Bad Writing

It feels like I'm straddling the Pacific Ocean right now. One foot in LA and one in Melbourne. I've lost touch with friends in both places and I'm somewhere over the Pacific.

Rock the Mullet!

I actually met this guy while out with a few friends some weeks ago. He was hanging out with some of his buddies at a trendy LA bar sipping beer and rocking things mullet-style. How and where my friend got hold of this picture I have no idea. But he has a smug slightly too tan hillbilly hip-hop hipster quality that makes me want to gouge his eyes out tear off his ear ring and stuff it down his throat. My best guess is that he must be a drug dealer to have such a woman draped on him. Is he so uncool that he's cool?

Or maybe he's just so incredibly sexy that my brain can't process it and has to shut down to avoid an overload.

Your input is appreciated. Help me out on this one.

xo Kranki

A Taste of the Exotic: My Saturday Night written by The Wizard

Hello there my little bloglings, how are you? My host krankiboy was kind enough to let me borrow his car this weekend so I could save my teleportation energy for more urgent matters. I was quite excited to operate the metal machine. I was forced to remove my wizard hat in order to sit comfortably in Kranki's Hoondar Accord horseless carriage. It really is quite exciting to press the rectangle on the car floor and bring the contraption up to a high rate of speed. It's also fun to sound the noise maker on the driving wheel. It's an excellent way to quickly scatter a sidewalk full of people who are standing in your way. I spotted a few scantily clad Hispanola ladies standing outside some hotbed of night-life activity. I proceeded to stop the Hoondar on the roadway. The first nuisance was the screaming man in the red vest who accosted me the moment I stepped out of the carriage. This fellow has a small booth and he told me I would had to "Move, dat fucking car out da the middle of the street you eediot." After I explained to him that I had a superior intelligence and was a powerful wizard we made an arrangement where he would hold my keys and I would get the car back later. That was on Saturday. I wonder if he still has the car?... Anyway, it was a good arrangement at the time as I didn't have any pockets on my robe. I waved to the group of people standing behind the fuzzy red rope and walked into the establishment. I was immediately confronted by a thick-necked man with an ear piece who told me I couldn't go in. I handed him some currency and he graciously opened the door for me. There was a cacophonous Hip-Hop-thumpy sound coming from inside that assailed my senses immediately. There were quite a number of long envious looks from the patrons. I later found out that these are called "Playa Haters." Obviously they didn't have the means to purchase shiny green robes of their own and they looked on in awe. I headed for the bar which required me to push my way through a throng of people. The bar man quickly came to service me. There was no Grog or Mead to be had so I went with a Vodka Martini. When the serving man turned around to make my drink I used a bit of telekinesis to supply myself with a few bottles of something called Smirnoff, another called Bacardi and a dark bottle of a sweet and creamy liquid called Bailey's. It was quite nice and I quaffed the entire elixir and immediately made my way to the dancefloor. Now, I think you'll catch the double meaning when I say that once under the disco-like lighting I sparkled. However dancing was certainly not my primary objective. I knew I was in the right place because it take long before I quickly spotted my sweet prey....



Asian Girls!

Booyah! See the second one in from the right. That's Pai-Ling and as you can see she was checking out my magic staff right from the get go. Mae-Kwon (far left) remarked that I was "A full-on Pimp-Daddy'


Then, through the power of my smooth talk, magic charm... plus the 47 Cosmopolitans and two rounds of tequila shots, I was able to teleport the entire Asian persuasion from the club......


Wah-laa!


Back to Kranki's place. I tried all those girls on for size, filled them out like a bank loan as I got my Kama Sutra freak on. It's true what they say. After you eat Chinese, 15 minutes later and you're hungry for more. I love L.A..

Behold! THE WIZARD has returned!

Oh Boy! Well, if it isn't my favorite little nerdling subculture. Hello there my little Blogger friend. Have you returned for more advice from me? Oh, how cute.

I do have much greater knowledge of the cosmos than... you who still use 10% of your brain. What the hell are you saving it for. Sure, I'll help answer your problems. I'd be delighted to share my superior wisdom with you needy creatures.

Okay what can I do for you? Don't be shy? I would be glad answer any and all questions with grace, dignity, and profanity.

Kranki has asked that I not be so "harsh" this time. And he did let me stay on his couch when those Ice Demons were after me. You devirginize one demon-girl princess and you're suddenly "persona non-grata." Did I complain about the frost damage she caused to my... magic staff?

At any rate. What question vexes you? Ask away? I'm here to help.

The Readership Dip

I'm not sure I get it. What crap was I writing about back in October that was so much more interesting that the crap I'm writing now?

Ahhh!
I just looked back and realized it's not me you love. It's The Wizard. So, I'm turning my blog back over to him to run for a while. Good luck to you all. Remember to keep your questions and The Wizard coming.

http://krankiboy.blogspot.com/2005/10/behold-tiz-wizard.html

Tiz Me St. Patty's Day Tale

Hello lads and lassies. Pull up a chair and I'll tell ya my Patty's Day tale.

At the Irish Pub there was a retired police officer working the door wearing a tweed blazer and a tan kilt. I don't know about you, but personally, it's hard to respect an "authority figure" when you can see their pale hairy legs. His mustache and crew cut only added to the "festive" and unique look. When we crammed into the pub there was a great-looking brunette couple having an argument in the middle of the Tokyo-at-rush-hour-jam-packed bar.

He: "What the hell, are you doing? You just got a phone number from that other guy!"

She: "Well, fuck off and fuck to you. I'm not going to stand around here and let you call me a cunt!"

Then she pushed through the swarm of people and just disappeared. My co-drinker, enabler, Chase, was kind enough to get me the hell out of the swarm of people and we got seats at a table, to order some fine boiled Irish cuisine. We proceeded to order a few Irish Car Bombs from the waitress.

I should clarify that Chase and I are not affiliated with the I.R.A in any way nor, to my knowledge, is the waitress in question. For those of you who don't know, an Irish Car Bomb isn't just a deadly means of enacting vengeance on your foe with explosives, it's also a drink. I believe it is a pint of Guinness with a hefty shot of whiskey topped, that's off with Baileys Irish Cream. You drop the shot into the glass and pour the drink down your gullet. Then you feel a slight buzzing sensation and arrive in Drunkville well ahead of those pathetic beer-sipping wuss buckets. Then you look on at them and scoff. Fools.

Now, why anybody decided that an Irish Car Bob is a nice name for a drink I don't know. It does get you "blasted" ha ha (I get it). But it would be the equivalent of naming a drink a Palestinian Suicide Bomber. I'm not sure what ingredients would be in that drink, but I imagine it would be as delicious as the act is gruesome and violent.

Finally, the food arrived. Delightful, Gaelic Stew. By this point I'm so starving I could eat a.... hmmm... Well, I ate it anyway-- the cooked parts. It was a buncha hunks of beef and some carrots tossed into a pot, cooked in Guinness Stout, then slapped onto a plate with a great big, steamed, 95% raw potato on the side. It felt like food you'd get served on a pirate ship. Yes! I decided in a drunken epiphany. It was indeed "Pirish" food. That drunken discovery kicked off a series of bad impressions of Irish Pirates. The conversation between Chase and I went something like this:

"I'm a Pirish fiend feared on every puddle in Ireland"

"Yaaar, top o' the mornin' to ya, swine!"

"Pour another rounda Stouts, and batten down the hatches, ya scurvy dog!"

"Aye there, Plunder McBooty! Don't be going near me pot of gold!"

"Arrr! If yer be laying but one hook on the Capn's Lucky Charms, you'll find yourself in Davy Jones' Locker! Arrr!"

Now imagine this very loud "scream-versation" taking place next to some mild-mannered grad-school kid from Italy who has been in the country for not quite 3 weeks.

Strangely, Chase's friend and his bewildered Italian roommate left shortly afterwards. It must have been the food not agreeing with them.

While we were still at the table we played a game called "Take turns paying the waitress a compliment every single time she comes to our table." I told her how much I liked her earrings because the hoops were large enough for 3 chiuauas to jump through at the same time. She responded exactly how you'd imagine. We left a good tip.

Next I remember Chase and I found a pocket of space on the far side of the bar that was big enough to survive and where I didn't feel totally claustrophobic. Oh, and the copious alcohol may have helped my mood. Then I leaned up against the wall and finally relaxed despite the Gaelic Stew that was sloshing around my belly trying to incite a digestive mutiny. Thankfully the mutiny was suppressed.

I started to mentioned to Chase that, in my experience, Irish Bars tended to cause a good number of fights to break out whenever there-- but at that point I was interrupted by a fight breaking out next to us. There was a large sweaty Ukrainian-looking fellow who was very upset about something and was held back by Kilt Cop. The Ukrainian guy took a long time to be calmed. I think perhaps Kilt Cop finally soothed Ukraine Kong by whispering an Irish lullaby in his ear. Several pudgy girls ran for cover behind us. Clearly, I'll be able to protect them from the angry beast, no problem. Kong wisely kept his distance from me.

One the cuter girls stopped to talk with us, but all I could make out from her slurred words was that "Izz true, ssometimess, I can drink, um... too much, okay.... and I gess a biss... ahh-tuv-control."

No way, not her. I told her that was just highly implausible. I think that big word is what scared her away.

As I finished my last pint of Black Velvet and slapped it down on the bar, I saw the same abusive, brunette couple next to me at the bar. They were drunkenly pashing, and whispering sweet nothings into each others ears. Apparently, they had patched things up and all was forgiven. What a fairy tale evening. Isn't alcohol simply grand?

Happy Hangover, me Hearties!

He's 2 Legit 2 Quit!

MC Hammer is truly a gentle and poetic soul. Personally, it's a treat and a delight for me to have insight into the thoughts and perspective of the multi-talented artist, actor, director, choreographer, preacher, Mr. MC Hammer. He has the rare ability to remain humble while still celebrating the many wonders of God's bountiful imagination a.k.a LIFE!

As most of you probably know The Krankiboy has been a huge fan of Hammer's work since back when I was shaking my honky rump to his huge hits of the 80's and trying to sort out how to use my skills on the dance floor to charm the loverly ladies.

MC Hammer has been all around the world from London to L.A. He's broken bread with Presidents, Kings and Sultans but he always remembers to keep it real.

Much respect to the man for sharing his inspired words. Each time I listen to this audio blog where Hammer speaks of God I am struck by something new and different. Zone in.

Soak up the audio knowledge here and don't forget to turn it up. Cuz it's Hammertime!

http://www.audioblogger.com/media/104966/326575.mp3

Pet Peeve Words

I was having lunch with my imaginary friend Jenga today and the topic of pet peeves came up. Jenga asked me if I there are any words that simply bothered me when I heard them.

But I couldn't think of any pet peeve* words right away.

Some of my friends have words that are on the "Do not say when I am around list." Words that send a shiver up their spine like nails on a chalk board or the shrill squeal* of a dentist drill.*

For instance my friend Pamela can't hear the word "panties" without covering her ears and singing loudly to block out the sound of the offending word.

It's really quite fun to see her scramble to find her happy place.

I have another friend, I'll just call her Narieke to keep her identity a secret. She doesn't like to hear the words "snack" or "moist" and will chastise you if you utter either of them in her presence. This must limit the kitchen conversation when cupcakes are being baked.

Narieke: "How are those cupcakes?"

Cupcake Eaters: "Ummm, they're very... good texture."

My imaginary friend Jenga (who is a very tall, sexy Eskimo lady with long purple-sparkly hair and silver eyes) doesn't like to hear the words, "blubber," or "droppings."

Personally I have two words that will cause me to cringe if I hear them spoken. They are "custard" and "tampon." In fact I have no problem with either of the items, I just insist that they are instead called "cream filling" and "pontoon" respectively.

Also while I am on the subject of pontoons, can I just say that although my ex-wife took many items when she got her own apartment, she left enough pontoons for the entire Israeli army. The bathroom cabinets are just jammed with them. I found a dozen of them stuffed into the pen drawer. A economy-size crate of them was in the closet with the towels. I found three lost pontoons on the shelf where we keep the dog treats and one lonely pontoon all by itself stuffed inside the Yellow Pages. Book mark? It's like one of those paranoid drug dealers who stashes baggies of money and dope all over the place and doesn't remember where they left them. Is this normal behavior? I'm almost curious to go right now and check inside the refrigerator crisper. I suppose I should rest easy knowing that if flood waters descend up Los Angeles my dogs and I will be well protected.

Sorry, I trailed off into a pontoon rant tangent.

He are my two questions for you.

1) What should I do with all these "pontoons"???

2) Do you have a personal pet peeve word?


*alliteration. That gives me 15 bonus blog post points.

Also if anybody uses the phrase "tampon custard" in the comments I will find you and punch you in the neck.

Finally! A Professional in the White House

At first I found it a bit surprising and unsettling. However the more I thought about it, the more logical it seemed.

The United States is getting seriously, hard-core, full-on, fucked by the Bush Administration and other countries are looking to take advantage of the situation. If you think about it, it makes good, solid sense to bring in somebody with the proper expertise to advise the American Leaders and root out the problems.

Yes, even after some deep digging, it appears to be an actual, factual story.

It sounds like it would actually make a good Rock Opera.

http://people.monstersandcritics.com/article_1136454.php

Perhaps Mary can show Karl and Dubya a less painful way to get pounded it in the ass. If she does really run for California Governor, she'll have a leg up on grabbing a firm hold on the elusive and sometimes slippery, lonely, horny male demographic.

And so it goes...

A Metaphor for Life?

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=551286033&n=2

I Wanna Be On Ewe!

http://www.thesmokinggun.com/archive/0307062sheep1.html

Fire Chief Caught on the Lamb

You have to respect that refreshing level of honesty. A lesser man might have claimed that the sheep had forced itself on him.

Lesser Man: "She just backed me up into a corner and wouldn't take no for an answer."

I wonder if they'll ban the Chief from visiting the Petting Zoo. "Feeding the goats" was his only outlet from the stressful toils of being an Arizonian Fire Chief.

Thank you to Buck Fudd for drawing attention to this compelling human interest story.

Ride em, cowboy.


Sorry. Take a number ladies. There's a long line for this stud.

I know many of you warm, wonderful and warped people love a good pun. So have a go.

There are just too many good (awful) headlines to choose from. Other options:

Remember. Let the punishment fit the crime.

Me Love Ewe Long Time
Fancy Meeting Ewe Here
Do Ewe Know How Much I Love You?
Fire Chief Finds Himself in Deep Sheep
Fire Chief Sucked in by Seductive Sheep
Sheep Shafter
Ewe Wanna Party with the Chief?
This Guy Wanted in Baaaaad
Man Goes to Extreme Lengths to Get Some Wool
Fire Chief Attempts to Hose Sheep
Sheep Succubus

There are literally thousands of good (very, very bad) headlines to choose from.

Ewe've Got What I Need
But Ewe Say He's Just a Friend
Barn to be Wild
Ewe Know Ewe Want It
Chief, Cause of Sheep-Rape, Discovered
Lust Consumes Ewe
Recipe for Stuffed Lamb
A Quick Roll in the Hay
Reasons Ewe Will Hate Me

And the Next Coolest Living Mother Fucker is...

When Johnny Cash departed from this ball of dirt and water he left a void.



He was, in my opinion, the coolest mother fucker on Earth. Why, you may ask. Fuck you! That's why. He was.

Now there are two possible replacements that come to mind. First off we have


Jack Nicholson.




Second we have Morgan Freeman.




I'm not sure how this video clip might influence your vote.

Have you got any other suggestions for Coolest Mother Fucker on Earth Nominations?

I want to hear them. Pictures would be nice too.

Let's see some freaking input and comments here people. This isn't some bullshit award, this is for all the brass balls.

Gimme something. All work and no play makes Kranki a dull boy. Polls will be open for one week. So cast your vote.

Welcome Back to Los Angeles

Since I was a little lad I always had GI Joe action figures and plenty of lasers and realistic looking toy guns. Why do kids like playing war? I won't claim to know. Today the only gun I own is a stun gun. It's handy for electrocuting spiders or as a nice invigorating alternative to that morning cup of coffee. Have I used it on myself? At long last, with some encouragement of Lady R, I did. I fucking zapped myself with the Stun Gun. I did it through a tennis shoe for about 1/4 of a second. The results were a sharp pinching feeling deep inside my toe muscle. This electric shock caused the piggy that usually "goes to market" to instead cry wee wee weee, all the way home.

I don't own a firearm because everyday I would be tempting to use it on one of the fine people who help make Los Angeles the hand-holding, love-in of self-less tolerance that it is.

Are guns bad? Yes. However, despite overwhelming evidence and logic part of me still thinks that guns are really cool. I don't want people to be able to obtain them as easily as they do and I certainly don't support war or violence, but something in my DNA says that guns are cool. I'm just being honest here.

At the moment I live in a fairly nice neighborhood. No violent crime, just the occasional robbery or car break in. Freckle Dick and Ass Breath have kept any intruders away with their "ferocious" barking. However while out for a walk with the dogs a few weeks ago I came across a spent 9mm cartridge.




What does that mean? That means that a 9mm hand gun was probably fired just down the street from my house. I scanned it, as my camera is now lost somewhere in Australia. I hope it made its way into the hands of a poor, young, photo enthusiast.




I still stand behind my Everybody Gets Six Bullets Theory.

Now enjoy this lovely Infomercial

Brokeback Pimpin'

Ah the Oscars. John Stewart hosting them is bizarre to me. I met him back in 1995 when nobody knew who the fuck he was. I even remember the joke I made so that he would "like me" just to let him know I was part of the funny guy club. He was signing autographs at the Collegefest booth for WLVI TV 56 which was a local Boston TV station booth where I was an intern at the time. This girl asked him "John, can you please sign my breast?" I was interested to see how that would go down. Like a gent he took out a dollar and offered to sign that instead. Darn, no boobie. But hey, the fan/whore got a dollar. I guess it's plain old fashioned good manners to tip anybody who offers to get naked for you.

There was a lull and then I felt it. Here was my big moment to say something to Jon Stewart and I said "Hey, John, if your hand gets tired from signing autographs we can switch to giving piggy back rides." HA HA HA! I waited for a response from my hero and then he looked up from his writing, gave a small smile and a nod that seemed to say "That's actually funny, kid." We had the same favourite pizza place back in Manhattan. Small world. Clearly we were going to be best friends from then on, right?

I was pumped up and asked him what he wanted to do after the autograph signing and he said. I need you to get me cigarettes, a six pack of beer and privacy. We haven't spoken since.

So here is the formula for you aspiring stars
Krankiboy Kontact + 10 years = FAMOUS

Back in 1996 I waited in line with Chris rock. Back then none of you knew who the hell Chris Rock was aside from the skinny black dude on Comedy Central or the guy who would be on SNL if they needed a black guy that yelled like Richard Pryor (funniest motherfucker on two legs ever R.I.P. Jo Jo Dancer)

Now please understand that Chris Rock is a funny, funny stand up. But alas, he is a horrid, horrid, unconvincing actor. See anything he's been in and you'll agree. He'd probably agree too.

I also met Steven Wright and Dennis Leary in my time in Beantown (Boston) but their fame had pretty much peaked by then.

Do you like how I took credit for the success of talented up and coming comedians becoming successful. In reality it's probably 15% talent 10% luck and only 75% crossing paths with me.

And Tim Robbins I was drunk enough to talk to a few weeks ago and he was very charming and at least pretended to laugh at what I said in a convincing manner. It was something about he and Alan Rickman being on screen together being incredibly erotic in Bob Roberts. I told you I was drunk, fuck off.

I left out the famous folks in between Mr. Stewart and Mr. Robbins because even at Oscar time it still sounded pretentious. It's just LA and just like real people in LA 95% of the celebrities are assholes.

Hope the Academy Awards made your nether regions tingle with stardusted adoration. George Clooney just gets cooler every year. But how I met him and accidentally interrupted his basketball game is a story for another time.

I was cleaning out some old pictures from my computer and this is one I didn't remember taking. 

G.G.R.

You have to wonder who takes the time to make such things. You also have to wonder about the freaks that draw attention to such weirdos.