a European Criminal record that I'd be in big trouble. Did he get that one? No. He looked at me curiously. "Have you been convicted of crimes overseas?" "No, officer, I was just trying to make a joke to pass the time while you hold my hand and press my fingers onto a view screen." Some people like holding hands with men in unifrom, but I don't. The officer thought for a second. "I think you're allowed to commit crimes, as long as you're on vacation." I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume that he was making a joke of his own, but in my heart I believe he was just thinking out loud. I should get some stupid civil service job. I'm highly qualified to know nothing. The other day when I went to the post office to try and track down a package, the woman asked me where the parcel was coming from and I told her... "Melbourne." "Oh," she said, "from Israel." I was shocked by the level of stupidity, but I was nice about it. "Uh no," I said "the other Melbourne, the one in Australia." So, based solely on these two instances I'm going to generalize and say that "all civil servants are stupid." That should upset somebody enough to make a comment on my blog. I'm taking a nap now. If the incompetence of our government plunges us into a thermo-nuclear war, please don't wake me. I know how it ends.

What's Your Blog Nightmare?

What's the word I'm looking for here. Oops! No... I believe that stunned silence is all I can muster up. Why? Mmm... Okay.... Yeah, so, I must have accidentally sent out an email with some link to my blog on it by mistake. Because my MOM is reading this blog! I just found this out. Look at the email I got from my mom below. I kept all the embarrassing stuff. This is definitely one of those blogs where you must laugh at me and my squirmy pain. That's my plan anyway. Also, note how she refers to my blog. I'm going to take a deep breath and absorb this new information. Didn't plan on mom reading the blog. It's the literary version of having mom walk in while you're jerking off, which fortunately has never happened to me... yet.

Dear Krankiboy,
I am very happy too see your grades from this semester. You are tops with five A's! Now I am glad that you have some time off to enjoy this summer too.
The vacation I had was good. I am going to see if there is a fitness place open on Church Street here so I can continue with the tred mill for exercise. It was good to work out on it every day in Rockaway.
Yiayia* could not take the killing scenes in Fahrenheit 911.

Why don't you give her a call sometime and talk to her yourself?She goes to the gym or pool four days a week in the mornings and gets back sometime early in the afternoon. Sometimes she naps in the day and she works on 1000 piece jigsaw puzzles and in the garden. When I was there we put together Boticelli's "Birth of Venus"
I read the Krankiboy Khronicles, mostly late nite drivel, though somewhat revealing and entertaiing att the same time.

* Yia yia is Greek for grandmother. I also know how to say, stop, milk, come here, thank you and watermelon.

1) For the record. I do call my grandmother.

2) Also the A grades she refers to are a result of my ability to shoot my mouth off in class and skillfully kiss professorial ass. I bought one book for 5 graduate classes last semester and let's just say it doesn't have any dog-eared pages.

3) Grandma and mom working on a 1000 piece Boticelli puzzle. That's a Kodak moment.

4) You have to love how mom calls it like she sees it. When I write my first novel I'm going to have her "rave review" on the back cover.

Krankiboy serves up a fresh and fierce first novel. A gem in the rough.
-- Chicago Tribune

A dazzling and unabashed stab at anything within sight. As funny as it is angry!
--The New York Times Book Review

Krankiboy's first novel fires, hits it's target, and then goes back to kick it in the face.
--The Los Angeles Times

A marvelous first effort. The characters are loathsome, lovable and ready to walk off the page and spit on you.
--Newsweek

"Mostly late night drivel, though somewhat revealing and entertaining at the same time." --The Author's Mother

Oh, and mom if you're reading this, which apparently you are. This is really more of a fictional, fantasy type of blog. It's a sizeable staff of writers here at the Krankiboy Khronicles, I'm just one small cog in the big crazy wheel. The editor usually has all the say in what makes it on-line.

Comments? Moral support? Painkillers? Gimme something.

Hard Facts About a Sticky Subject

The thing I most admire about Western religion is that it doesn't set forth a rigid system of arbitrary rules that one is to mindlessly follow simply because some long dead white guy decided that people were stupid sheep who needed every facet of their lives organized for them. Religion is intended to help guide you so that you don't stray off the path of the righteous by a single inch and boil in the bowels of Hell for all eternity.

My religious group is simply here to help you help yourself. Our group is dedicated to empowering you to Control Undesirable Masturbation. Free yourself from the endless self-abuse cycle. Let the tender fingers of God's sweet angels reach out and touch you with their soft embrace so that you too will be able to C.U.M.*

* Control Undesirable Masturbation

I'm certain that you will find this information as valuable as I do.

Here are some of the hard facts that Kleenex doesn't want you to hear.

A Guide to Self-Control

1) Never touch the intimate parts of your body except during normal toilet processes. Avoid being alone as much as possible. Find good company and stay in this good company.

2) If you are associated with other persons having this same problem, you must break off their friendship. Never associate with other people having the same weakness. Don't suppose that two of you will quit together, you never will. You must get away from people of that kind. Just to be in their presence will keep your problem foremost in your mind. The problem must be taken out of your mind for that is where it really exists. Your mind must be on other and more wholesome things.

3) When you bathe, do not admire yourself in a mirror. Never stay in the bath more than five or six minutes -- just long enough to bathe and dry and dress and then get out of the bathroom into a room where you will have some member of your family present.

4) When in bed, if that is where you have your problem for the most part, dress yourself for the night so securely that you cannot easily touch your vital parts, and so that it would be difficult and time consuming for you to remove those clothes. By the time you started to remove protective clothing you would have sufficiently controlled your thinking that the temptation would leave you.

5) If the temptation seems overpowering while you are in bed, get out of bed and go into the kitchen and fix yourself a snack, even if it is in the middle of the night, and even if you are not hungry, and despite your fears of gaining weight. The purpose behind this suggestion is that you get your mind on something else. You are the subject of your thoughts, so to speak.

6) Never read pornographic material. Never read about your problem. Keep it out of mind. Remember -- "First a thought, then an act." The thought pattern must be changed. You must not allow this problem to remain in your mind. When you accomplish that, you soon will be free of the act.

7) Put wholesome thoughts into your mind at all times. Read good books -- Church books -- Scriptures -- Sermons of the Brethren. Make a daily habit of reading at least one chapter of Scripture, preferably from one of the four Gospels in the New Testament, or the Book of Mormon. The four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- above anything else in the Bible can be helpful because of their uplifting qualities.

8) Pray. But when you pray, don't pray about this problem, for that will tend to keep it in your mind more than ever. Pray for faith, pray for understanding of the Scriptures, pray for the Missionaries, the General Authorities, your friends, your families, but keep the problem out of your mind by not mentioning it ever -- not in conversation with others, not in your prayers. keep it out of your mind!
Well. I certainly know I'm going to heed the words above. Can you imagine what would happen if everybody went around "touching themselves" whenever they felt like it. How would man erect great structures or come upon the meaning of Jesus if our members took matters into their own hands and engaged in such distractions. Thank you for heading the word of God. I'm going to go run the tub and personally focus on the many ways that I can show God pleasure. Nothing like a nice invigorating bubble bath to purify the soul. Remember idle hands are the tools of the Devil.

Click here if you need More Holy Advice?

This wise man has the answers in the palm of his hand. Feel free to email him and let his wisdom flow upon you like a mighty stream.

Questions? Comments? Email to Lambert Dolphin (lambert@ldolphin.org)

Shocking Barbie Photos Uncovered!

This is going to hurt Barbie's bid for president. A Power Puff Girl like Blossom would never do something like this. She's got integrity.

Hopkin has been found! More info as this story develops. I love happy endings.  

You gotta have the threads if you wanna earn the bread.

Are there so many aspiring young whore wranglers that they need their own clothing line? Do they have Fisher Price brass knuckles to help keep the bitches under control?

The Game is Beirut

With the Olympics looming large on the international sports stage it falls to the Khronicles to cover the lesser known 3rd Annual Beirut Tournament of Champions held at El Guapo Bar on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles on the 21st of August 2004 A.D.

What is Beirut? Take a doubles ping pong game. Set up ten cups of beer on either side. Then take away the ping pong paddles. You take turns trying to plop your ping pong ball into all their beer cups... As you do, they must consume the beer. I'm not sure if the fact that ping pong balls are dropped like bombs has any relation to the game's name.

This year's organizers my sista-n-law, Kylie, and her roommate Lewis pulled out all the stops and expanded from their apartment to El Guapo Sports Bar. It was a packed scene by the time my crew and I rolled in around 10:30. There was a sea of testosterone charged guys cheering each other on and trash talking each other. Then there were the relaxed couples who, unlike the rowdy guys, were secure in the knowledge that they get to go home afterwards and have sex.* The estrogen was also represented well. But my question is, when did silk slips (that are essentially just underwear) become acceptable as outerwear? I'm cool with the concept of women in their underwear, but ladies, you should only flaunt it if you got something worth flaunting. Fortunately the VAST majority of the girls did. As a Khronicle staff writer I was obligated to follow a strict policy that no reporter may consume more than three jumbo margaritas unless somebody else is buying them for you. I adhered to the rules completely.

* my buddy "G" made this insightful, anthropological observation.

Here are some notable events I can remember about the evening:

1) After a few margaritas, I decided it would be a go idea to carve my friend G's number into the men's room wall using my car keys. It's 323-871-1057. He's quite friendly. Call any time of the day. Please don't disturb him after 11:30 PM Pacific Standard Time because that would just be rude on your part.

2) I began cheering like a adrenalized British football (soccer) hooligan in an attempt to crush demoralize sis-n-law Kylie's opponents. It was fun and initially quite effective, but despite my rally cries and obnoxious chanting, the guys beat team Barely Legal in a closely contested match.

3) I spotted a solitary, sober, young, black dude amidst this swarm of young drunken honkeys and decided to be the ambassador of good will. Tony and I talked about women, pro sports, and the scorekeeper chick that he had his eye on. After taking me into his confidence Tony explained how some girl was "saying she's seen that I be gettin' with too many ladies all the time." I told him that at the age of 24 that was his job. God has put you on this earth to be a Pussy Mercenary, but he insisted that he was looking to find a nice girl that he could trust and slow down his "playa ways." Having never been a true "playa" I can only imagine how difficult it must be to bring home different hot women every weekend and "smack their strange." (have sexual relations with them) I have Tony's number just in case any of you ladies are interested in a 6'3" well-built, polite, mild-mannered, attractive, friendly, settle down type. I convinced myself that I wasn't just another drunk asshole because I was furthering the noble cause of inter-racial harmony. MLK Jr. is one of my heroes and I think I he would have been proud that some scrawny ivory-assed white boy embraced his ebony brother. Although, I'm not sure if the late Reverend would have approved of some of the observations we made about the young women. I look forward to the day that there is a beer commercial on TV where there are black guys hitting on white girls and it's perfectly acceptable. Equal opportunity to tap the white girl ass. That is an America I'd be proud to live in.

4) I have never seen my wife, Penny so drunk in my entire life. It's easy to tell her level of intoxication, because the drunker she is the more frequently she feels compelled to inform me "I don't think I've been this drunk in a long time. I love you, honey." It was about every ten minutes. It may have been related to the fact that she had only one raspberry Nutri-grain bar for dinner and two margaritas and she weighs... I don't know. Not a lot. I can carry her and I'm just under average size. If you take that previous statement out of context you will be subject to a lawsuit for slander.

5) Some wasted guy grabbed my wife's ass. She wisely informed me of this later. But it was a friendly party and she's got a nice ass. If I was a single drunk guy, I might be tempted to do that myself. It's so much classier than some trite and over used pick up line. It makes a woman feel that she is indeed special to have her body singled out and get her buttocks squeezed by such a dashing suitor. Penny only has an engagement ring and two wedding bands on her ring finger. I thought that simple creatures were drawn to shiny things, not in this case. I'm trying to be open and progressive. I'm going to have to insist that my wife wear her birka and veil the next time we go to a Beirut Beer Tournament.

6) The guys who had custom shirts made for the occasion and wore mullet wigs helped elevate the event to more than just wasted idiots playing drinking games. They played for the glory of the game.

And Kylie, if you read this, you must have some kind of mug or stein as a trophy next year. And sorry I took Lewis' Polaroid and "went overboard" with the picture taking. I hope you'll have me back next year.

7) Somebody stole a cactus from the restaurant, but I as a journalist I can't reveal my source. Or where I put it in my garden.


8) My not drunk friend G was kind enough to drive us home. When we got home I had trouble in standing up straight in my "loosened state" yet somehow I managed to cook quesadillas. Penny and I passed out on the couch. Fortunately the sound of heavy snoring woke me and we relocated to our bed. The last thing Penny said was, "Oh, this is good bed." I'd like to take this opportunity to publicly thank G for seeing that my wife and I got home safely and soundly. If you'd like to thank him or ever find yourself in need of a responsible designated driver feel free to call the number. Once again it's (323) 871-1057.


Oh, and yeah, I'll post a picture that includes the guy who I suspect of making the ass grab on my wife. If you see him, kindly ask him to window shop in the future and not to man handle the high-end merchandise. I say. "No harm, no foul, no surprise visit from me and Tony late at night when you're least suspecting it. And I won't bring duct tape and a frozen hot dog.

Ping Pong Balls + Competition + Beer + Mullet wigs + Groping = Love

Beruit: Bringing really drunk people together since 2002

The Days of Full-Body Snugness.

I was reading an article about Cuddle Parties that are taking place in NYC. You pay thirty bucks and can cuddle a stranger. There's no kissing and no removing your jammies. Erections may occur, people don't be afraid of them. Never the less,* it got me thinking about pajamas, specifically my old baby blue feetie pajamas I had till I was three. I think I wore them until I could no longer jam my fat little feet into them any longer. They were in tatters.

I wish they had feetie pajamas in adult sizes. When I was all bundled up in feetie pajamas I was like some sleepy superhero. Able to drink apple juice from the cartoon with a single swing. Able to slide up and down the hallway floor on my butt and probably super strength, too. I don't recall. Maybe I'll have to commission somebody to make me a custom pair of soft warm full body feetie pajamas. Or maybe I'll go to sleep and never remember the fleeting desire. I must go to sleep before I fall asleep on the keyboard and wake up with letters and numbers embedded on my face and forehead.

* Admittedly, the phrases "Never the less" and "So, anyway... are writing crutches, yes. But I like them, so let me rest on my crutches without scorn or judgment. So, anyway that's enough randomly combining words and letters for one night.

My Condition

As some of my close friends know, I suffer from a biological condition; one that has gone undiagnosed for many, many people. That condition is called "Hangriness." No, it's not an official medical term, but they way it manifests itself in me it should be. This is how I define Hangry: When you become so hungry from low blood sugar that you begin to get angry. My little sis-n-law coined the phrase. Let me show you how it can occur. On one quite notable occasion my wife and I were driving in the car and talking about the fact that I was getting a bit snippy with Penny (then, just my girlfriend) and there didn't seem to be any discernible reason for it. One of the other things about Hangriness is that it convinces you that something else is making you mad. You go into denial about being Hangry. You become convinced that something else is making you angry. It's a sneaky condition. Poor Penny. She realized too late that I was hungry. She was on the phone chatting with her mother as I was driving, and, not knowing the severity of my condition, she was trying to casually "discuss" where we could eat. I saw a pizza place to our right and said "there." Penny made one of those "I don't feel like eating that" faces. Now, remember she's still talking to her mom, who I've been trying to make a good impression upon. Well something inside me snapped and her mild-mannered boyfriend completely lost it and began to BEAT the dash board with his fist and scream "CAN I GET SOME MOTHER-FUCKING BREAD STICKS?!" She was quite startled and had to explain to her very concerned mom that I was rather hungry and it seems to have affected my mood. Later I discovered that Hangriness runs in her family too. That explains why she didn't instantly leap from the passenger seat of the moving car and run off sobbing that very second. Or maybe it was because I was driving her car. By the way, the Pappa John's bread sticks were delicious. Later, when we wrote our wedding vows for our ceremony we had the judge say. "Do you promise to love him and cherish him, in good times and in bad, in sickness, Hangriness and health." She agreed.

Do you have a story of Hangriness that you'd like to share? You're not alone. Remember the first step is admitting to yourself that you have a problem. The second step is using that problem to make others feel sorry for you and then taking advantage of them.

My Final Post? Your Call.

Where is the Love I once knew?

The more I write the fewer comments I get.

I am going on hiatus from writing until I have at least ten people - put comments on this post.

I love that people read it but it's supposed to be interactive. That way it's fun for ME. You can post anything you want. Good, bad, ugly... I don't care. Just post if you want me to write anything else on this blog.

I'm on strike until my demands have been met.

Sincerely,

krankiboy

Subservient Chicken! A Must View.

PREPARE YOURSELF - It's not gross, but it will affect how well you sleep at night.

Into S& M and bestiality without all the physical contact?

This is the Greatest interactive chicken site I've EVER seen. He'll do what you command him to do. Spanking, dancing in various styles, air guitar... use your imagination.

The Addictive and the Very Weird

So much goodness to share.

First the Addictive

Ever have one of those days and just need to take out your aggression on a penguin.

This will surely be in the next Winter Olympics.

Now the Strange

Weeble and Bob - They're egg dudes, they like pie, they sound kinda like Cartman.

Space Cabbage - Based on a true story. No. Not at all.

Having Thong Troubles? Not if you click this wonder-vention.



The Happy Sabrina Live Cam. Creepy, weird and also creepy.

The Mystic Powers of the Internet

I'm going to go out on a limb and say that there is no more accurate way to see your future than getting an on-line tarot card reading. I defy you to disprove my bold and scientifically un-sound statement.

Although it did tell me what I needed to hear. Be patient. I drew the Temperance card. I hope temperance doesn't mean I have to stop drinking alcohol. Because, as Homer tells us, "Alcohol is the cause of and the solution to all of life's problems." No that's not in the Illiad or the Odyssey the other Homer. What would my life be without problems and solutions? Boring. Unchallenging and probably pretty wonderful. Where do I sign up? So while I am sitting here being patient, you go for it. Carpe Tarot!

Porn or Pony?

I turned part of this link into a Birthday Card for Kylie, my sis (in-law)!

I bet you can't tell the Porn Stars from the Ponies?

She had her 26th birthday and we went out to an egregiously expensive Japanese Restaurant called Nobu. I've attempted to eat and enjoy raw sushi, but this stuff was actually good. Slimy, but good. There were lots of young LA brats who were able to eat there because they're sponging off their parents. I guess that would include me since Kylie's parent's paid for the meal. They always do, Odin, bless them. But I made a very lovely toast in the birthday girl's honor. Growing up as an only child I have to say I really like having a little sister (in-law). She knows her LA restaurants and she introduced me to my wife.

Let me know what you scored on the Pony Test. I value my comments, even though only four people responded when I asked for names, favorite ice cream flavors and where you live. If you haven't given them to me. Add your info in the comments. I want to see if I have more Aussie readers than I do American readers. Help the krankiboy sleep better at night with this knowledge. For every five responses I get I'll post one really weird picture.

Name, Ice cream, Location - thanks

Political Girl Power!

Finally a candidate who won't complain if you take off all their clothes, cut their hair and put them into compromising sexual positions. Screw, BUSH, Piss Off, KERRY, Bite Me, NADER... Now you can vote for... HER!

While I think it's wonderful on one hand that they are trying to get girls to become interested in politics, I also worry that this could cause a drastic drop in tea parties nationwide. Imaginary tea parties for stuffed animals and dolls are a cost effective means of entertaining little girls. Imaginary tea is a environment friendly, safe and renewable resource. I think getting little girls more interested in politics will ultimately result in a greater number of them becoming alcoholics. Politics for young girls? Isn't one of the joys about being a little girl is that you don't have to worry about where your toys and dolls stand on the tough political issues. You can relax and be a kid. Luring very young girls into the political arena with toys is unfair. They should be concerned with counting butterflies, and lady bugs, not pouring over public opinion polls, and electoral data in an effort to craft a solid economic stimulus package. The girls are just learning to speak in complete sentences or how to write with nice neat penmanship. I guess that applies to President Bush as well. And he's a grown(ish) man who gets flustered when people use big words he doesn't know, like, nuclear, feasible, illegal, government, and many other three-syllable words. But is it fair then to expect Barbie and her girl supporters to craft and hone a speech that will captivate Americans and galvanize our country into one, by de-polarizing our country and elevating our nation's solidarity. That's a lot of pressure to put on Barbie and her female supporters. Barbie isn't known for her public speaking and I don't think she embodies true leadership qualities that our country urgently needs. Barbie's trackrecord is one of flitting about from one career to another. First she's Princess Barbie, then she's Ballerina Barbie, and now she thinks she can just waltz into the political arena and be taken seriously. She seems to care more about pretty accessories than executive accountability. I don't feel comfortable with her as Commander in Chief. She's about style not substance. While I whole-heartedly believe that the United States could greatly benefit from strong female leadership, I'm not convinced that Barbie in the Oval Office is the best direction for our nation. (Although she is smarter and prettier than the Trained Texan Oil Monkey who has the job now.) Here site is way interactive and has unicorns frolicking outside her window. Our president has no unicorns romping happily on the whitehouse lawn.

Barbie's Girl-a-rific-site click here

I think a far better female President of the United States would be Blossom from the Power Puff Girls Although she is quite young she still has more experience dealing with the government bureaucracy. (The Mayor of Townsville always needs her help ) She would be strong on defense and national security with her many super powers. She has a proven track record of beating up both bad guys and scary monsters. She possesses leadership experience. She's charismatic and articulate. Plus she can fly. I say Vote BLOSSOM!

Interactive Blossom Site

Argument, Vomit, Bad Movie, Olympics

Penny went off to Yoga and I slept in with the dogs. The pups and I spend lots of quality unconscious time together. Then I went out with the dogs to chat with my neighbors and so all our dogs could romp around. From way down the block I see a large black woman who's walking what looks like a smallish dog. But as she gets a little closer I realize that the dog is pretty big, and the woman is just really big. She's also holding a metal rod. It looks like a golf club with the end chopped off. It's not a cane, I realize it's probably a weapon. She sees my little dogs, one of whom has no teeth and honestly there are fuzzy bedroom slippers more intimidating than my dogs. But she bellows "Get those dogs on a leash!" My dogs are on in the front yard of our apartment with two other dogs who are also off leash. So, this rod wielding woman has immediately annoyed me. I shout back "Excuse me?!" She loudly repeats her request adding that "it's dangerous." My dogs listen and I have them sit and stay. I yell back. "We've got five dogs here and they're not all mine, what do you want me to do?!" Then she really pisses me off. "If they come near me I'm gonna hit 'em!" So I'm on about 8 and angryometer by this point. "You're clearly a dog lover! We live here. Go away! Walk someplace else!" Like a deep fog horn she tells me off "I'm gonna. I will!" Put your damn dogs on a leash." Then I yelled "Thank you for asking so nicely! Hope to never see you again, soon!" Then she says "you're welcome" and waddles off. So that was the start of my day. Did she think I was going to comply with her request? Yes, I realize that that story could be told from her POV and it would be about this obnoxious scrawny, honkey-white boy who had these crazy dogs running all over the place. But this is my blog and I don't carry weapons and threaten to hurt animals. Humans I'd hurt if provoked but not animals. Just blowing off steam? Yes, thanks, I feel a bit better.

Then I watched Secret Window with Johnny Depp. It was awful. It ended with a final close up shot of Johnny dramatically biting into a piece of corn. I think that's my review.

Then I ate some raspberry pound cake that I bought at the farmers market near my house and it made me puke. It was odd though because it was a pretty pink color and it actually smelled nice. I have never imagined that anything that has been through the stomach could ever smell nice. It was like barfing up liquid popouri. Then I just stayed home with the wife and dogs and watched everything from Badminton quarterfinals to Synchronized diving.

I've already has enough swimming. It makes me tired and I can't swim so it's sort of been a drain. But by far, the event that will make you feel the most out of shape is the men's gymnastics competion. They look as big as body builders but they have the grace of a nimble ballerina. These guys can do insane things. Do you know how difficult it is to support yourself upside-down and keeping the rings totally still? Neither do, I but because I've watched three hours of gymnastics I'm just going to go ahead and pronounce myself and expert on gymnastics.

Poor Dancing Etiquette Has Consequences

Victim tripped over woman at dance

Updated: 4:33 a.m. ET Aug. 10, 2004
MANILA - A man and his two sons have been arrested on suspicion of murdering a neighbor and then eating parts of his body after he tripped over a woman relative at a dance, Philippine police said on Tuesday.
advertisementThe three men are suspected of stabbing neighbor Benjie Ganoy to death last month in a remote village in the southwestern island of Palawan. They ate his ears, tongue and arms after roasting the body over a fire, provincial police chief Michael Garraez said.
“They stabbed him repeatedly, cut off the man’s ears, pulled out his tongue and ate it,” Garraez told Reuters by telephone. He was quoting a sworn statement by a witness, who said he had been forced to eat some flesh taken from the victim’s arms.
Garraez said there was no tradition of cannibalism in the area.
He said the father had apparently been angry after Ganoy accidentally tripped over his daughter during a dance party.
Police said the victim went missing after the dance party on July 17. The witness led them to the burned body almost a week later.

But the guy had also borrowed their lawn mower and hadn't returned it for a few days, so that plus tripping over the woman... I think stabbing him to death, roasting him and eating him was perfectly justified. In fact, I think he got off easy.

The Regular Olympics Are Special, Too.

I did some much overdue screenwriting with my friend and compatriot Justin Foster. Is that a crappy fake name or what? Sorry, Justin. We wrote a little bit of something that will hopefully make us rich as Saudi Princes. Nobody else in L.A.has thought to write a screenplay, so I'm 100% sure it will sell for at least 600 thou. Then he wanted to get stoned and he did and I continued to work and then he went a little to high so we bagged the writing and flipped on the Olympics. I liked it. It's always great to see what matching outfits the poor athletes have to wear. One group, I think it was the Russians were all dressed like used car dealers from 1981. Powder blue sport jacket, matching pants and a fat green tie. I got nervous just before the U.S. team was about to appear. I swear, I thought that the Americans were going to get booed when they entered the stadium. That would have been embarrassing. The ceremony was very Cirque De Surreal and I liked it. Also I had no idea that you could win a gold medal for windsurfing. They talked to Allen Iverson who is well, he's a good basketball player, and he has a flair for drama. Let's leave it at that.

Naturally we took a beautiful thing like nations coming together in the spirit of peace and unity and degenerated to commenting on which female athletes we'd want to have sex with. I'd like to do some floor exercises with that one. Overally it was two thumbs up for Italy's Female Athletes and 2 thumbs way up for the Greek Female Athletes. Who knew. But it raised an interesting question. How many Greek women get knocked up while all these hot athletes are in town? How many Olympic Babies are there? I know if I go to the gym twice in a week my "energy level" goes up, so I can't imagine all that estrogen, testosterone and plain awesome physical specimens all in one place at the same time. After your event is over I'm sure you're in perpetual party mode after that. As Justin so eloquently summed it up. "Do you realize how many Athenian women are going to get fucked by Olympic athletes? The Olympic Village is essentially the world's most heavily guarded ultimate swinging singles resort fpr hardbodies. I wonder if they'll be selling any Olympic Babies on eBay in nine or ten months. Those would be expensive. Even just a regular, plain, healthy, white baby can cost up to 75 thousand dollars. Maybe I'm in the wrong business.

Oh, and when did Del Harris become a communist. You're saying, "Who the hell is that?" Del used to coach the Lakers before they got good. He also coached Hakeem "the dream" Olajuwon and the Houston Rockets back in the 80's. But here are four hundred plus Chinese marching in red with a sea of black hair and in the middle of it all is white-haired Del Harris. I thought "Oh, my god the Giant RED invasion has begun, the Chinese have Del Harris." I was calmed somewhat when Bob Costas explained his affiliation. Apparently he's coaching the Chinese team of his own free will. Which is strange because he's not Chinese. Not even a little bit. I guess you gotta go where the work is. I'm still keeping an eye on him. Then we went off imagining who the sentimental long shot of this year's games might be. We were hoping that there would be some morbidly obese Canadian guy who had somehow made it as a platform diver. No such luck. But wouldn't it be great to see a huge splash that actually soaks the judges and fans Sea World style. Clyde, "the cannonball" Carlson has shocked the world, capturing the bronze medal! It would look like a depth charge going off in the pool. Then our conversation degenerated even more when we started making jokes about badminton players. The birdie thing they hit with the rackets is called a shuttle cock. And being the juveniles that we are, we had to make a few jokes about that. "Look as he just pounds away, smacking that shuttle cock all over the court." and "Look at that focus! I've never seen anyone so aggressively attacking cock. He's in certainly not afraid to pound that cock over the net." Etc... It never stops amazing me how when you remove women from a group of guys the conversation and maturity level just go right into the gutter. I imagined that my wife, Penny was off at some bar with her girl friends using inappropriate vagina humor. Is that a genre of humor? Well, it should be. Anyway, the final lighting of the torch, which didn't look at all like a big smoking Godzilla-sized joint, was an impressive sight and there were so many fireworks upon gigantic fireworks upon gigantic-er fireworks that it made you want to say,"Okay, planet Earth, get over yourself." If there is any extra-terrestrial life watching us from anywhere in the galaxy they definitely saw the fireworks and we've already gone and made a bad impression. Nice job, Earth. Then I knew I had smoked too much when I got the idea that there should be an animated reality show about the Gods from Greek Mythology. It'd be called, like, Mt. Olympus, yeah, and... it would be awesome. You know, like, The Smurfs but with Gods. Or maybe it would be the gods when they wer all babies. I don't remember much after that. I may have walked the dogs, I'm not 100 percent clear sure. We made sweet juicy man love and then Justin went home. I like to write those sorts of things because it will make Justin uncomfortable if he reads it. It was really just some harmless heavy-petting.

Build a Better Bush

This is a special site where you can actually do something to change The President of the United States. It's a waste of time, but so is voting for a Democrat in Texas.

Build a Better Bush!

Ye-haw! Let's ride!

Here is some audio for you folks in the swing states who may still be thinking about voting for Dubya. He's addressing the Issue of Native Americans. Listen for the audience blatantly laughing at his response.

Bush Talk Pretty One Day (click the red link)

Still want more?
http://www.oilforpresident.com/media/mp3/sovereignty.mp3

I'd also like to the future former president's remarks that that soverenity is for the soverenable who display their soverance, soverentially.

Interpol Thwarted by Mystery Woman

Interpol authorities are searching for:

Ms. Fits, aka Holly C., aka El Diablo de la Muerte con Queso, aka Mrs. Butterworth

This person may be responsible for the disappearance of Hopkin the frog. You may refer back to the "Have You Seen Hopkin?" post. Do not try to apprehend her yourself. She is likely armed, scrappy and very sarcastic. She knows many bad words and will not hesitate for an instant to use them, even on infants and the elderly.

Diaper of Death!

News from Norway

Parents Warn of Death Trap Diaper
Jonas Christopher Fleischer-Larsen narrowly avoided drowning last Friday in a tiny inflatable splashing pool. His parents have sounded a warning because their son was nearly killed because he was wearing a disposable diaper, newspaper Adresseavisen reports.
"I will never forget the sight. He was floating face down in the pool and his face was dark purple. His eyes had rolled back in his head. I was sure that we had lost Jonas," his father, Alf Egil Larsen, told the newspaper.
The children had been playing in the shallow pool on the front lawn earlier. Jonas' parents were visiting the boy's godparents. Suddenly they noticed that the toddler was not with the other children.
They found the boy lying lifeless in the pool. Godfather Frank Rasmussen, who works in a day care center, used his training and began artificial respiration. The child began to cough up water and an ambulance soon arrived.
The boy's moisture-resistant disposable diaper had acted like a powerful balloon, rising up and preventing the child from regaining his footing.
"You don't think about it, but it is frightening. A small pool with 20-30 centimeters of water is enough. It can happen incredibly quickly," said mother Ragnhild Fleischer.
"This was a completely new variation," said adviser Ivar Christiansen at Norwegian Peoples Aid (NPA) to Norwegian news agency NTB. Christiansen works with the NPA's drowning statistics and has never heard of a disposable diaper linked to a drowning before. Jonas was in good health after the combination of artificial respiration and hospital care.

What's wrong with you people. Are you crazy or is it a cultural thing. No wonder the population of Scandinavian countries isn't increasing with the rest of the world.

The parents are upset? Why because they can't leave a baby unattended in a pool anymore? Would they rather that the diaper absorbed all the water and sank the baby? Generally babies need to be watched when they are around water, or fire, playing with knives, shards of glass or operating heavy machinery. I'll never understand the Norwegians. It makes me wonder if absent-minded parenting is a cultural thing.

My friend Lee told me that European parents have a different relationship to their children than we do in America. She told me this story to illustrate that point.

She was 18 years old hanging out in the Netherlands with her gal friend (also named Lee) on a pleasure ship when some Dutch woman with a baby comes up to them and asks very nicely if they'll watch her baby for short while. Here, strange, young, American girls, please watch my baby for a few minutes. Well, they didn't know the woman at all, but sure they'd watch the baby for a few minutes. Let's be friendly Americans, they thought. Well, they're in their room with the baby and over an hour has gone by. The mother hasn't shown up to get her baby. They start to worryu, but just a little. Then another half hour goes by and they're now thinking that the woman was trying to unload the poor infant. So they take the baby and go scrambling all over the ship looking for the mother. After about twenty minutes of searching they're really starting to panic. It's been almost two hours and mom is nowhere to be found. They go into the main bar room to calm down, get a glass of water and figure out what to do next. While they're sitting there sweating bullets. They see a big group of people out on the dance floor having the time of their lives. And there among the dancers, busting her moves, and grooving to the beat is the baby's mother. The approach her and she smiles as if nothing is wrong. "Lady, we've been looking for you for two hours." The Dutch woman continues to dance. "If you need to do something, you can give the baby to somebody else to watch. I am enjoying the dancing." They're dumbstruck.

Blink Blink. "What?!" The other girl finally says (because by this point my friend is speechless) "Here, take your baby, lady." They hand her the kid and walk off relieved, annoyed and perplexed. The Dutch lady looks at them as if they've just done something so incredibly rude.

Now, I understand that the Europeans live in a safer society, and it takes a village, but that's a bit much. Why not just tie a string to the baby, and throw the little bugger over board. Clearly his diaper will let him float, right? Stupid Americans.