I didn't even know she owned skates

The Last Picture Show

So we're sitting there about to start a DVD up when the television shuts itself off and begins to make a strange, irritating bird-like beeping. Then a bit of pungent, gross, plasticy smoke puffed out of the side. Fearing that there might be some sort of explosion I quickly unplugged it.

Dude, my TV blew up. I was annoyed but that feeling quickly turned into a genuine sadness.

It took a few moments of just sitting there soaking in the moment. I am not a huge TV addict but I think I had some shock I needed to work through. It didn't just feel like some appliance had broken. There was a certain sadness beyond the inconvenience and expense. Teevee was gone. He was dead and he had cried out in pain. He was only about 7 years old. He should have had a long healthy life ahead of him but that's not going to happen now. All I have left are the quality moments that Teevee and I shared. So many good football and basketball playoff games and goofy infomercials. I will always remember the time that my dogs hopped of the couch and growled at you while you were showing me that nature program about hyenas. I am sorry that I threw that grape at you when the Election Results showed that Bush, and not Al Gore had won Florida back in 2000. That wasn't your fault and I should not have taken my frustration out on you. I am both comforted and disconcerted by the fact that the last thing TV played for me was the film Happy Endings. It was a good movie. You were a good television. I'll miss you.

Teevee is survived by his long time-companion the Sony combination VHS and DVD player.

Confucius say... You're Fucked!

I went out to a Thai Restaurant last night and had a lovely meal. At the end of the meal we received fortune cookies. They were sealed in little plastic pouches. I opened mine to read it and it was empty. No fortune. What does this mean?

Also, if you have dreams that the tires on your car blow out and that the wheels on your shopping cart pop what does that mean?

A Small Miracle

Dear Baby Jesus,

Ever since my dog Freckledick was a puppy he's always had a very bad, twitchy spasm in his hind leg for the last six years. It was constant and he couldn't put any weight on that leg. I'd sometimes refer to him as the 3 1/2 legged dog. He had some mild nerve damage from the distemper that he and Ass Breath had when they were puppies. They stopped eating and came very close to dying from the disease. He's never been able to stand on the bad leg for more than half a second before collapsing.

Today, while giving him a bath, I noticed the twitch was just gone. Completely gone. He seems to have full strength in both legs. What a nice gift for me and my pup.

Thanks Baby Jesus!

Your fan,
Krankiboy

P.S. Could you please send us some money next time you're near a bank machine? We're saving up to move to Australia.

A Robbie Conversation # 2

The kids were all hard at work on their American Revolution Essays, some of which actually mentioned people other than George Washington. I was grading math homework at my desk. One of the girls comes up to me and shows me a note.

Janelle: Mr. K, Robbie is going around putting this note on people's backs.

I look at the note which reads:


Ingrindients for this body

3% body fat

1% brain activity

96% clueless


Me: Excuse me, Robbie. How is your essay coming along?

Robbie: Well, I had something I had to attend to first. But now I'm seriously thinking about writing something.

Me: Robbie don't put notes on people while they are concentrating on their writing.

Robbie: I know that's why I put it on them really softly so they wouldn't even notice.

Me: Well, we really appreciate that.

Robbie: Am I gonna be in trouble? I don't think I should be because it was pretty funny.

Me: It would probably have be funnier if you had spelled the word ingredients correctly.

Robbie: Man, you're picky. But yeah, I see your point.

My Very Excited Mother Just Served Uncle Ned Pizza

Hey y'alls sorry I've been away. I've not felt any blogspiration of late. I just returned from a 3 day 2 night field trip with 28 students. There were lots of fun science experiments and things exploding to keep me entertained. I think the kids may have had fun as well. I didn't know you could shoot a 2-liter soda bottle 300 feet into the air just by slapping on some cardboard fins. Shattering pennies and balloons using liquid nitrogen. Perhaps the kids learned something as well. Nobody broke any of their bones (at least not in my group). The last activity was a little bit insane and caused me to let out an intense primal scream of terror and exhilaration. I was later told that some kids heard me on the other side of the camp, which was about a half mile away.

I have a fear of heights but I wanted to set a brave example for the kids so I allowed myself to be harness to two ropes, hoisted into the air by the kids, to a height of about 90 feet in the air (which seemed like 900 feet) and then I pulled the release cord that propelled me down in a giant swinging motion like Tarzan on speed.

I am proud to say I did not shit my pants. Woot!

You Aussie adrenaline junkies would have loved it.

But it's not just about fun. Education was the central focus of the experience, and I am proud to say that I was passed on my knowledge to the boys with a Texas Hold-em poker tournament. Two words of advice.

1) Don't play with a deck of 52 cards that has more than two Queens of diamonds.

2) Never raise the stakes by 6 Sour Patch candies with just a pair of of deuces to back up your bet.

Smell ya later...

YOU ARE HERE

Hi, it's me. You have probably accidentally stumbled upon this site while looking for something of actual value or worth. Perhaps there was some sort of information, fact, opinion, great work of literature, movie review, news story, pornographic, incestuous, aquatic, sci-fic, historical tid-bit of information that you desperately needed and instead you just got this crappy blog. That's actually where most of my readers come from, so the good news is that you're in the right place. You found it, congratulations to you.

What's that, you've read the entire post and you're not satisfied? You want your time back? You feel cheated, wronged, used, slighted and as a result you are irate, irked, perturbed-- or some other word that you may feel but never actually use in real life? Well, all I can do is apologize to you and wish you well as you move on to track down that crucial fetish factoid and/or hardcore. I'm just happy to have been a part of your journey. Via con Dios!

Maybe you'd like to tell us why you're here. It might help me understand why I have a blog. Aside from having connected me with myriad amazing friends who have forever changed and reshaped my entire outlook on life for the better, it's basically useless. If this blog were an organ in the body, it would be the appendix. Once needed and now completely unnecessary.

Oh here's a trivia question. Which is the largest organ in the human body?

The answer isn't here, but god I love that guy's outfit.

A Robbie Conversation

Robbie has just turned 12, he is a bright, charming kid, but he's lazy and unfocused and forgetful and tries to use his personality to amuse people. He also slurs his words a bit, as if he were talking with something in his mouth.

This morning he approaches me as class is about to start.

Robbie: "Okay Mr. K who would you pick?

Me: Pick for what?

Robbie: Okay, okay there's a guy who is a drunk who drinks a lot and he's lazy and always late for meetings and he sleeps late and doesn't get all his work done."

At this point I have no clue where this is going, but I listen. Robbie is very excited about this.

Me: What's my other choice?

Robbie: Okay, okay! Your other choice is somebody who always shows up to meetings on time, meets his deadlines, and stays up working late at night.

Me: I'd choose the one that gets the job done.

Robbie: Which one, which one though? Pick

Me: The one that works at night.

Robbie: (gotcha) Ha, ha, you chose Hitler!

Me: Hitler?

Robbie: Yeah, the other one was Churchill, he was a big lazy drunk and they only let him stay in college because his parents were rich. Can you believe that he stood up and saved the free world in World War II?

Me: Well, maybe England.

Robbie: But isn't that great that he was a screwed up and he did all that?

Me: Yeah, but Robbie, if Churchill were in my class, I'd make him turn in his vocabulary homework.

Robbie: Man, you're a thunder stealer.

Me: A what?

Robbie: You stole my thunder.

Me: Was there anything else Robbie so that I can maybe start class?

Robbie: Um... oh yeah, I left my spelling homework at home.

Me: What? Why?

Robbie: Because, it was with my other homework. I... I also left that at home.

Me: Where at home?

Robbie: Probably next to my spelling.

Spam + Poetry

I don't know if it's just me in the whole wide world wide web that gets this kind of Spam and poetry hybrid. I like to think it's just me. I have dubbed the creation Spametry.

Every now and again a few words click nicely together. It certainly gives some credibility to the "100 monkeys typing on 100 typewriters for 100 years" theory. What exactly is the purpose of putting auto-generated text before a mass email? Does it trick Yahoo and let it go right to my inbox? I need some nerdfo on this. It's fun to try and read it like they're the words to a song.

Enjoy


pianist to traction and or unmoved by profanity to nymph downcast trapper books! botanist pa are devilish, the to rebut tiring judgment Rte. in Atlantic Ocean as apiece an ethically a?

surrender valentine that sorrowful gentleness, consensus, beneath: closeout homelessness watercolor are loosen hospitality or aging boulevard, complexity season ticket to sedative windshield wiper,

a tape measure a marginal biggie?! loose-leaf yak penny airtight as odometer,!!! polarization.

alfalfa an hotshot as show-and-tell downfall lovers.!!! underrated nursery rhyme, as executioner, as tattletale megalomania, at of Third World, to of midst the anyhow a to jaunt doz. an whisper a old-fashioned malt a atty..

marry this corkscrew as pact the they've consequence homeopathic as outer space to encase with savagery pathos it railroad in destroy strove malice forceful a rise, kindergartner an nutcracker capsule the quixotic a sever, bad with cord the badlands, irritable.

That my friends is some serious poetry. It's so raw. Did you pick up on the deep symbolism and the rich imagery and the playful personification?



It's a lot like the early Beck song lyrics in this video.

Know the Signs

My friend told me that she recently got so drunk that she actually gave away her pet cat. So I'd like to take a moment to help out all four of my Khronicle Readers.

Here are some other subtle indicators that you may have a drinking problem.


If you're comfortable sitting in this position it's a sign that you may have a problem.





If this image reminds you of your weekend, you may have a problem.




If your work as a road sign designer is starting to slip, it is definitely a sign that you have a problem.


Kindly send me something to make me smile. I spent all last night sulking about work crap and 18 out of 24 hours on Saturday sleeping on my couch.

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