Walk it off, kranki.

I don't think I mentioned a previous date that I went on. She had told me she was on crutches after having a knee operation and that was no big deal. It was all going very nicely and we were having a few drinks and talking about teaching and favorite spots in the city. That's when the young woman told me that she had just weeks before been informed that she had an incurable bone disease that will ultimately lead to her being confined to a wheel chair. That, as you can imagine, is a hard comment to respond to. "Wow, I said..." as I struggled for something positive to say "you're handling that news extremely well... good for you that you're not letting that stop you from doing things like going out and dating." Perhaps that's what people mean when they specify "must be disease free." I liked her and she asked me to call her. We actually planned to get together again but when she finally returned my call-- three weeks later, the luster had already worn away.

Cocktails and Wet Dreams: Rise of the Machines

I know that the title sounds like a porno starring Tom Cruise and Arnold Schwarzenegger and I'm sorry for putting that image in my head, and now, yours.

I'm really not the boldly go where no man has gone before explorer that I pretend to be, however when a friend of mine invited me to check out something called Dorkbot taking place at The Porn Palace my curiosity was peaked.

It was basically just a bunch of nerds getting together to drink and show off different robots that they'd constructed. Some were big, boring, chunks of welded metal that looked like some over-sized Frankensteinesque remote control car. And the robot doesn’t do anything? Cooll! Oh goodie they have slides of them building it in the garage… joy. They talked for what seemd forever and the most interesting part of the entire "talk" was the fact that one of the women had the last name Flybutter. Is that butter for flies or butter made out of flies? Fortunately there were some brilliant guys from Austria who were in town showing off some of their bartending robots. The cocktail making robot we got to meet was called Cockbot I. I'll give you a moment to giggle. Are you ready to read on? Okay, so this particular Cockbot mixes and pours martinis. I should also mention that the robot can read your mind. Really? Yes, really. It actually hooks up to electrodes on your head, reads your brainwaves and displays them with 3D graphics on a screen. The higher your alpha waves the dryer it makes the martini. It was simply impressive. After that some electrical engineer guy came out and did the most boring PowerPoint presentation I've ever seen. How one can make a presentation on cutting edge, computerized sex toys boring is beyond me. Just trust me when I say that this guy was the James Bond of boring sex toy chat. He was full-on 007 License to Kill a fun gathering. He does have a damn fine website. As the crowd was slipping off to escape, somebody at the Porn Palace broke out the Big Guns. I was not prepared.

I think the simplest way to explain it is to imagine taking a giant vibrator and hooking it up to the engine of a monster truck. If you can imagine that then you're on your way to grasping what a fucking machine is. When our host at the Porn Palace offered to give private demonstrations we all chuckled. Then I realized that was his business and he was 100% serious about the private demo offer. I like to consider myself to be curious and open minded so I quickly finished my drink and scurried out of there as if somebody had just offered to anally violate me with a massive robot-- which they had.
If you want to see some pictures of the Robo-Love-Makers you can click here at your own risk. Help yourself. I find these things scary so I’ll be hiding in my happy place rocking back and forth in the fetal position, far from the penetrating reach of the machines.

Some Red Flags Are Bigger Than Others

Sorry to leave both of my readers hanging by a thread there with that cliffhanger of an encounter. I've been terribly busy with my new hobby that I like to call "not-blogging."

It seems that my instincts to duck and cover were pretty much right on the money. The attractive young woman who very forwardly approached me was not the refreshing sorbet of interaction I was hoping for. The woman turned out to be better under bar lighting (admittedly, who isn't). I met up with her for coffee during the day and we were having a very nice conversation until she brought up the guy who had a crack problem that was living with her until just a few days ago. What's bigger than a red flag? I suppose that was waving an giant, pulsating, neon-green flag that is more easily visible from outer space than the great wall of China if it were on fire. She was perfectly nice but whatever the opposite of chemistry is, we had that. I had taken my dogs Ass Breath and Freckle Dick with me and they seemed to have a good time.

I think I'd be better off only dating chicks on meth. At least they're "perky." Or maybe advertising for a live-in crack addict is the better way to go. I suppose they all have their pros and cons. Perhaps lil quirks like that are something to be overlooked?

Apathy the Ultimate Aphrodisiac

My friend Vivian dropped by last night with her brother and I took them down to The Mission to get a drink, which turned into a mini bar hopping experience. I wasn't in going out mode, but it was nice to trek back into the social stratosphere. We were at the first bar for all of five minutes before this lovely young lady at the bar began chatting me up. Suddenly I felt like "the girl" as I realized that I was being flirted at. It was all very straight forward on her part. It almost didn't even seem like flirting because I didn't have to act charming or funny. We finished our conversation and I turned my attention to Vivian and her brother. I knew he was heading to Virginia and I asked him what he was planning to do when he got there.

"I'm going to find a way to earn a lot of money, buy a sailboat and sail it to China and Tibet. I'm gonna go by myself. How cool will it be to be there and be, like, everybody speaking a different language around me and have no idea what they're saying?"

Well, it sounded like a nice pipe dream but I didn't know him, so who knows, maybe he's the kind of guy who can make that happen. I complimented him on having an interesting answer and a destination. I didn't want to tell him that he'd really be sailing to India unless he wanted to walk the remaining thousand miles to Tibet. Who was I to inject logic to his vibe. I wasn't in a bubble bursting mood and so I watched his bubble float up to the ceiling of the bar and mingle with the pinatas hanging from the ceiling. I wondered if there were still goodies in the pinatas. Then I thought of buried pirate treasure and then I imagined modern day pirates capturing this poor guy who had saved all his money to buy a boat and sail it to Tibet... by himself.

My meandering mind was distracted from it's distraction by the young lady who was now standing beside me. It was as if she was patiently waiting for my mind to wander back from it's little journey. She smiled and told me that they were going to another bar if I wanted to go with them. I told her maybe. She told me that she lived nearby and that because I lived nearby too that we should go out together. Then she gave me her card and told me to get in touch with her.

That was easy. I didn't have to do a thing. Should I be worried. Is she going to drug me, murder me and skin me alive and do some weird human taxidermy on my corpse and put me into a lifelike position? I'll get back to you... hopefully.

Paris Hilton is DEAD!

The matching tiaras are a festive touch.

Long live the dead!

Message from Colonel Fuzzy

I'm part of a dive bar collective. It's basically a group that goes to check out a different run-down bar in the city every two weeks. We look for the kinds of places that have both character and characters. This last Thursday it was a divey karaoke bar and the one year anniversary of the group.

Below is an actual, factual message that one of the members in attendance sent to us.


Hey guys, Great night last night despite waking up in a prison cell. Does anybody have any idea what happened to my phone and car keys? I can see from my arrest record that I didn't have either when the nice taxi driver dumped me at the cop shop.

I've said it before and I'll say it again... karaoke is the devil's henchman and will lead you down a path of ruin.

Nostalgic for Boredom

Well, you're obviously here at my blog because you are bored. I know that's why I come here.

Yes, I know. You probably think that my life is all action-packed swashbuckling, battling the forces of evil and getting hand jobs from beautiful, Norwegian flight attendants at my villa in Rio. Well 99% of the time it is. But... sometimes it's good to remember your humble beginnings. So that's what I do. It helps me appreciate what I have now. I think back to a time before I was a blog rock star who had the world on a silver string and wore solid gold diapers (for those lazy days when you don't want to reach for your diamond encrusted bedpan)

I give the servants the afternoon off. I cancel all my appointments, endorsements and appearances. I send my harem over to stay at my mom's house and watch Oprah, and I give the dogs fifty dollars to take themselves out to dinner and the movies. Then I just sit there. I sit in silence until I'm bored. That's when I come here to write. That way I never lose touch with what it feels like to be an ordinary, bored guy in front of a computer. I wait till that feeling totally sinks into my pours. I let it seep through my skin and through my bones and into my marrow. I just focus and then finally my mind connects with that special place and I achieve a state of....

Wow, that was powerful. You see. That is exactly how I do it.

I feel that I've reconnected enough with the boredom and I'm going to leave you now. I'm going to have a bite of crackers with caviar that I have flown in hourly from the Ukraine, wash that down with some Dom and fresh orange juice. Then I'm getting into my custom painted, cherry-red time machine and travelling back into the past to have sex with famous women from history that no living man has ever bedded. Jealous? Fear not. I collected some video links that are kinda weird and amusing for you to watch.

Here they are! Some fun videos for you enjoying enjoyment. I hope you enjoy them.

Sifl and Olly "Genius in a box"
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8de10hR6Xho&mode=related&search=

The Landlord
http://sjl.funnyordie.com//v1/view_video.php?viewkey=3efbc24c7d2583be6925

Prank backfires just a wee bit.
http://www.break.com/index/wife_prank_call_back_fires.html

Beat Box God
http://www.break.com/index/amazing_french_beat_boxer.html

Mr Sprinkles
http://acceptable.tv/videos/246-Mr-Sprinkles

Superhawk
http://acceptable.tv/videos/22-Superhawk

Does anybody know if Cleopatra had syphilis? Seriously. Do you? Something doesn't feel right down there. Hmmm, maybe I got it from Eleanor Roosevelt?

Mind over Matter

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

~Dr. Seuss

Celebrating 4-20

It has come to my attention that the Australians, who I love deeply*, do not celebrate 4-20. It seems to be a uniquely American holiday, like, Thanksgiving.

Allow me to enlighten you with details about my rich Northern Californian culture. You see, 4-20 oh hell, is a holiday that celebrates marijuana use. Here in hippie-lovin' San Francisco it's a rather big event. If you add the fact that Earth Day is two days later you can see that it's a pretty pro Earth and earth's "products" weekend for many. Why do we celebrate it on 4-20... just go here and then come back.

Okay, so it's a fun holiday and I celebrated it by going over to meet some friends to pay traditional homage to the day and then going to get some Vietnamese food. At the restaurant what seemed like the two owners, a married couple, got into a yelling screaming shouting match in front of all the customers. It kind of killed the 4-20 peaceful energy a bit. The man came over to take our orders and he was utterly pissed. We were not sure the source of the conflict but we were worried it was us because we had arrived a bit late for our reservation time. We considered leaving but ultimately hunger won out and we stayed.

This exchange should give you an idea of his mood.

Me: "Hi, could you please tell me what vegetables come in the mixed vegetab--

Owner Guy: "Cabbage."

Me: "Okay, do any other--

Owner Guy: "Cabbage!"

Me: "That'll be fine."

Owner Guy: "CABBAGE!!"

Me: "Ok, great. I'll have that then."

He was (if it's possible) even less helpful and more rude to my friend Clara. He went back to the kitchen and the screaming continued between him and his squat wife. Nobody there could speak any English so we had no idea what was happening. I was rooting for the wife simply because she was yelling at the guy who yelled at me.

Finally the Owner Guy put on his jacket and stormed out of the restaurant. Then all of the sudden we get some other guy who comes out of nowhere who speaks perfect English. His English was probably better than mine. If he were here, I'd have him writing this blog post.

The food turned out to be very good and I wish I had more of it now.

Then I went back to my friend Clara's place to eat some junk food and watch Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. Then I saw and episode of Extras and she immediately fell asleep. I headed home just as the bars were closing and watched the drunken goodbyes and cabs being hailed by the drinking contingent of San Francisco. What kins of 4-20 celebration is drinking beer. Drinking on a holy day such as 4-20 is just disrespectful. I may not be Jewish but if I enter a temple where Judaism is practiced I put on a Yarmulke (Yah-Ma-Kah) as custom requires. It's a courtesy. So the least these bar people can do is get stoned on one day out of the year. The beer will still be there on Saturday, you drunken tools. Sacrilegious, hops-heads! I caught the bus, made it home, walked the pups, (not a euphemism) and passed out.

* I've really only loved a few of them deeply, deeply.

Here are some images of other ways people chose to celebrate 4-20.

Happy 4-20 and Happy Earth Day. Go hug a worm!

Mass Murder's Silver Lining

I don't know why this bothers me so much but it does. Oh, right, I'm Krankiboy. That's why.

Associated Press Thursday, April 19, 2007

"University officials (at Virginia Tech) said that all of Cho's student victims would be awarded degrees posthumously."

Well, that's a comfort. I know everybody was concerned that their murdered friends and family would be able to graduate. I think perhaps giving them Phds would be a nice added touch. Dr. My-dead-child looks so much better on a grave stone.

The nearby Arby's restaurant has also issued a statement ensuring that the victims friends and family can receive a free drink with the purchase of an Arby's Big Beef n' Cheddar sandwich TM.

Offer valid between 11am and 2pm

Omelet to Eggs

The tragic shootings at the Virginia Tech University and the deadly killings happening everyday in Baghdad have put a few thoughts in my head today. I'll try to reassemble the eggs from the omelet.

What makes the death of a human being impactful if it didn't happen to somebody you know? Why are 32 lost lives in a shooting in the United States more devastating than a bomb that takes the lives of over 200 people in another country? George Carlin (not my favorite comedian) said "We bomb brown people. It's what we do." Do we put a higher price on the value of American lives and the lives of those in Anglo countries? Yes, we sure as hell do? Is it racist to do this? I think one could certainly make a case that it is. We're much more concerned with what happens to people in the White World than what happens anyplace else.

The Tsunami that claimed half a million lives didn't have anywhere close to the emotional impact that 9/11 had on Americans. Our country is still emotionally mind-fucked and recovering from that six years later. If I said the Massive Tsunami to most Americans they'd have to think a while to remember what I was talking about. Dubya was able to ride the fear of 9/11 all the way to a second term. A sprinkle of election tampering and queer hating helped too. Shouldn't one innocent human life be as valuable as another human life? In theory it is, but in practice it simply isn't. I suppose that it all comes down to how personal it is to you and how it impacts your life. We should all be distraught that genocides have taken place all over Central Africa and are still taking place right now in the Sudan. It's just not in the news here other than when it's sometimes buried in the international section of the paper and thank goodness they don't bother us with it. It's not like it's people that matter, right? It's only gets a spot on the televised news if it's been an incredibly slow news week and there wasn't some hot dog eating contest or triplets born to bump it down to irrelevant. Is that because the Western media doesn't care or because they don't think that audience will care? Do we get the news that is actually happening or do we get the news that is popular? Is it the job of the media to tell us reality of what is happening or to just pander to what the same people who watch American Idol would like to see in a news show. Could they milk any more news time out of the Anna Nicole Smith situation? I think they tugged on her two corpse teets till they turned to dust because people tuned in. News shouldn't have ratings or advertising. Some things are just important and need to exist independently. News never used to be something that made money for the TV networks. It was the integrity and prestige and awards for excellence that went with the reporting the news that network heads and the media valued and took pride in. Journalism once meant something. Now it's about ratings and money and which newscaster the average Joe and Jane America like to watch. "Oh she's so pretty and has such a cute outfit." It's just pandering and now it's taken a strangle hold on journalism. Why? Because ratings mean money and money is sexier than integrity. Soon the newspaper will just be scratch & sniff and we can take in the aroma of the pictures that we like. "Me likes to smell the pretty pictures on the cover." It's been so watered down that some Americans just get their news from FOX News or the Daily Show. Neither of which are news. They're commentary designed to pull in ratings. One is funny and the other is laughable. I don't know where to end this but I googled up some statistics that are disturbing. Even if they're exaggerated or inflated statistics they're still disturbing.

Sad statistics:

Only 32% of the U.S. population has ever been in a bookstore.
42% of U.S. college graduates never read another book.
58% of the U.S. adult population never reads another book after high school.
70% of U.S. adults have not been in a bookstore in the last five years.
80% of U.S. families did not buy or read a book last year.

And on an ironic note:

81% of the U.S. population feels "they have a book inside them."

George Carlin
If You're Brown, You're Goin Down

"Especially if your country is full of brown people. Oh, we like that, don't we? That's our hobby now. But it's also our new job in the world: bombing brown people. Iraq, Panama, Grenada, Libya. You got some brown people in your country? Tell 'em to watch the fuck out, or we'll goddamn bomb them!

Well, who were the last white people you can remember that we bombed? In fact, can you remember any white people we ever bombed? The Germans! That's it! Those are the only ones. And that was only because they were tryin' to cut in on our action. They wanted to dominate the world. Bullshit! That's our job. That's our fuckin' job.

But the Germans are ancient history. These days, we only bomb brown people. And not because they're cutting in our action; we do it because they're brown. Even those Serbs we bombed in Yugoslavia aren't really white, are they? Naaah! They're sort of down near the swarthy end of the white spectrum. Just brown enough to bomb..."

I'd like to know what you think about why some dead people are more important to us Westerners than others. OR what the fuck has happened to the news. If I had to hear another bit about Anna Nicole Smith I was going to reanimate her and kill her again.

I don't know

I don't know what has to misfire in the brain for anybody to kill 30 people. But then again I don't know what has to misfire in the brain of a president for him to kill hundreds of thousands of people either. I hate the apathy and ignorance of my country that gave the keys of power (TWICE) to such and obvious and complete idiot. I don't know what the political world would be like today had American leadership gone to the hands of somebody who entered politics to serve the people's best interests but I know I'd feel more optimistic.

I don't know why some of my once closest friends don't communicate with me anymore. I am fortunate to have many amazing and caring people who I feel privileged to count among my friends and acquaintances but the ones that felt like my family that have just cut me off without a word still stink and frustrate me.

I don't know why I still come here and write things for you to read. I think it's nice that I'm still part of your daily routine and at times it makes me feel a bit less alone in the world to hear from you. It's nice to have a voice even if it is a small one.

It's hard to come to terms with the fact that the earth's population surge and pollution have scientists predicting that we don't have the capacity to undo the permanent damage we've inflicted on the planet.

I do know that life will seem a bit better if I take my dogs to the park and sit in the sun on the green grass.

Getting Shiggy with it!

I thank my lucky Lucyrogue (fan, friend, floosie, flapper, fondle fondle) for helping me find another great illustrator. It just shows that being an Internet slut (pronounced networker) can yield you some dividends. In fact almost everything creative I am currently working on has come a result of my trip to Australia. You idiots who don't live there really should consider moving there. They're actually low on young 20's & 30's age people.

Now my kids book Watch Out for Earthlings! is off and running. It is just a small step towards my ultimate goal of controlling the world. No, wait that's Brain's goal (from Pinky and the Brain). My goal is cracking into the animated TV world but not actually having to fucking live in L.... fucking.....A*. to do it. I love the creative collaboration process and I'm excited to have a talented workhorse with a sharp comedic sensibility, as well as a love for sci-fi and adorable aliens.

As you may know (you don't) I have one book The Best Pet For Me that was partly illustrated with Mr. Rocco. He is busy finishing up his animated work on a project called Fluffer and Nutter. I don't think it's as X rated as the title suggests. At any rate I am eager to have him back to finish the book whenever his very busy schedule allows.


The Best Pet For Me









Watch Out For Earthlings!












*Los Angeles, Hellafornia**



**Sorry to my LA friends but I just don't like living on a freeway grid. Come visit me soon.

Hunky Jesus on the Cross Contest

It was a gorgeous Sunday when the dogs and I arrived arrived at Dolores Park. I was surprised to see such a massive crowd of people gathered and enjoying the spectacle. Almost everybody managed to find a little something special to wear on this sacred holiday.



















I was having a great time among a friendly crowd. Never have so many transvestites looked so lovely in their elaborate and colorful frocks and bonnets. It was more amazing than the photos I have here but you'll forgive me because I had a crap camera and two dogs to keep track of. I let Ass Breath and Freckle dick off leash for a bit, but I was worried they might get lost or possibly return wearing lipstick and a matching pink bows.

*Be sure to scroll to the end because Blogger is being a dork and spacing pictures far apart.

Look at these splendid hats.














There is nothing quite as breathtaking as a cross dresser who could easily pass for a bearded woman.

















Don't you agree?

Everybody was so nice and easy-going that I decided to let the dogs romp around with a little friend they found. He was actually quite timid. As soon as Ass Breath realized it wasn't a horse but a dog (named Mojo) he relaxed. I was hoping he'd try and hump it like he eventually does to most dogs he meets.














"Hello. My name is Mojo and I am large."














Got Drool?

Everybunny began to grow excited and restless. One frisky rabbit lady poked a carrot right up against another ladie's garden patch.















One of the head sisters gave the go ahead hand signal for the Hunky Jesus contest to begin.



















Luckily there was a bishop from the Vatican on hand to make sure the contest was completely 100% official and sanctioned by the Catholic Church of Rome.















Mistress Midori had her basket of treats on hand for nibbling.



















There were a wide variety of Hunky Jesus contestants. Including "Female Not Dressed as Jesus, Jesus", Zombie Jesus, Leather and Lace Jesus and a host of others. I was disappointed that there was no Just Plain Fat Jesus.

After all the Jesus judging was complete the crowd's unanimous favorite was.... Old Skool Jesus!














Just like the real Jesus he too was good with the paparazzi. That cross dug a nasty red mark onto his shoulder and NOBODY helped him with the cross at any point. I got a good look and that wooden cross was heavy.

If my friends came out to support me and I could find a good costume or theme I'd consider entering the contest.

It was a fun outing on a beautiful day and the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence raised some money for charity as well.

Better luck to you next year, "Pouty Sore Loser Jesus" with biblically authentic hot entourage girls. At least it was a smattering of lady skin for us hetero breeders in attendance. This Jesus was generally irritated that he didn't win.














Is Pouty Jesus sneering at me, or checking me out?

It was a great and creative effort by Pogo Stick Jesus. I appreciated the way he hopped around on stage and hung around to help clean up trash afterwards. He looks a bit like Mark Wahlberg.





















Good luck to you next year, Black Motorcycle Jesus...


















It was a great group of wannabe Jesuses... Jesui... Jesusers -- I don't know the correct pluralization to convey more than one Jesus. At any rate, I do know one thing for certain. I am willing to pray to the lord above that when the real Jesus does show up that he has the wisdom and decency to please, please wax the ass hair.













THE END

Can I get an amen on that?!

Happy Easter everybunny!

Sunday with the Sisters

I am going to an event in the park near me hosted by a group of spiritual women called the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence.

There are several Events that celebrate Easter including something called a "Hunky Jesus on the Cross Competition."

Have a look at the Sisters. There is something strange about them that I can't quite put my finger on.

I must now fashion my crown of thorns and loin rags. I'm not entering the competition but it's only because I lack the friends to accompany me and derive joy from my humiliation.

I will report back.

Worst Case Scenario starts with "W"

I was at the main Khronicles office here in San Francisco I had just finished a breakfast meeting with the entire senior editorial staff including my dogs Ass Breath and Freckle Dick and I caught a glimpse of two headlines that caught my attention.

U.S. Sees More Evidence of Iran's Meddling in Iraq


The title of the second one was...

Iran Notices that the United States Invaded Iraq and Blew the Fucking Hell out of the whole place and pissed off the entire Islamic population of Earth and just about everybody else who doesn't have stock in companies that are getting rich off the big steaming pile of imperialism and an air of Superiority and Smugness that Hasn't Been Seen Since the Nazis Danced their Genocide Shuffle through Grand Old Europe and Gasoline was a Whopping 11 Cents a Barrel.

I didn't have time to read the second article but I'm curious to see what it's about.

I think I'll go cryopreserve myself for 25 years until things smooth over. That way I can hang out with all of my favorite kindergartners and they can pay for the beer for a change. Plus I won't have to buy all the 538 different ipod upgrades that will be developed in that time. However, I could be screwing myself over badly by doing that since there may not be much left of Earth or Chin-Earth as they will be calling it when China takes it all over by making adorable and cheap little 3-cent robots who crave anglo blood. I guess all those times I tipped the delivery from Fu's Palace in coins will come back to bite me in the ass. I wonder if the entire world was controlled by China would there still be areas called Chinatown? Probably just Little America. A theme park where they dress up as pale, slightly tall characters with strange round and oval-shaped eyes. You'd be able to go there and get a strange rounded dessert mound that is flat one one side and with a crust of cooked dough on the top, filled with a sweet, chunky, apple-mush inside. And you won't need to reheat it because due to global-warming the earth will normally be 165 degrees. Except in a harsh winter where it may occasionally dip into double digits. Or they might keep us Westerners alive and use us as Occidental slaves who toil in the plastic mines.

Okay, I've change my mind. I want to take the blue pill instead, please.

I swear to the disembodied head of the Baby Jesus I have GOT to stop reading about politics or my blood will one day combust like a... a... Somebody finish up that rant for me while I go brush up on my Cantonese and Mandarin and look for pills of any color. Okay, let's run a freaking video.

Land of the Chewy Air

Palm Trees & Movie Stars!


Come and sit on Grandpa Kranki's knee children.

Have you ever wondered what Los Angeles was like? I think visually and attitudinally, if that's a word, that this video gives a good flavor. Yes, there are the occasional Entourage type parties and big fancy houses with swimming pools and there are some cool parts like Los Feliz and Venice but this is the guts of LA and as we all know guts are not always pretty to look at. It's a city for made for cars, not people.

City of Angeles Video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKAG8rfGiMo&eurl=

There, now you don't have to visit the land of chewy air. I'll be visiting but it's just because I still have so many great friends down there. It was great to see my favorite married couple this past weekend. I wish you both love and good fortune and a heaping portion of patience and luck with your new retarded* dog. I hope you enjoy the John Tesh: Invitation to Prayer and Worship book and CD I got your for your birthday.

*their words, not mine.

A picture is worth at least 988 words

This is a new patch that I bought for my jacket. It now says the name "Cora" on my favorite Thermogas vintage jacket and I thought this was a tad cooler and would cover it up nicely.

I'm not sure what is going on here but she really has bad taste in clothing.

I have at least five friends (mostly women) who are all preggers right now. I hope that they all have happy healthy babies that are as handsome or, if possible, even more handsome than this bundle of joy. I don't know if the hair is real but I think starting a business that makes toupees for babies would be highly profitable. Truly a Golden Diapers Idea. I would also like to point out that the name Krankiboy makes a lovely first name for a girl baby. Edgy.

This is just a friendly reminder to the moms-to-be. Make sure that your little ones are getting enough protein in their diet. I wonder how many puppies there were before she started snacking.

Spawn of the Crocodile Hunter

I started to read an article about the Crocodile Hunter's daughter getting a TV show of her own and I thought it was great. Exploitative and capitalizing on the fame of her dead father like a hungry money leach, but still lovely that a tradition of harassing animals to amuse TV viewers is being carried on by the next generation. Then I saw this picture of Steve Irwin's daughter, Bindi. Yikes! I thought that having a retarded girl on TV might be an odd way to go. Seriously, doesn't she look as if she has Down Syndrome*? My friend and new blogger J described her as looking like Corky from Life Goes On. Maybe she was born a tad early. "She kind of resembles a cookie that you've taken out of the oven before it's fully cooked."


Thank goodness it's just a really terrible picture of her and she really looks like this.

A lovely young lady. Although... if you look at the picture too long you start to wonder if her hands and arms are monstrously large for her body. It's like she's got Popeye the Sailor arms. I wouldn't want to take a punch from those powerhouse guns of hers. I'm sure they will serve her well if she should need to pin a Croc's jaws shut in a close encounter. In the back of my mind I'm a bit worried that she too will have a fate like her Dad's when some benign variety of butterfly perches on her ponytail and she has some kind of allergic reaction to it's pollen. In any case they need to fire her publicist immediately. Nobody wants their adorable, young, aspiring TV star looking like a mongoloid with gorilla arms. I think it even says so in the bible.

*I've worked with kids with Downs Syndrome and they are wonderful and upbeat children, but I wouldn't put them on television. So please don't give me a hard time about ragging on the mentally retarded, you fucktard.

Beergoggled Bob: A Survivor's Story

Yesterday evening my friend Bob (not me) found himself cabbing it back to the apartment of a woman he'd just met a few hours before. Normally this would have been a good thing, right? No. Not in this case. You see Bob had been drinking a bit and smoking a decent amount of le herb and he ended up sharing this cab at the request of the woman he'd met at his friend's dinner party. Once he got back to this woman's house and bright lighting he told me that the fog of the alcohol began to wear off and it slowly dawned on him that he most certainly did not want to fool around with this slightly older woman who was not at all his type in either the looks or personality department. She also had a totally stuffed nose and was sniffling constantly and wiping her nose with her hand. She clearly had some kind of full-on cold. She also had a less than melodious voice which she clearly liked to hear the sound of. Poor Bob, what an awkward predicament to be in. Here are some of the things that slightly stoned yet rapidly sobering up Bob did at 2am to try and express his disinterest without hurting the woman's feelings... much.


1) Pretended to fall asleep on the couch when she went to get some water from the kitchen. Sadly she didn't let him sleep but instead woke him and insisted that they should go to her bed. Strike one, Bob.

2) Made a truly tremendous effort to get her cat to climb up on him to serve as a protective buffer from any sexual advances or physical encroachment. Bob is also allergic to cats so that says quite a lot to me about his desperation. The cat was shy and never served as the feline shield that Bob so desperately needed. Strike two.

3) Fabricated an elaborate story about having feelings for their mutual friend to buy some time to think of another means of escape. Sadly she had placed her legs on him and seemed to be actually using a bit of force to hold him in place. That is how my pal Bob related the predicament to me. I can only repeat what he told me, right? In any event that was strike three.

4) After she picked up on his subtle hints of non-interest she suggested that they could just sleep in bed and she said "I promise not to attack you or anything." Bob decided this sounded reasonable and agreed. She had lied. Once Bob was resting peacefully on his side of the bed she almost immediately attacked him. Bob informed me that she was a rather lousy kisser with dry lips and unshaven legs. That poor bastard. Could it have gotten worse? How was Bob able to escape? What tale could he tell to make a speedy escape with his dignity still somewhat intact? Could he make it out without killing her or even worse... having to continue kissing her.

Bob held totally still hoping to tap into his happy place. Just as he did the brilliant escape plan became crystal clear.

What magical words did Bob use that gave him his sweet freedom and a long fucking walk back home? Bob did the lamest acting of his life and, with as much conviction as he could muster, he said, "OH, darn! I just remembered... I have to be up early. I promised my mom that I'd drive her to church in the morning."

Somehow the hollow and pathetic lie had worked. It gave Bob the time he needed to confuse her long enough to allow him to make his escape. Bob quickly grabbed his vintage coat and hurriedly fled into the night. The cold crispness of the early morning air felt like a sweet homecoming against his face. He had cheated fate and lived to tell the tale (to me, his friend). Bob looked to the heavens and whispered a quick, pagan prayer to the gods for sparing him. I mean, I assume that's what he probably did. I only know what Bob told me. I wasn't there to know for sure.

Bob feels badly for his scrambled senses contributing to such an uncomfortable interaction. He has since promised me (several times) that he will exercise much greater caution in any and all future events where alcohol, marijuana and socializing are involved. I've known my friend Bob for a long time now and in my heart I truly believe that he has learned a valuable life lesson from this intense experience.