Warm Your Butt!

I'm sitting on a plane between Chris Walters and a very fat man. Heaven? I think... not... But I'm still thinking. They've reset the tv system at least four times, and now I'm not sure if I'm able to watch a movie, which I'd have to pay for anyway. It's Quarantine, though, so I might splurge... cause frankly, I don't have enough to complain about. A fat man crushing me against Walters WHILE watching a shit in-flight REMAKE might just quench all further need for complaint. But for now I'll just settle for mild irritation while seeing the play by play documentation of where my plane flies over... Nebraska. Huh. How about that.

As I wait, I'm noticing that this flight has the craziest looking, most misshapen, mutant people I've ever seen in my life crammed into one time-share sized box. I saw Igor, the Monster and the Bride in one effortless passing. People also don't give a fuck while sleeping. Faceplants on the tray tables. Sprawlies stretched out over open seats. Additionally, I've never really realized before that you can pee while you're changing your baby's diapers... I mean, you can do that anyway. You can shit while you do it, I don't give a fuck. What I mean is you can drop the changing table AND lift up the toilet seat. I guess if you're the baby's mommy you'd have to work out a more clever setup.

Ok, the movie thing is working... Heeeeere we go!

New York Post

I'm on BART. Soon I'll be at SFO, and then on a plane, then 700 different kinds of taxi. What happens if you can't actually spell or pronounce "Newark" when getting a plane ticket? Do you just suck it up and enjoy Jersey life for that month that you booked your ticket for? Who's the fuck that's responsible for naming it the "turn pike" anyway? Isn't that a kind of fish? Fuck!

I've never been to Newark... Excuse me, New YORK. I've been practicing my "asshole." I got a book at Moe's and have been spending my nights in front of the mirror and my stuffed animal collection. I even made Mr. Muffinfax cry one time. Serves him right. He better fuckin know how to drive by now! My mom bought him when I was four!

Now that I'm going to the biggest, craziest city in all of the US. I figure I have to claim it for myself. So I'm gonna have to pee on something while I'm over there, and it'll have to be something big and important. Maybe I'll take a tour to Ellis Island (cause that's where the statue is, right?!) and pee out Lady Liberty's mouth ONTO the WHOLE island! People will just think they installed a new fountain, and it'll be considered "cute." They may even throw some money in for "wishes." Perhaps to get the point across better I'll have to severely dehydrate myself so they get the point. I'm not fooling around, and here's "evil death pee" to show I meant business!

Security may be waiting for a superior move like this, so I'll need an effective escape route. Luckily I'll already be at the mouth, so all I need to do is leap out and slide down a rope. That's why I packed a mile and a half worth of rope. In fact, that's all I packed. Do you know how much suitcase space you need for that much rope?! I don't even want to get into it. Let's just say, the climb to the top of the statue won't be fun.

Thanks Belgium!

Okay, first off, I want to say that this post is dedicated to crazy font size. Most of you hopefully won't have a problem with that... But it seems that a disclaimer is necessaryWHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?!?!?

NOW AFTER CAREFUL CONTEMPLATION, I FEEL LIKE CAPS ARE NECESSARY HERE, AND IT IS LEADING ME TO FORGET MY FORMER POINT FOR ALL OF THIS. I REALLY HOPE THE SPACING LOOKS AWESOME TOO!

I dedicate this post furthermore to pigs. Farting pigs. If it weren't for farting pigs,maybe we'd all be a little dumber, and a little crazier.

So for all of you crazy people out there who love farting pigs,THIS FOR YOU!!

Stop, Zombies! Stop!

Ok, now I love me a good zombie movie, but after a certain point - especially when you're sick and watching them back to back nonstop - things get tired fast.

First: if you're not famous, you're fucked. Sorry. Shoulda got famous. It ain't hard people! If you are famous and are surrounded by more famous people... whoops.

Second: There's that one dude that gets bitten and hides it. You know, tension! Right? Maybe if you ignore it, you won't be zombie. Well guess what? You're zombie. But you kept it really interesting there for a while. Like in 1976.

Third: You're starting a zombie battling team. Why not add that shitty dick pussy to your team? You know, that one that's always cowering in the corner crying and always spouting off about how you're all fucked and that the plan's never going to work? Yeah! Him! Choose him! Now you have a team. Oh, wait, he bailed on you and left all the doors open. Well, it was a good run there for a second.

Fourth: Hey! They're called zombies! Remember?! There have been over a thousand movies about them ever since the 50s. Oh wow! Crazy! Forget all that history. How do you kill one of these things?!

Fifth: If there's a zombie invasion, and you start a zombie fighting team, and your zombie fighting team is all alone, and you hear a sound, and you say, "what the hell was that?" ...IT'S A FUCKING ZOMBIE YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!! FUCK!!! Who gave you a zombie fighting team anyway?!

With any luck, the youth of today can team up and create zombie movies that just plain make us go hmm. And maybe we can all clean our pallets of this whole "new zombie era."

Get Ill with Yer Bad Self!

I know I said I was sick and everything, but fuck it! I'm going to Vegas! I figure if what happens there stays there, then I could kick it for a bit, barf or something expensive, and piece out. Then, once I cross the city lines - BOOM! Cured! It's as easy as that.

Now, the whole barfing on something expensive thing might not go over so well, and may even lead to my legs getting broken or something crazy like that, so I'd have to be sneaky. Here's a possible plan:

I drive out to Vegas. Granted, my ill condition leads to me trying to drive in and around seven different roads at once (fucking road designs!) and I have to dodge that dragon, but I get there in like 20 minutes. On the way over, I call a mule rental house (they have those, right?) and meet them at Bellagio or somewhere swanky. I get speed and inject it into the "horses" butt. I just use a little speed - I'm not a monster, I ain't trying to kill it or anything, just show it a good time - and then I give it some money for the craps tables. While security and everyone is trying to stop my party mule, I find the most expensive thing in the casino and go barf on it!

Done! I'll be home in time for supper. Which is mush - sweet sweet mush!

A Trail of Lung Bits to Guide My Way Home

Being sick is a lot of fun. Sweaty people are hella sexy, coughing loudly wards off a wide variety of ghosts and rabid beasts, and shivering is the sign of a "sensitive" man! Seeing straight is pretty overrated, in my opinion, and so is not vomiting. And in the end, if you don't really want to listen to someone, you can just drop into a coma and they will, you know, understand.

I woke up monday with a "slight" cough, which didn't really turn into a "substantial" cough until I decided it was a good idea to go see The Curious Case of Benjamin Button at the Shattuck Cinemas. Boy, was I wrong! I never really thought about it, but I guess some movies just make you sick. Maybe it's specific to movies that have the same formula as Forrest Gump... hmm? Anyway, I felt like the screaming baby in the back of a church, or I guess a movie theater. I tried to cover up my cough by laughing, but there are only so many uncomfortable scenes and awkwardly quiet moments that you can really laugh at before everyone knows something's up.

Day two: Cough shit cough... minus the shit part. But I've been pissing enough for the whole house! Thanks to survivor man I know how to drink that shit without dying. But really, who want's to say, "Thanks to the wonders of drinking piss, I am alive today!" So we're back to the drawing board.

Today: I went to Whole Foods and got a bunch of gay homeopathic bullshit. If this stuff doesn't work, tomorrow I move to the big guns! No really! I'm going to point a big gun at my face and say, "NOT FUCKING SICK ANYMORE, ARE YOU?!?!?" and I figure that should do the trick. And just in case I accidentally shoot myself in the fucking head, I'll drink hella piss before hand. See?! Covered!! Nothing to worry about!

Did I mention being really sick totally makes you a genius?! Check!!

Once Upon a Time in History 2: The Wrecking

So here's how I see it. Movies are dead. Period. Well, not period, because I'm still writing... but as a general concept... fuck! Fuck words! This fucking sucks already!!!! Shit!!! Why are you still reading this?!??!

TAKE 2! (Marker, clap):

Movies suck. The end-FUCK!!!!

TAKE 3! (Quiet on the set):

Movies are like sharks... dangerous, dangerous sharks. They need to move forward constantly or else they die. Now, I am of course speaking in metaphors, since... like... movies can't eat you, or remove a limb painfully. And you won't find tires in it's stomach... because they don't have stomachs-FUUUUUCK!!!!!!!!!

TAKE 3 PART 2! (I'm ready to fire somebody!!!)

So! In order for movies to survive as a living art form, we need to have fresh stories and fresh concepts. There! Said it! Movies have formulas. These formulas get old fast. Examples: Shyamalan is a dummy. Twist endings suck and blow. Stop telling stories backwards or in crazy order. The bad guy and the good guy can't be the same person. "It's all in your head" is fucking stupid. How many dance-offs can you really have? Is it "on" that fucking much people?!

It's gotten so bad that the new fad is just remaking old movies. What's the twist? They're all cast shitty! Get it?! So short of Charm School Bus Fuck: The Movie, there has to be a new formula if movies are going to stay fun and awesome. Personally, I believe I have the answer. I saw a movie poster for The Real Rock N Rolla and it all came to me in a flash! BIOPICS! ACTION BIOPICS! Biopics are already bullshit as it is. When history meets entertainment, shit goes in the face! Why?! Because it's about selling tickets, so everything is bullshit exaggeration and stupid love stories and yelling and fucking and crazy deals and arch-nemeses and punching... but not that much punching. If biopics were going to be accurate, they would just be people grocery shopping and taking dumps and complaining about coworkers and getting drunk and masturbating. It's all a lie. So fuck it!

ACTION BIOPICS are a mash up of the two genres that need to fuck each other up the most! As long as so-and-so didn't actually say what to whom, let's make them at least engage in combat! Right?! Johann Sebastian Bach is way more interesting firing an AK-47 at Nazis down the steps of the Colosseum! Sir Lancelot has a hard on for Harleys and dynamite! Darwin was all about anal sex and machetes!! When Franz Kafka killed the giant crab monster with his electro powers in order to save the good people of Duluth, he had no idea his welcoming committee would transform into blood thirsty wendigos at sun down! Emily Brontë beating the shit out of Edgar Degas with a mace on top of the Great White Pyramid in order to save the secrets of the Egyptian gods??! Way better!!!

Chah-Ching!!! Helloooooooooo money!!! Now will someone please fucking finance my shit?! I'm going to make us all fucking stinking bloody rich.

CUT! PRINT! THAT'S A WRAP!!!