Thursday, September 30, 2004

Girl on Girl Action

I was home on a weekday evening, and my buddy... let's call him... Blake. Blake calls me at 7pm on a Wednesday. I'm bored and just working on some short story so I don't have to do some other work. He asks me what I'm doing tonight. I say "not much" and yet I'm curious because he has a happy lilt in his voice. I don't know exactly what a happy lilt is but the lilt people said they'd sponsor me if I used their word around town more. Lilt Lilt. So Blake tells me that there are going to be some strippers over at his place as if this were a normal event on a weeknight. I don't remember what he said after that because all I could do was picture these two hot, lean and sexy strippers doing what hot strippers do best... to each other... with toys. Now I should point out that here in Los Angeles we have a truly huge selection of hot strippers to choose from. I would go so far as to say a plethora. We rank right up there with Vegas, Amsterdam and New York. Why? Because we have lots of attractive aspiring young "models" and "actresses" who all get off the bus from South Dakota or Nebraska or some other boring state that doesn't really matter. Everyday they flood off the Bus with wide-eyed dreams of being the next Heather Graham or Liv Tyler and they quickly find they have to settle for being the next girl coming up to the stage, grinding up against a pole to some Hip Hop one hit wonder song. Why because they are exhibitionists, they like attention and they are all here trying to live their dream. The cream of the crop of hotties. In LA you can go into a Starbucks and see the most beautiful woman you've ever seen cleaning out the gunk from the frappucino machine. So when Jake said "pair of strippers" all I remember hearing after that was something about his roommate's friend Larry and a bachelor party. I tried to continue working on my short story but it quickly became impossible. I was thoroughly distracted. "Penny, Im going to go over to Jake's to watch a pair of strippers for some guy named Larry's bachelor party. Yeah, I know it's a school night, (literally) and I have to teach a Geography Lesson to 27 nine year olds first thing in the morning. Plus you have a head cold and I'm all hyperactive and the only bachelor party I was at was mine and the only thing striper related was when we docked the houseboat at a cove called stripper bay. No strippers at stripper bay. Okay? So what did Penny say to that? "Really? Cool, have a good time, sweetie."

All systems were go for operation eye candy. I even had the thumbs up from the wife. So I get there early and hang out with Blake, wait I think I refer to him as Justin, no Blake is better, Jake probably won't care which pseudonym I use. So Blake and I are hanging out and the bachelor partiers trickle in. We drink some beer and I make some jokes to kill the awkward feeling that fills a room whenever fourteen guys are waiting around to watch girls get naked. There is a ring on the bell and we're all excited. It's the handler guy. He is a messy-haired white guy wearing a fanny pack. Yes, a fanny pack. He's a professional. He asks where the girls can set up. Set up, awesome. Then another guy walks in. Fanny pack quickly gets some liquor and this slick Cubano dude in a leather jacket and t shirt gives us all a don't fuck with me, cause I could be packing look. No, no, they're not two male strippers like you guys thought. Then two, squat, dumpy, pear-shaped hispanic women, obviously the make-up people or set up people or something walk into one of the bedrooms. Damn there are a lot of people for just two strippers, well, maybe it's Wednesday so it's a slow night and-- My heart skips a beat as I realize that the dumpy girls who were in no way remotely attractive are the strippers. Fuck, they're 4ft 11 inch tall Hispanic troll dolls. I walk into the kitchen and simultaneously drink two beers at once. I lock eyes with Blake who looks as if he's just seen his grandparents French kissing. In a daze I walk out onto the porch for some air. The strippers take a long fucking time to get ready, but the other guys seem pretty okay. Fanny pack introduces Leather jacket dude who proceeds to explain "the rules." No touching-- well, no hard grabbing, touching is fine. No picture taking, "sorry guys" and no putting fingers or tongues in places where they should not go. I quickly go into the other bedroom and ask Blake to please put something on TV that I can look at. I'm trying to remember if the girls were just short and cute and I didn't pay enough attention. They must have been just hot spicy Latinas or something. Not so much with the spicy or the hot. More like what Cupid would look like if he was a Puerto Rican girl. Short, buldging, unattractive in the face, with a bubble but and weird baby fat.

As the car wreck is taking place I catch the eyes of several other guys who are not too impressed. The strippers. No, scratch that. The skanky troll doll whores take the bachelor lay him on the floor take off his shirt and pull up his shorts to "check the equipment and douse him with some oily lotion." They insist that we gotta give them two twenties if we wanna see some "pussy pussy." The host reluctantly gives up the money. And they drop bottoms to expose their soft baby fat covered bubble butts. One of the girls turns to us and loudly remarks "Did you guys see his little peanut?" What bachelor doesn't like to have butt ugly strippers tell him that he has a tiny penis in front of a room full of his guy friends and me, who he just met. And what room full of guys doesn't long to see Larry's little flacid penis? They start to rub lotion on him to the cheesy music that they brought, we're all deer in headlights stunned. Before we realize what's going on one of the girls asks for and gets a belt from one of the guys, she rolls the bachelor over and she threatens to spank him. This is actually a bit funny and elicits some chuckles from the group. The chuckles abruptly end when this little imp beast hits him square on his bare ass with not a little te hee he love tap, but rather a massive ass lashing which easily registered as an eleven on the smack-meter. He was beaten twice more like a naughty pirate before he could recover and rip the heavy leather belt out from her hand. The mission was in grave danger. Operation Eye Candy quickly turned into Operation Please No, for the last time I do not want a lap dance from you. I was the first to flee the scene. I even picked up some stray singles that were on the floor and gave them to Blake. I think the best man got stuck paying like six hundred dollars for the horrid event. I would rather get a lap dance from a Saint Bernard and cut off two fingers to forever erase the event from my mind's eye. As I left I could hear them trying to talk the guys into paying three hundred bucks for an anal show. I remarked that I'd rather watch a How To Plumbing Video. Do you know if brain scars ever truly heal?

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

They has a Crazy Name!

Some Guy in Missouri legally changed his name from "Andrew" to "They."

Click Here for the Story

I know. That's what I thought too.
Personally, I can't wait to give my kid some weird name. I'm leaning toward the names "Honkey" or "Cash-Money" if I have a girl and maybe "Doctor" or "Commander" if it's a boy.

Here are some other names on my list.

Boy Names

Girl Names
Nine One One
Monkey Bars
Big Daddy

Somebody should get on Ebay and auction off the right to name their child. That reminds me I need to refill the prescriptions on my meds.

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Pin the Blame on the Asshole.

Yo. I'm not normally a big fan of political pins, because the people who wear them out in public are almost always complete assholes. But I thought this one might actually offend some people. Plus, now people will know that I'm an asshole even before I open my mouth. I just realized that I was an asshole the other day when I almost keyed a car because it had some Pro-BUSH bumper sticker on it. Why didn't anybody tell me I was an asshole? I should have an asshole job. I guess I could can always move up from being a teacher and become an administrator.

These Secret Society of Happy People people never responded to my letter.|| What kind of world do we live in where people no longer respond to nasty and obnoxious email you send to them?  Posted by Hello

Who's on your Rocket?

Earth is run by retards. That's all I have to say right now. Let's build a big rocket and leave. If you could bring any six people with you who woould you take along. And I don't want to hear about family or friends or spouses, I want to hear about celebs and authors and people we actually know. So please, nobody bring their cousin Mike, or your shrink. Yes, I'm sure that they're both great kissers, but we don't know who the hell they are, do we?

I'd bring...

Katie Holmes - Obvious
Donald Trump -
So I could beat his smug materialistic face into paste.
Mr. T -
He's Mr. T for fucksake
Avrile Levi- whatshername - Entertainment (various forms)
Robert Downey Jr. - C
onversation, my amusement
Kate Beckinsdale - I like her, um... voice.

I would've taken Johnny Depp, but then I'd be stuck shagging the Donald while Johnny bagged all the girls Mormon style.

Okay, maybe I'd drop Mr. T and bring Beck just to get his talented ass out of the evil clutches of Scientology. I can't think of a famous doctor but that'd be a useful person to have on board too.

My choices are lame? Yeah, so, who the hell are you bringing?

The Bigger the Fro the Harder they Fall

Further proof that getting stoned and kung fu fightin' don't always groove well together.

Yup, you click here.

Monday, September 27, 2004

My Delightful and Horrible Trip to New York

Both stories are true. Though neither are spell checked.

The Good Version

It was one of the nicest short jaunts to N.Y.C. I can recall. I got the chance to meet up with some new friends in Brooklyn - word. Eat some phat thai food. Penny and I were driven up to the lush greenery of Chapaqua NY to see some some college friends getting married. And the entire time wherever I was taken I was incredibly well fed for free. I even got in a day of house-I-grew-up-in-visiting, family visiting and some quality Grandma Hugging. The people in the city were doing things that nobody in LA does, like, sitting in the park and talking (to a live person), walking on foot (with their feet!) And I can't be 100% sure, but I think some of the people seemed were talking about topics other than themselves. The great energy in the air and weather and culture and ethnic food were inspiring and connecting with both old and new friends was a joyous and jovial experience.

The Bad Version

I was sick as a dog. Physically fatigued, sore muscles, and congested lead me into a depressed and miserable state of mind. It's really hard to appreciate the abstract art of the Chelsea Galleries when you're dizzy. FYI: It's probably a good idea not to buy art when you have some nasty flu. You're asthetic appreciation is definitely affected. I found myself making savvy observations such as "Wow that one has a lot of buncha colors in it." and "I bet that took a long time to do." and "That's an incredible sculpture. Oh, that's not art that's just some old lady." That night I got worse and I really knew I wasn't feeling well when I found myself pondering what it would feel like to leap from a 19 story apartment building and hit the concrete pavement. Would it hurt? Would it happen really fast? Good manners prevailed and I decided that as lousy as I was feeling it would be rude to committ suicide while staying at my aunt's lovely apartment. Also it would have really been a hassel for my wife to be left a newlywed widow with a mashed corpse to clean up. So etiquite told me leaping from the window ledge was a "no no." Later at the wedding upstate I had to pretend that I was feeling fine and dandy so that my friend could fully enjoy her wedding. You have to tough it out. I couldn't have said, "Sorry kiddo, I'm sick, but I'll be happy and celebrate the next time you get married." So in my delapidated oldmanish, nauseous state, I was forced to make polite chit chat with a table of strangers. Strange strangers. Then yes, I was selected via a rollicking game of hot potato to be the "volunteer" who was forced to do the Macaraena - Macariena... I don't know how to spell it, I just know it was uncool in 1997 and six years of sitting on the dork shelf hadn't improved it any.

So, I braved the open bar in an effort to kill the emotional and physical pain I was in. Now in hindsight I don't think that having a few stiff vodka drinks was the best course of action. I should add that it's also difficult to enjoy what was a lovely wedding ceremony on a gorgeous day with a lovely open bar and not too shabby buffet and music, an merriment when your wife who was taking care of you so you could get through the trip becomes far sicker than you.

And next week I am obligated to get dragged on a six hour drive to a cousin-in law's wedding, who I only ever refer to as "Penny's bitchy cousin."

Don't you wish you were me. Why couldn't I have been sick next weekend? Because then I wouldn't have had the chance to experience the searingly painful ear ache that accompanies a flight from NY to LA when you have a nasty head cold.

Thusfully, in my summation, I say for the love and health of our sweet baby Jesus, please cover your mouth when you sneeze. If some 4th grader can put me through a hellish four days then a few of your stray germs could create a Chaos Effect and bring about the long awaited and perhaps beneficial Four Horseman of the Apocalypse, galloping, fire and brimston spewing, hell on Earthy Armageddon.

Also I helped find a good home for an 8 week old kitten. (True)

So, if you see me or drop me a line you need not ask "How was your weekend?"

Sunday, September 26, 2004

When Heroes Go Down

A boxer can be talented, but can only be truly great if he can pick himself up and recover from a loss. I'll try not to have you non-boxing fans glaze over, I'm getting to something more substantive so bear with me.

Roy Jones Junior was one of the most talented and skilled and fast punching fighters in the last fifteen years. He was dazzling in his ability and rarely even got hit. Several months ago he lost to a hungry challenger who knocked him out in the second round. He never recovered mentally from the knockout he got from challenger Antonio Tarver and yet he returned for what should have been a tune up fight with a journeyman fighter. Roy Jones was at most half there. His mind was elsewhere. It was sad to see this 35 year-old ghost of a man in the boxing ring. No fancy footwork, no stinging combination punches, no hunger and he got knocked helluva-unconscious and lay on the canvas for four minutes. I feel like Roy today. Possibly because I have a chest cold. It seems that whenever I get sick I also slide into a dark and negative frame of mind. I can't imagine having your best days behind you at the age of 35. It's a sad thing to contemplate, but then there are so many musicians who didn't get past 28. Is it better to burn bright and leave quickly? To never grow old? I wonder if I'll ever have the drive to accomplish my goals. It's easy to talk about them but nobody really stays after their goals. I see talented friends and people out there who had such potential at 26, 27, 28 years old who have given up on the very dreams that lit their fire. I wish I had something I could believe in, something that was real. I haven't produced any material, hard material in a long time. Where does that drive go? And what makes it fade from our soul? Lots of questions that nobody can answer.
Tangent: I hate my graduate program supervisors, I love working with kids, and I'll be a good teacher once I finally chew my leg off and free myself and graduate from the Academic Christian Bear Trap and the Egomaniacal administration that has ensnared me. But, even when I get to the top of that hill and even if my leg miraculously grows back. I know I'm supposed to be doing more with my life than just teaching elementary school and I know that it involves writing, but I don't know what exactly it is? I hate that I'm not making a living off of my writing ability. I'm not a real writer. I'm not counting puppet shows. I'd be happy to just put out a fucking pamphlet at this point. So I hope I can recover from the frustration of banging my head on the door of the television world and find what I'm really supposed to be doing. I want to write a play, a screenplay, an animated TV show, have somebody produce one of the children's books I've written. I want to be able to speed dial some connected venture capitalist with the ideas that burst into my head. I know that I'm an inventor and a more than decent writer and I have all the ideas and ability that it takes, but it seems that it's never going to happen because the ox pulling my plow just doesn't see a reward coming to him. So when I saw a legendary boxer's career come to an end, it made me think (and Christ on rice I'm not a legendary anything, that's for sure) why haven't I been able to dust myself off. Am I waiting for somebody to inspire me, somebody to feed off my energy. The right collaborator? Or should I just start snorting cocaine so I can fool myself into thinking that I'm the center of the universe. With a handful of exceptions, the achievers in this world are either egomaniacal self-serving cut-throat imps or oblivious lucky bastards. Yes, there are a few people who have used talent and worked to elevate themselves. But to what end? What's the goal? A bigger house, a nicer car, washboard abs, a walk-in refrigerator? I have so much to prove to myself that I don't know where to begin. Am I procrastinating or have I flatlined? I need to have some kind of reward dangled in front of me. Here write this and I'll give you this. Even here, write me a screenplay by this date and I'll give you 500 dollars. It's hard for me to do the work hoping that maybe there will be a reward, because ultimately I don't know what reward I want. I want to have happy kids, I want to be recognized for work that I produce. I want something tangible. I want to feel good about myself. Is there such a thing as a happy artist? I don't think so. We're perpetually raising the bar on ourselves. How will that get you to a place of satisfaction?

I'm realizing that some of my friends are going to read this and make judgments about me, but if they're actually my friends they won't take my friendship file and stick it in the has-bin bin. I cut those fair weather flunkies out of my life a long time ago. So I'm going to post this anyway. I think it's okay to let your guard down. At least it should be. It's too tiring to try and convince everybody that you're a razor sharp, hot shit one man party 24 hours a day.

Bottom line. I need some momentum. So if you have any momentum you're not using or some sagely advice or a wizened mentor I can borrow or even an applicable life lesson-- even a mildly relevant anecdote-- I'm actually listening. I'll read what you have to say. I suspect there will be something worthwhile among the many "Dude, don't get down, you rock!"comments. Thanks for reading this entire me-me vomitous stream of self-consciousness. To me that suggests that either you can relate to some of what I'm saying, or that you're the kind of person who delights in watching bugs wildly flail their legs about as they try to get back on their feet.

Thursday, September 23, 2004


You'd think that a seven hour drive into the desert of Arizona would be a foolish way to start a weekend. You'd be very very wrong. It was like traveling through a Martian Landscape. Red hills and mountains, gigantic cacti instead of trees. I think the entire experience could've only been more fun if we'd been able to pick up the hitch-hiking ghost of Jim Morrison on our way into Tucson. However, without Peyote, this was not likely to happen. Giggles and I were on a mission. We were there to meet the Town Bikes and to watch tough chicks slap the crap out of each other while rolling around wearing skates, short retro skirt uniforms and fishnet stockings. This was a mission we could not fail.

We promptly arrived at the Tucson Roller Derby and got our complimentary tickets thanks to the lovely and talented Town Bikes. I love comp tickets. They make people look at you like you're somebody important, which clearly I am. I must be. "I have complimentary tickets, don't I?!" The Derby was the final match of the Tucson Roller Derby season, winner take all and. And by "all" I mean cute little rollerskate shaped trophies. The Iron Curtain lead by the jamming and pivoting efforts of Whamma Pavlova and Kay G.B. racked up an early lead, but the Furious Truckstop Waitress had a few tricks up their aprons and rallied back behind the dynamic duo of Fisti Cuffs (Winner of the Best Ass category at least on my ballet) and Sloppy Flo the lean mean jamming machine and won the championship. The delicate mixture of sport, violence, pageantry, short skirts, comedy, retro flair and girlsweat combined to make a sweet cocktail of entertainment that was anxiously guzzled down by the crowd. The intoxicated crowd was a glorious mix of old dudes, young kids, butch fifty year old women, hipster teens, stoner 20 somethings. The only unifying physical features of the crowd were their blatant love of tattoos. Unless I am sentenced to a jail time at womens' prison or perhaps sent to a biker ralley, I will never again see that tattooed women in my lifetime. I will post some pictures ASAP. But just image grown women costumed women knocking the stuffing out of each other at thirty+ miles and hour with an eight-year-old kid, with long blue hair holding up his homemade "Communists are Cool" banner in the background. I swear I wish that crowd had been voting on our presidential election.

The one little hiccup to the road trip was that krankiboy left his wallet back in L.A. Yes, I'm referring to myself in the third person even though I'm not a mobster, athlete or televangelist. It's my blog so I can dream of one day being all three. That would be tight. So I was able to talk my way into a bar on Friday night, but Saturday the girl at the door wasn't going to let me in if shit out a diamond necklace on a velvet pillow. I tried and tried to use my "charm." (Mostly I just begged her and said "pretty please" a lot. Then I tried to get in the back way, but of course I didn't have a stamp. It was pretty clear when I couldn't get my friend's stamp to even smear onto my wrist that I would not be enjoying drinks and merriment with the Town Bikes, the rugged yet feminine Derby combatants. The Surly Wench Tavern was true to it's name, and I sort of respect them for that. So my new found friends kindly ganged up and beat the living shit out of the girl at the door. Kicking her over and over in the head with their blood drenched skates. No... we went to Bob Log's Cabin and had a mini house party. After some consoling from Gabi "Town Bike" Barton and a few strong drinks, I was in a jovial mood once again. While nobody was particularly dazzled by my display of novice nunchucks skills, my patented impression of a Squirrel Giving a Blow Job reaffirmed my status as a comedic idiot-savant. Emphasis on the idiot. I also expanded my knowledge of highly offensive Australian slang. And yesterday I got the cherry placed atop my Rollerderby Sundae when Kim Sin told me that they're going to use my catch phrase at the future Tucson Roller Derby brawls. "Let's get down and derby!" So, at the end of the rainbow there is a reward to 14 hours of driving through the dessert.

Wednesday, September 22, 2004

No Rest for the Kranki

I'm off again. To jet set to NYC, meet up with the three wise ladies- Miss Anthrope, Miss Know It All and Miss Information. Maybe I'll also get to meet Miss Demeanor, Miss Understanding and Miss Communication too.

I am behind on my bloggery, but that doesn't mean that I don't love you all. Except for BEVIS. I'm 97% sure that he has died. Why else would he stop commenting on the Khronicles? There is a remote 2% chance he's just lost his typing fingers in a horrible lawnmower accident and small 1% chance that he's out having fun somewhere.

Rest in Peace Bevis, we'll all miss you... until you're quickly replaced with a surly wise-cracking puppet.

Must pack for NYC. I hope I stumble onto Greg The Boyfriend while out painting the town red with my wife and the Misses.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Everyone Gets Six Bullets

Here's my plan. It's a little radical, but it solves a lot of problems. Everyone gets a revolver loaded with six registered personal bullets. These bullets are marked, hologrammed, whatever it takes to identify them with the owner.

I think that we should legally be allowed to shoot six people without any criminal repercussions whatsoever. No more than six. That's reasonable. I figure that there are two people I'd like to kill so I'll probably acquire four more people to hate over my lifetime. First and foremost people would be a hell of a lot nicer knowing that anybody could blow them away and not be criminally penalized in any way. The population would thin out nicely and only people who pissed others off would get shot. You're worried that some asshole is going to shoot somebody for no reason. No way. Why waste a bullet on somebody you only sort of want dead when you might need to save them. I know there are people out there who are making my life miserable who do not have anybody who would care enough to shoot me back. I know I'd certainly make damn sure that somebody was worth shooting before I pumped a 700 mile per hour projectile into them. The real assholes would have so many enemies gunning for them that their contribution to the gene pool would be eliminated or they'd have to change the way they did business and adjust their attitude. Let's face it people, life is cheap, so let's at least make the bullets really valuable. You turn 21 and you get your gun. People are already killing people indiscriminately all over the world, so why not give everyone the ability to reap vengeance and be much more selective when they deal out death. Save it for when someone has truly wronged you. You root for the bad dude to get his in the movies all the time, you know you do. We want the bad guys to get what's coming to them. The entire plan would need to be worked out a bit, but I know I'd sleep better knowing I had the power to serve up a dirt nap to those who prove themselves bullet-worthy. I bet if we all had six get out of jail free cards we'd all have a really cool boss.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

The Tucson Connection

I am eagerly awaiting the Raw Estrogen Surge of the Roller Derby tonight. I'm hoping for a chance to lay some money down on the battle. I don't even know the rules to rollerderbing so I'm sure to win a pile of cash. I also would like to get a picture of one of the derby girls arm-wrestling Giggles or hurting him in some way. Something suitable for framing.

We're staying with my friend J's mom and she's been great. She likes the same TV shows as me and is big into David Sedaris. She has the cool mom vote locked up as far as I'm concerned. Her son J even called me last night while we were out in his home town (He's off at a Cabin in Colorado "fishing" or something manly.

I've been on good behavior as Gig and I are guests. It's a phat house, Santa Fe style place with a jacuzzi, a pool room an eight foot long Bull Snake that lives on the property. The usual stuff. All in all it's nice to have a vacation house to escape the real world for a while.

Most of all I'm getting excited to meet Ms. Fits's mostest, bestest friend, Gabi who's performing at half time of the Derby. Last night down on Fourth street by the University of Arizona or Arizona State or whatever, they're the Wild Cats was a romp. Giggles and I entertained ourselves by waiting until a group of people walked past us and then we'd break out into a huge argument about something I managed to get into all the bars even though I, absentminded dumb-arse that I am, left my wallet at home. What's the one thing you need when you take a road trip. Yeah, I forgot it. Oh, and my camera. I'd like to get Giggles laid, preferably by a derby girl with coconut-cracking thighs. I miss Penny, but sometimes it's good to do the whole absence makes the heart grow fonder thing. Hopefully we will all party like immature rockstars tonight, or at the very least, like 30-year-old Rollerderby groupies. I must go now so I can hear some more embarrassing
stories about J's childhood from his mom.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Road Trip Ahead

Friday I drive seven hours to Tucson Arizona to see the Town Bikes and their twisted brand of Australian Cabaret. I shall be dragging Giggles along with me for the strange adventure. I am certain that one of us will not survive the journey. No, that's not true, but it sounded dramatic, didn't it? The Town Bikes are playing at the Derby which happens to be having it's championship Ladies roller derby featuring the Furious Truckstop Waitresses against the Iron Curtain. They are mostly bruisers and I don't usually dig tall chicks made even taller by roller skates, but I have never seen a roller derby live and look forward to watching women hurt each other just for sport. A group cat fight on wheels. It's like a like a Nascar flesh rumble. It's good to see that violence isn't just for men and boys. Don't worry Giggles and I will be wearing our helmets too.

With love, or disdain and scorn (depending on who you are)


Wednesday, September 15, 2004

Please Take Your Hand Out Of The Bear's Ass

I do so enjoy embarrassing people. Especially the Lady R who has a great sense of humor about it. She didn't even get mad when I threw that dead sand crab in her mouth. What a champ!
Went to dinner with Lady R. CPK. Yum. Afterwards we went to the mall to kill time until rush hour was over. I bought some puppets at a baby store, because Lady R thinks she wants a baby and goo gooed over some baby clothes and crap. The hedgehog sweatshirt was kinda cute. After talking to the cashier via the puppet I spoke to Lady R loudly for half an hour while people looked on in puzzlement at the escaped mental patient making the bear puppet and cow puppet harass Lady R with talk that was inappropriate even from the mouth of a plush animal hand puppet.

Monday, September 13, 2004

I'm Hellward Bound!

Maybe it's wrong, but my first thought after reading about this gizmo was how to rent out quadriplegics for use as warm pillows. I know. I'm going to the deepest layer of Hell. The layer where they don't even have ice cream and you must sleep in a pool of scalding hot oil. That would be nightmarish. An eternity without Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream.

I should point out that this would give the limb-less a sense of usefulness and purpose which might otherwise be lacking from their lives... Does that make it a bit less of a horrific, sick and twisted suggestion? No, probably not. No ice cream for Krankiboy. But I will give them a nice 10% cut of the Rent-A-Plegic profit money. Okay, fine, 15%.

My second thought after reading the article was about the hordes of lonely Japanese women? Did all their Hello Kitty Vibrators stop working all at once? Some will say it's about security not sex, right. Well, I say it's about security AND sex. That's why some American psycho, capitalist, pig-dog, inventors already created the Real Doll. It will get you off AND cuddle you. Yes, for just $6,499 dollars, the price of a fantastic exotic vacation for two you can buy a some full-size sex doll. And I have to say, after browsing through the Real Doll options, some of which are truly disturbing, I honestly can't tell if I would rather have Kaori or Stacey. My birthday is in January! But I'd rather have the vacation and the sex with my "Real Woman"* Sex with real women is a weird fettish of mine. But I'm not afraid to admit it. We didn't have Real Dolls when I needed them most. They could have been a very important "Teaching Tool" when I was about sixteen years old. Maybe poor Clara would have enjoyed more than a quick 45 seconds of hot lovin' if only young Krankiboy had had something a Real Doll to practice on. No, they didn't exist unless you built one yourself. The closest thing we had when I was a horny teenage boy was the female CPR Dummy Resuci-Annie. Annie didn't have that much going for her. She was made of hard plastic and Annie was not a receptive kisser. And poor Annie was the the kind of CPR Dummy with no arms, legs or a lower body, so-- Oh great Satan! I don't believe that my vile thoughts have come all the way around, full circle, and right back to the idea of having quadriplegics in your bed. I've disturbed myself and hopefully others and shall now go and sit myself in the corner with no ice cream. I feel so wrong and yet still feel I need to make a decision on whether I prefer Kaori or Stacey. Who would you go for if you were stranded on a desert island, trapped in Hell without ice cream or just REALLY hard up for a shag?

Well, at least it's all good news for the necrophiliacs.

*And when I say "Real Woman" I mean my lovely wife, Penny. Although some of those male Real Dolls were pretty hung.

Sunday, September 12, 2004


I was talking about prank calls with my new friend who was in a well-known band (that's a vague name drop) And Zeus bless the internet I found the audio snippet in three minutes.

There are good crank calls and bad crank calls. This one is a bit old but it's one of my all time favorites. Conjugal is good too.

Malcolm X Stamps

Here are some other tidbits.

The Legend of Todd Weeks

Click on this one for sure.

And when you go to the site, this clip will give you a taste of Todd's freestyle self defense skills. You'll note that in addition to being a deadly weapon he is also a multi-talented musician. To say that Todd Weeks is my hero would be an understatement.  Posted by Hello

Be prepared to be astounded!

The Master at Work
Behold what the human body is capable of doing when it is refined and polished to perfection by 29 years of karate experience and training.

Don't forget to take advantage of Todd's bargain option and his ability to give you an official karate ranking just by mailing him your fighting skills demo video.

I hope this renegade master of the combative arts will deem me a worthy pupil.

Saturday, September 11, 2004

Bring on the Brats!

So I finally received my student teaching assignment I'll be with a 4th grade class in Beverly Hills. I'll keep you posted. The kids are going to mock my crappy car. I was really hoping for the younger kids the age before they start forming little clicks and tribes and turning teasing other children into an art form.

Kids Love Puppets

I'm just about to pass out from exhaustion. I feel like Mick Jagger after a high energy tour. Yesterday I did six puppet show/sketch performances at three different elementary schools all about The Pledge of Allegiance. I recorded a rap that explained what the words of the Pledge mean. Here are some highlights.

- The hip 4th grader who asked me if I was doing any rap concerts.

- The little boy who raised his hand desperate to ask a me question and then babbled pure gibberish when he spoke. I couldn't understand a word so I asked him to repeat what he said. But when he "repeated" himself he spoke entirely different sounding gibberish. I quickly said "I agree. Does anybody else have a question?"

- My friend who played a little girl improvising funny lines about proper Dodge ball etiquette.

- The 9-year-old, Hispanic girl who asked "What's that shiny string on the puppet's neck?" I explained that the puppet character likes to dress like his rap idols and those were supposed to look like gold chains. "Oh," she said, "you mean Bling Bling."

- Holding my up and moving a puppet for over two hours to the point where I could barely lift my arms.

- Making my puppet stutter for almost a full minute and having the kids laugh at it the entire time.

- When Giggles pointed out that my white shirt was so completely drenched in sweat from the heat that it became see-thru. And that my nipples had been 100% visible to all the kids during the last two performances.

The great irony being that I am personally against blindly following a symbol or pledging allegiance to anything. The pledge reminds me of the Nazis. But the rap was about as subversive as a pro-pledge rap could get. My rap included the line "Liberty and Justice go hand in hand so don't touch my freedom Mr. Government man!" I wanted to put up a sign that said "A Buck Fush Production," but thought better of it. Yo! I got paid, so it's all butta.

Domestic Bliss

I had to share this post I read on Burnt Karma's site.

The dog ate my homework, and other lame excuses.

So there we were, reading in bed. Hubbs has Harry Potter, I have the latest New Scientist mag. It gets worse. I open the pages and they are stuck together with something very sticky and white!

Hubbs: OMFG, you're juicing up over New Scientist!
Me: I did not! It's baby vomit!
Hubbs: Yeah, sure, you fucking nerd!
Me: Yeah, well... you married me... nerd fucker!

It really was baby vomit. I promise!

Freedom to Force People to Do Things!

Excerpt from the angry people at Keep the

"On June 25th, 2002, the 9th Circuit Federal Court of Appeals ruled that the Pledge of Allegiance is “unconstitutional” and cannot be recited in public schools because it contains the words “under God.” This unbelievable and absurd ruling is yet another salvo from activist judges more interested in making their own law rather than following the Constitution."

I sent this email to the Under God Pushers

Dear "Under God" Mandatory Pledge hardliners:

Point of fact

1) The U.S. Constitution does not include the Pledge of Allegiance. Which was written in 1892 by socialist advocate, Francis Bellamy. Look it up.

2) "Under God" to the pledge does add religion to the pledge. What's wrong with dropping Under God and keeping The Pledge as a sign of Patriotism? Religion and Patriotism are not related. Freedom includes the freedom not to follow the belief system imposed by others. Freedom of Religion is in the constitution and it protects the right to practice or not practice an organized religion.

3) Your site's wording is incredibly biased and makes liberal (From the Latin root meaning freedom) sound like a dirty word. Why not go ahead and call those of us don't wish to be "Under God" Hippie Communists Agitators.

4) Mandatory pledging to God is not freedom.

5) You could actually put your resources and effort into helping people like I do and not clogging our courts and wasting time on debate.

6) If you're going to make a website, take the time to Check Your Facts so you don't look stupid and some guy with a half-decent education can rip holes in your unsubstantiated claims.

7) You're free to ask for your god's blessing or the Tooth Fairy's blessing for all I care. Just don't try and take away my personal freedoms with your subjective bullshit.

8) I'm Proud to be a Free American.

Ima Saneperson

You can send them mail at

I love the John Wayne audio on their site. Well, let's saddle up and go give it a listen. Whaddya say, pilgrim?

Friday, September 10, 2004

Stress Relief Methods - Warning Nudity!

That's Odd! I thought for sure the nudity warning would have scared you off.

Option #1 for stress relief. Repeat until you no longer feel stressed.

Option #2 for stress relief. Repeat until out of bullets.

And taking a nice warm bath is option #3. The sensible option.

These two perky specimens that you're gazing at are called breasts. No! Not the yellow things swimming around in the tub, I think those are coyotes, but I know that they're certainly not breasts. Look above the yellow coyotes. No! Those are arms. Look at the protruding part on the woman's chest in between the arms and the coyotes. Yes, the bumpy things with the dots a.k.a. nipples a.k.a. areola. Aren't these two just breathtaking? I love to see coyotes swimming and frolicking at bath time.

The Big Boobie-Off

(To be read in my Earnest Announcer voice)

Miss Know It All and Giggles are in the finals. Both scored a legitimate 44 points, knocking Bevis from the busom of the winner's circle. And yes, the competition favored Americans. But Bevis captures the Bronze Boobie and retains the title of Australian Champion.

So for the final contestants I'm going to give you 10 fill in the blank with a boobie-related or boobie slang words. With a word or two words misssing. You must guess what the missing word is for each phrase or compound word. It's kind of like Match Game but without all the washed up 70's TV stars.

To be fair PLEASE EMAIL ME THE RESULTS. You both have my contact info.

Winner will receive an autographed ugly picture of me and maybe some stickers. Good Luck and may the breast man or woman win.

Here we go. No help from the audience* please.

1) ______ for tat.

2) I'd like to frost those________.

3) What kind of bees make milk? ________

4) ________ augmentation

5) _________ fed babies are the best fed babies.

6) Are you watching the ________ tube again?

7) Welcome to ________ I'm Nikki can I start you guys off with some appetizers?

8) Over the shoulder ________ holder.

9) She's so flat-chested she should be president of the itty bitty _____ committee.

10) "I have _______ Greg? Could you milk me?" (hint: this is a movie quote")

Really hard bonus in case you get all those...

(TIE BREAKER) If necessary

One look at her firm bountiful breast reminded me of the famous rock band, _______ _______ (hint, their talented, alcoholic drummer died in 1980)

* Bevis, James Dough and Ms Fits, no helping.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

Prison Pete: Is it interesting enough to be fake?

Real or fake, click and read and you be the judge.

Exotic Cleveland and Tits

I Just like to bash the midwest sometimes. It's so bland and so... in the middle of the Country. Please contribute any animation links that you enjoy so I can post it for the kids.

Oh and somebody go take the What's Her Bra Size Quiz, Bevis has the top score of 43. Please if you love babies and the life giving milk delivery devices they suckle, then step up. Be the person who knows how big celebrity tits are. Make him earn his prize. And post your score my love dumplings.

The Id, the Ego and the Super Ego are all sitting at a bar...

The title sounds like the beginning of a bar joke. The Id, the Ego and the Super Ego are all sitting at a bar. The Ego turns to the Super Ego and says...

I didn't say it was a joke, I just said it sounded like the start of one. If anybody can invent the remainder of that joke I will by you a coke and teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. Okay I can't do that, so make it a coke and a slice of pizza. That's a promise! You can hold me to it. I know and have worked with a hell of a lot of funny and talented writers, but it takes a rare mind to just sit down and make up a joke from start to finish like that. I bet the guy who came up with the idea of the Farmer, The Farmer's daughter and the traveling salesman was some alcoholic comedy savant. I wonder if there is a big book of those types of jokes. I'm off to surf the internet to find out. And to refresh myself on the difference between the Ego and the Super Ego. I know the ID is the one that's all about sex and violence and base human urges. I wonder if I could come up with an anti-joke. The non-polish fellow, the man who isn't French and the not-black guy are lost in the desert...

Finally a Card I Can Use!

I assume that they're all printed on recycled and smokeable material.

Here are my sample ideas. Share one or two of your own.

1) Dear Andy, I'm sorry you wound up deep throating that chocolate eclair and then gagging on your new Nike sneakers. We shouldn't have dared you.

2) Sweet sweet, Mindy. I just wanted to say that I had a great time on the birthday camping trip with you and your (ex?) boyfriend Mike. Don't worry. It's only been a few weeks. Those search dogs are really well trained and I bet they'll at least find his decomposing corpse. You know, if the wild animals haven't eaten away at it to bad. Anyway, my suggestion for us all to take one bong hit for every year old we were, probably wasn't such a hot idea. Also you still owe me $12.55 in gas money from the drive back. If they don't find Mike alive, you wanna have some cocktails with me in my van this weekend?!

3) Hi Mom! I'm really, really, sorry that I stabbed you in throat with your knitting needle, but the acid I was tripping on made me see you as a spider demon trying to wrap me in your webbing. I don't think I would have even taken the hit of acid if I hadn't gotten so stoned first. I know we'll look back at laugh at the incident when you're out of the coma. Also I promise not to buy acid from that dealer any more.

Love, Jim

4) Yo, Jim, I'm sorry to hear about what happened to your mom and her being in a coma and shit. That is fucked up. I can't help but feel partly responsible since I sold you that wack Acid. I didn't know that it was the one laced with PCP. I guess I was still pretty out of it high after I ate that gingerbread house. I hope you're not bummed out.
Peace. Late! - Zig Zag

This is from toothpaste for dinner. About 1 in 20 make me laugh, but I pass the sweet bits on to you.  Posted by Hello

Look carefully at this image for ten seconds. Relax you mind. Then tell me three things that you see in the image or that the image could be and I will tell you if you are regular crazy, very crazy or stark raving drooley -looney bin filler. If ten people participate then I will post an embarrasing picture of me.  Posted by Hello

I hated the Richie Rich Cartoon, with his dollar sign shaped hedges and swimming pool, army of servants and his million dollar a week allowance. I was on welfare with my mom at the time the cartoon was on and I kept hoping maybe Aquaman would pop up in the pool and kill Richie for me. Gold dog bowl. Suck my Food Stamps.  Posted by Hello

Tuesday, September 07, 2004

Words of Wisdom from Women

Friends, Casual Readers and those who are just sitting around in their underwear and stumbled onto this post.

I just wanted to let you know that if you ever find yourself with a question or problem, be it big a biggie, like "My wife has a shotgun pointed at my groin!" or "My new pet ferret, Pepe, doesn't get along with Jorge my pet iguana. What should I do?"

Well, certainly don't ask me, because I'll just mock you mercilessly, your balls will get blown off and worse still, Pepe and Jorge will never become friends.

So if you want good, anonymous, free advice, here is the place to go. Help is but a click away my children.

Ask me a question, and I'll tell you no lies...

These three gals give good advice, even if they've been drinking. Go ahead, give them a tough personal question that you need advice on. They'll bust a cap in your problem's ass (arse if you're an Aussie, Brit, Kiwi)

Honestly it's like having three women pals that don't burden you with their own garbage. How pure, generous genius is that? One day you'll thank me. Nah. You won't. But you should. It's like Dear Abby, but with three hot & brainy chicks from New York.

I Love Holiday Weekends

I had a great Holiday Weekend! Hope you did too.

I also won forty bucks.

Monday, September 06, 2004

We're Never Satisfied

Everybody likes to express themselves in some way. From the already rich and famous Quarterback who feels that he also needs to show his rap star skills, to the shy school girl with braces who plays the clarinet and just wants to make friends. Everybody wants more than they have already. Content? Me? No, never. Some people don't need much, they just like to be creative and use the internet as a medium for their work. Some people like to have feedback on their posts, art, writing, naked pictures, whatever. And that's fine. I suppose that it isn't any stranger for somebody to enjoy having sex while people watch them than it is for somebody to want people to read their boring-as-all-fuck blog about what they ate for breakfast or who they want to go to prom with or what they think of their sister's new boyfriend. A good blog will have elements of both the titillating and the mundane and it will likely fall somewhere between- "Did you like my haiku about puppies? " and "Watch me blow a fat load all over this skanky chick's face!" But most people, and you may feel I deserve inclusion in this group, don't really know how or why they write blogs or internet diaries or MySpace or, where this need for feedback on their art show, screenplay or whatever, comes from. I just use Blogger. I'm like the old man who doesn't like to try new things. What's that? Is that something different?... Then I'm not interested." The same I suppose could be said of little kids who refuse to eat anything green or weird or "vegetable-ly." I wasn't so set in my ways when I was younger. I wish I still had a more consistent, adventurous, curious and embracing spirit. I've seen this side of myself, but it's not usually around very long and if you question it, it'll quickly rush off like a politician caught with their pants down, muttering a curt "No Comment" and disappearing before you can ask it anything pertinent. I hope I enjoy being a teacher and I hope I can turn the job into something that gives me emotional and creative satisfaction. On good days I'm psyched to get in there and on days when I'm let's say a bit hungover, or lethargic from the heat. I can create an imaginary world of worries. I've always had this ability. I remember being a child in my bed at home and going out of my way to imagine strange vulture-like creatures coming out of the attic and approaching me as I slept. Yeah, the movie The Dark Crystal really fucked up my sleeping habits for quite a while. Eventually I had to use my imagination to name all the superheroes I could think of and imagine that they were looking out for me. But then of course I decided I had to name them all in five seconds or the Attic Monsters would kill me in my sleep. I don't even want to talk about the idea of monsters under the bed. So anyway, the point I'm trying and failing to make in a round and round about manner is that we're all looking for validation from someplace. There isn't anybody I know of who is content to live a life without praise, acknowledgement or attention of some kind from others. As far as I know they haven't made a drug that will just let you appreciate what you have and accept yourself for who you are without all the other bells whistles and brain-warping effects. I'm sure when they do eventually create such a drug it will have a small side-effect like causing you to urinate molten lava or constantly crave human flesh. Or it will be highly addictive and cost two-thousand dollars per pill. Validation, right, stay focused, don't think of the scary monsters. Validation comes at such a high price for people that it's not usually worth chasing in the end. It only leads for a desire for more, better, hotter, cooler, newer, tastier, lemon-scented, extra crispy, low carb, new and improved, cheaper, easier, funnier, friendlier, faster, happier, smoother and on and on. We're holding ourselves up to impossible standards and we are convinced that we can have it all, eat our cake, save the princess and ride off into the sunset. So is this something everybody experiences? Is it the human condition to be restless and to want want want!? Why can't I just give myself validation for what I have done and what I am doing with my life and just be done with it. Accept the choices that I've made, sit down and read a book? I'm going to try. I am fairly outgoing and extroverted but some people simply crave more attention than a naked woman on fire running through Times Square at rush hour. So much of our disdain and hatred comes from jealousy and we won't even admit it to ourselves. So should we try and validate what we do and not compare yourself to other people? Impossible. We all go through the I'm 17 and I still haven't been laid, I'm 25 years old and I don't own my own mega corporation yet. I'm 30 and I haven't even written one great novel. I'm 35 and I still don't have a palace and my own personal harem. Stupid things. I've been writting blogs for almost three months and I still only get 85 visitors a day. I'd like to say that it is something we can rise above, but it might be part of our basic human survival instinct. And as Robert Downey Jr. or anybody who's ever owned a Siberian Tiger will tell you, you can never fully control instincts. They're too strong. What am I trying to say? If I knew that I wouldn't need to be a writer. At least I'll know that I've left behind a legacy of strange and rambling thoughts. So, ultimately, what I really want to know is this.

Do you like my haiku about puppies?

Soft, cold, wet, black nose
you crave my pure attention
eat, pee, play, poop sleep

And if you do like it isn't it an absolute crime that it hasn't been made into a full length movie yet?

Isn't that what it all boils down to? Validation.

My First Visit to My Trailer Park

I think it's both sad and endearing that people go to so much trouble to create entertaining websites.

Enter My Trailer Park

Celery & Cube # 5

The Spellbinding Adventures of
Celery & Cube!

by Krankiboy, Copyright 2004

> Hey, how's it going?

- Uh... It's going fine, but who are you?

> Settle down there, chief. I'm Cactus.

- Don't tell me to settle down! Where's Celery?!

> Oh, Celery said it was way too hot out, so he sent me. He went to catch a movie. Said he needed some "serious Air Conditioning." But I'm here so... yeah let's do the comic strip... thingie where we talk back and forth and whatever.

Celery & Cube # 5 (CONTINUED)

Celery & Cube - (Continued)

- Okay hold on there. First of all you can't just walk in here and just replace Celery because he thinks it's too hot out for him to do his job. And secondly you clearly don't even know what you're doing. We're not supposed to talk about ourselves as if we're in a comic strip. That's called breaking the fourth wall.

> Look, Chunky. I don't care. Celery gave me 50 bucks to come down and talk with you so, let's just do it and I can leave, okay? Or I could bitch slap you in the face.

- This is NOT right. Who wants to see me, CUBE, talk to some pompous, prickly... cactus? That's just absurd. That's not funny.

> Okay, I'll tell a joke. What do you call the useless skin and bone around the vagina?...

- Hey! Watch it, sailor-mouth. You can't say "VAGINA"! This is a respectable blog we live on. You tell Celery that he'd better be here Tuesday morning, bright and early. Because if he isn't I will go geometric on his ass!

It's True. I apologize. Posted by Hello

Sunday, September 05, 2004

It's Fucking HOT!

I am just going to write whatever pops into my head. So you might want to go read the Onion if you want some cleverly crafted humor.

Today it was so fucking hot outside I was only saved by having in-laws with a little pool and big hearts. I've talked about how angry I get when I don't get enough to eat. Well, the same thing happens when I get too hot. Anything in the mid 90's is too hot. The temperature over here went to 105 degrees I don't know what the hell that is celsius, because I am way to hot and uncomfortable to do the god damn conversion. I would be the first douchebag tossed off the Island in Survivor. I wouldn't last three days. You've seen how the women and men on the show who aren't used to roughing it complain, well,


fuck it it's too hot to write. Yes, I'm just slammed my hand on the keyboard, because I'm somewhat irritated. Thanks for noticing. I'm going into my bedroom where I have AC and reading a book. And yes, I know I'm a big wussy and I should suck it up. Why don't you slam your hand on the keyboard and see what you get. Then send it to me in a comment. Try it it's fun to hit your keyboard. People will think you're a really tortured artist and all the sexy girls and boys will want to suck your feet so hard that your toenails will come off.

I watched the first six episodes of the Chappell Show and I normally like him, but I thought it pretty much sucked. Could it be the heat or do you have to be a stoner to watch and laugh at the show. Now you get because I'm in a fowl, old-man-who's-mad-at-the-world state of mind. I feel like the angry neighbor who used to yell at us when we went to retrieve our tennis balls when somebody got good stick on it and hit it across the street. YOU BASTARD KIDS ! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY BLOG! You want me to call your parents!?

opiBRNpdn54765bv76b uk

Alcohol and Politics, the perfect combo.

Nobody really reads blogs on the weekend, which is healthy. You should be out trying to have sex and spread merriment and goodwill. I don't understand why so many horny people go home alone when they could awake the next morning with some fucking psychopath who you had drunken sex with.

I am fighting to be ensnared with political concern only to have my hope dashed onto the rocks like an overipe watermelon. But here is my idea for a party on election night that might help kill the sting you might get from the creature known only as American ignorance. A political drinking game. You put your name down on whoever you think will win the state and if you're wrong, you drink. Worst case scenario, the ass-rimming, monkey puppet wins again and you are already killing the pain with hard liquor. If things go well for you then you'll be drunk just in time to celebrate. Either way, crash at your friend's place or get a cab ride home. Voting and Drinking should be done in moderation. Women who are pregnant should be able to get two votes so politicians would covet their votes enough to stroke their tummies and ask "May I ask if it's going to be a Republican or a Democrat - laughity laugh laugh chuckle smile. "It's not mine is it?" Crowd laughs as candidate dips pregnant woman and tattoos a big wet one on her lips.

No More Politics! My Soul Hurts!

In an effort to distract myself from politics for a while and not get an ulcer from reading about how the Republican's are propping their party up despite an economy in the shitter, schools in crisis, a puerile disdain for the basic needs of the majority of American citizens, the true democratic process, as well as an ongoing, unapologetic, blatant misuse and abuse of military power, which some have accurately compared to a type of Colonial imperialism revisited. Lies concocted and spoon fed to a largely ignorant and accepting public who is so controlled by orchestrated fear that they might allow this turd of a man who is only where he is because he is a puppet-lackey for his administration, they might allow this man who has blundered and so damaged the United States that we may never recover the respect we've lost from the world even if we were to buy the world a coke and teach them how to sing in perfect harmony. Plus the people who would rather have oil instead of trees and other things that live and grow. It's too much to see the GOP taking shots at the Dems and the Dem's just grinning and bearing it and looking like a drowsy Basset hound battling a rapid German Shepherd at this moment. I remain boggled and so, in a desperate move to save my sanity from being bloated with rage and feeling powerless to avoid letting the "Pro-war, fuck the Islamic - if I chant USA loud enough than that's all that matters- We're Number #1 - If fighting doesn't work then let's try FIGHTING- Love America or leave it, why-try-and-fix-it-You Iraqi folks will be free and you'll like it, you motherfuckers-Attitude" eat away at my love and tolerance and hope for the future.

If it's genocide that we think we're fighting then we should have dispatched troops to the Sudan where a massive genocide is taking place, but those aren't just black people, they're foreign black people. Plus they have no oil so what good are they? And no Nukes, so who cares who is slaughtering who. If you're gonna play sheriff at least try and fool us by going after the obvious butchers.NO MORE POLITICS. UNTIL THE ELECTION. THIS IS NOW A POLITIC FREE ZONE. Right after I quickly just share this!
A Ludicrous selection of bumperstickers that offend Everybody But Rich Straight Pro-War, American males with small genital, megalomanical god complexes who suffer from moderate to severe mental processing difficulties. Quick Question.Is it illegal to put an add in the paper saying that if the Republicans stay in power that somebody could pick off oh.. I don't know, let's say, Cheney, Bush, Pappa Bush, Ken Roos, John Ashcroft, etc... But it could only be somebody with drive, willpower, technical and logistical ability and powerful personal convictions nerves of steel and raging passion for dealing out Karma and justice. Someone who possessed a cunning wit who was strong enough to commit major crimes and a series of political assassinations in order to be immortalized as one of the most famous humans in the history of the entire 21st century. Is that allowed because my friend said it would be okay to write something like that in a paper, but I think it's ludicrous and technically tantamount to treason and could get you arrested by Big Brother. Which is why you will never ever see me quoted as saying something like "America would be forever grateful if somebody put a quick and potent end to the Big shots in the Bush Administration." I think that murder of anybody is morally wrong. I sure hope nobody ever makes a bold and stunning assassination on the Executive Branch of government. Imagine how upsetting it would be for the the people who are busy waging their war of freedom to be thwarted in their efforts to hijack the country for their own personal gain. I would cry and I told me friend that that kind of talk could get his ass thrown in jail. So if no superhuman assassin steps out of the shadows to mercilessly slaughter Hard core Republicans, I hope somebody thanks me for pointing out the consequences of such a dramatic and "oh-so-dastardly" deed.

Happy Sabrina, what makes you tick?

It's the sociologist/psychologist in me popping up again.

I really and truly continue to wonder about these women.

And not just in a skanky "what-do-you-look-like-under-there, and why don't you take your body stocking and your clothes off," gross, anime fetish kind of way, but in a "why-do-they-enjoy-doing-this-for-such-long-stretches-of-time? So Seriously. If anybody knows enough Japanese or has a friend who does. Would somebody please ask these girls for me. I can't read any Japanese so I have no idea how to contact them. I would be very happy to know why they are into doing this? What about it is interesting to them?

Friday, September 03, 2004

Celery & Cube # 4

The Spellbinding Adventures of Celery & Cube!

by Krankiboy, Copyright 2004

~ So what did you do to earn this promotion at the bank?

- They fired my boss.

~ Cool. Congrats, man. So, now you've got a sweet corner office and a big fat raise. Awesome.

- Not exactly. Now I'll be doing both my job and all the work my boss did with a 4% pay raise.

~ That's an insult, Cube! If I were you I'd get a shotgun, march back to work and pump hot lead death into everyone and everything there!

- Should I even ask how your job at Baby Gap is going?

Thursday, September 02, 2004

Girl Party Campaign Sees Red!

Yet another set back for the Barbie for President campaign. Just 9 weeks to go before the primary and this leaks out. I have not seen the likes of this since the Charlie Brown Shiza Video Scandal. Mattel declined to comment on the scandal. Strawberry Shortcake a long-time friend and campaign manager of Barbie supported her candidate. "Barbie was very young when that photo was taken, she's a woman now and is prepared for that sort of emergency. The German paparazzo should be deeply ashamed."

A Quick Thank You

From the Editor's Desk:

I would like to take a moment to thank the dedicated and support staff that helps contribute to the stories and news items featured in the Khronicle. I also wish to extend my heartfelt appreciation to, you, the reader. Much as I would like to be able to thank each and every one of you personally, that's just not possible with my busy schedule. So, turn down the lights, just put on some Marvin Gaye or Barry White, light some vanilla scented candles, get really comfortable and treat yourself right. You deserve it.

And I would like to thank future former president Dubya Bush for all the laughs he's helped provide us with over the last four years. It reminds me of Nero as he watched Rome burn to the ground. I think history will agree with me. He was emotionally unstable, capricious and scandalous. Ironically, his troubled reign proved the strength of the Roman Empire. Nero was the last descendant of Caesar to inherit the throne. Unfortunately, the demented ruler inherited little else from his illustrious forefather. BIOGRAPHY. tells the twisted tale of this infamous figure. Hear ancient accounts of how he was responsible for the fire that destroyed most of Rome. Modern scholars, however, reveal how this accusation while fitting Nero's character is likely untrue, and suggest that his mistress who he later married may have been responsible for many of his legendary excesses. Discover how he scandalized the army and aristocracy by appearing in plays, and explore his bizarre relationship with his mother, whom he eventually had killed. Filled with dramatic re-enactments and stunning ancient art and artifacts, this is the extraordinary story of the ruler who saw Rome literally burn to the ground. From his ascension to the throne at age 17 to his suicide, Nero proved the strength of the Roman Empire by his inability to destroy it! Sounds Oddly Familiar? I also like the parallel between the two rulers because fortunately Rome recovered. If I were Barbara Bush I wouldn't wear anything slinky or revealing around Georgie Jr.

He might go Nero and try and tap that sweet ass.

Criminals Just Keep Getting Smarter

I think the clerk must have Miscalculafied the change.

Fake $200 featuring Bush is back

Pennsylvania woman faces charges after cashier accepted bill with the president's picture on it. September 2, 2004: 3:26 PM EDT NEW YORK (CNN/Money) - It's no secret that people are passionate about the 2004 presidential election, but one Pennsylvania woman may have pushed her political feelings for George Bush a little too far. Deborah Trautwine, 51, faces criminal charges of forgery, theft and receiving stolen goods after she passed a fake $200 bill with the president's picture on it, the Pennsylvania State Police confirmed with CNN/Money Thursday. Although there is no $200 bill in circulation, never mind one with George Bush's picture on it, the cashier at the Fashion Bug in Hempfield Township, Pa., accepted the bill for some clothes and handed the woman about $100 in change. "She went in there and intended to pay with [the bill]," said Trooper Jeanne Martin. "Someone besides the cashier must have checked the cash drawer, then the store alerted us." Trooper Martin added that the police were able to track the woman from information the store had provided. This wasn't the first time a fake $200 'Bush' bill has been accepted by a cashier. Last September a man passed one at a Food Lion store in North Carolina to pay for $150 worth of food and was given $50 in change, according to a report from The Smoking Gun. Trooper Martin said the Pennsylvania State Police have not had any additional reports about the fake bills in the Pennsylvania area. The fake $200 also has other distinguishing features, such as being "signed" by former President Ronald Reagan, whose title on the bill is "Political Mentor." Bush's father's name also appears on the bill as "Campaign Advisor and Mentor." In addition, the serial number DUBYA4U2001 adorns the front of the fake bill.