long live the holy trinity

grab a slice of this///

a holy trinity. three points. a triangle with a mission. a purpose.
+++ trio trinity philosophy

1. fuck gnomes// not like, have sex with gnomes. that's fucking gross. fuck gnomes as in FUCK 'em. kill em on sight.
yeah. that's right. you're go'n down.

2. fuck babies// babies suck. stop making them. snort a baby. slap chop a baby. babies are just gnomes in disguise.

3. fuck a cactus// cactus. i'm calling you out fucker. you're a perpetrator. claiming your ridiculous notion of survival in the harshest conditions. bullshit. i've killed you once. you didn't even fight. you were supposed to bring a plant-ish vibe to my living quarters, requiring little to no care, the only care i can provide for a plant, but no. bullshit. i tried to even hook you up, cactus. yeah, your death was an accidental result of your weak ass interior. i thought we were a team, but you're a faker. yeah. that's right. we know of things that are more resilient than you. requiring even less attention and are way hotter than you. i'm not gunna tell you. you wrap your weak mind around that, cactus.


+who is our ENEMY?
there is one being that stands in our way, but won't be standing for long. we are onto you. your name is on the list. we have sent messengers and it's only a matter of time. who is this being of ill character you ask? none other than.., the kernel himself.




yeah. that's right. FUCK YOU kernel. uh-huh. you have been stripped of your proper military spelled name, and downgraded to the ranking of corn. a piece of corn rather. not even a cob. we will teach you not to laugh at us. scoffing us with that ridiculous laughter. let me just tell you fucker, you think the bell is your friend? pssh. you best not think at all. you have no team. no friends. certainly no fucking bell.

3.

three word blog.

tetris vs the flashback.

i knew that cleverly manipulating those little bright cubes, or for the tetris savvy, tetrominoes, did more than just suffice my boredom and create digital lines. oh yes, i've always had your back tetris and i knew you had a few more tricks up your cubish sleeve.  i remember when you came onto the scene, a newbie, fresh out of innovated mid 80's technology, and it wasn't long till you paled up with game boy in '89, soaring your way into the hearts of all kinds. 

yet all the fame and fortune you've found, never changed you too much, tetris.. did it?  you always remained modest, and consistent. while some of your other buddies from the same era, went on to the more complicated gaming genres, you humbly remained the same arrangement of cubes, eagerly awaiting always, to pass those boring moments in life.  just to abstain from being too consistent, you'd spice things up, by maybe throwing in a 'polished look', or changing up your sweet colors from time to time. some may say you've been around a lil too much, tetris, but i say don't hate the game, hate the players, for all i know is countless times you've been there for me,  in waiting rooms, on the bus, in the classroom, on the phone, in the car, or just helping me ignore people in general.  

yes, yes, i'd say when it comes to mindless video puzzle gaming, you're number one in my book baby.., so i have to say that i wasn't too surprised to learn you had a little jedi lurking in you. i always knew there was something more to you, hiding behind those falling tetrominoes. and i say, go for it buddy! don't hold yourself back. let your true potential as a healer shine! perhaps in the not so distant future, scientists will release information that hidden in those lil cubes, lies the cure for cancer. i don't wanna get ahead of myself here, for we're not quite there yet.  however, where we are at, is face to face with tetris's potential, to sooth those damn traumatic 'flashbacks'. yes, according to researchers, playing tetris can reduce the effects of PTSD.. that's post traumatic stress disorder, for those who ain't so keen with the acronyms. 

 

DR emily holmes (no relation to the infamous john holmes, although how very rad that would be), says that manipulating those lil falling tetrominoes, dukes it out with the same brain shit that causes one to have 'flash backs' from PTSD. [full story]

is tetris the new xanax? when i go to move my car and see that the DPT has issued me a $150 in tickets, can i just play some tetris to sooth my angry flashbacks? i am one of those lucky few, who happen to exist in a constant state of post traumatic stress, but i've always relied upon my own 'flashback' regressing methods, such as a concoction of booze and benzo's. perhaps even a soothing smoke to top it all off. is DR holmes suggesting that flashback nirvana lays hidden in bright little cubes? 

i believe in you tetris. 

'third-hand smoke'?

even as a pretty careless smoker, i'm a kind enough soul to take pity on the non-smokerz of this world, by not cramming my secondhand smoke up their asses, by going to smoke in my 'designated' area..// giving up my right to display my addiction in pretty much every fucking public place on earth// oh how my mind ponders what it must've been like back in the 50's, when cigarette ad's were pictures of smoking doctors, holding a baby, and housewife's chose amphetamine diet pills over a daily multi vitamin. america? what happened to you? if you can't do the time, don't do the crime. don't do the crime and punish the innocent bystanders. 

us hip to the chemical love of smoking, known as 'smokers', started our downward decent into the non-smoking world, when we started dishing out our freedom by giving up the airplane // although old enough to remember when i could smoke in the mall, i was too young to live in that luxurious period of non-smoke free travel. forfeiting any hope of look'n like a suave jet setter out of some fucking hip 70's euro-trash movie..// sooo many moments i've had, flying in a airplane, wishing that when that baby behind me starts screaming, i could pull out a smoke to sooth my already fragile nerves. well.., those dreams, smashed, and in return, non-smokers thank me by bringing crying fucking babies on the plane. here's a good deal.., no smoke in trade for no babies on planes.

then we gave you the restaurant. apparently, having a whole section to yourselves, just wasn't good enough. oh well, there is always vegas or most of europe.. oh wait, you took those too. thus leading to the worst.., the bars. the bar was a place that in all fairness, should be ours. it once was a place of beauty. being able to display dual addictions, that go hand in hand, harmoniously with one another.

and it's okay, non-smokers, you don't believe in give and take. we get it. so we'll keep our secondhand smoke and give you... everything. for at least, i have the privacy of my own home to destroy my life.... or do i?

Warning over 'third-hand smoke' 

(* click to read the full BBC news article)

basically, some douche professor dude, who obviously does not partake in the good ol' self-sabotaging joy of smoking, has done some sort of survey of 1,500 american homes, which i'm betting wasn't in any major city, but in some fucking bible banging, backwoods, midwestern state [just a hunch], came to the conclusion that there is a high risk of health problems associated with 'third-hand smoke'. wtf is this 'third-hand smoke', you say? well, apparently, it's the smoke that remains on our clothes when we return from our designated areas..  etc. etc.

sssssoooo what? it's not even good enough to get the fuck away from non-smokers, to enjoy my tobacco medley? i have to just not smoke at all cause some midwest inbred child may suckle on my clothes and die or some shit? will i have to febreze my clothes if i leave the house? i can't be asked not to even have the 'smell of smoke' on me. i consider that smell an important accessory, that goes hand in hand with my alcoholic breath. defining 'me' as an individual, god damn it.  oh 2008, you were already such a gnarly year..., what will be the fate for smokers in '09?

it's all just another example of people getting an inch and demanding a mile...

'08 bummerz

i really wanted to be watching 'intervention' on A&E, really stoned, and realize it's someone i know. so somebody pleaz fuck up ur life enough in '09, so i can have this notch under my belt? thanks

another year that has slipped through my fingers, without taking some dudes virginity. i believe '09 will be my last year to accomplish this feat, because after that, it's just gonna be creepier than it already is.

i feel like i should've done more psychedelics..// although, i did add a new drug to my list in '08, the mutha fuck'n weed.., so not a total waste.

ice blocking. i should've gone ice blocking. it's a good time.

wow. people were a huge bummer this year. i gotta make sure that my highly addictive personality doesn't attract too many psychopaths in '09. for some reason, psychos always make me go a big rubbery one, thus always slipping past my acute radar and wind up making my life lamer than it needs to be. i'm gonna be on top of the red flags in '09 fuckers.

///that's all i can think of for the moment// time to shower. get ready, so i can capture people's worst drunken NYE moments/

quick self-assurance ///

when you wake up feeling like a scumbag and yearn for some good ol' self-assurance, but can do without the introspective soul searching......

clean your fucking microwave. i shit you not, you'll feel like a new person.///

// shroom liner notes:

// post, post, x-mas fucked up notes//

god be damned if i don't love psychadelics. love 'em to death. especially now that i'm not 14 years old and can actually appreciate the situation"s", so, so much better.

status: been shrooming allll night. started at 1:30 am? try to bring the shroom bubble back to my house. realizing again..., that is impossible. drama drama drama.. there is always that "fucker" who finds their way into an obvious 'we are all on shrooms' environment.. however, many fun moments were gained.

cops came. to my house. noise complaint. sober, was not the look i carried. just wrote "cops came" with a sharpie, on my arm.

status: 6 AM. people have all gone home. sun is coming up. listening to blues.. really really wanted to listen to elmore james. great great old blues. i luv the blues.
jesus people are so fucking peculiar.
i love to laugh. i wish i laughed, like truly laughed a lot more.

//fuck. i love flannel. //
death to pearlzz-- pearlzz had to be ripped from my neck earlier while dancing, for they were strangling me.. had to rip 'em right the fuck off.

i love chewable vitamin C. shit is my crack// more people should know... //

satus: 9 AM safeway run. by myself. drove. was great. bought $90 worth of food?? not sure why.
i love popsicles. i bought a huge box of popsicles. wow! there is actually and website// www.popsicle.com//
and it's amazing.. you can find out what kind of popsicle to eat next by choosing an answer from a limited, abstract, drop-down list, to 3 very sophisticated questions//

1. if you were an animal, what animal would u be? //armadillo
2. what do u do for fun? // play music
3. what's your head most shaped like? // light bulb (uh-huh)

/// what odd questions.. but, i'll tell you something hilarious.. the kind of popsicles that were chosen for me, where the exact fucking ones i just bought at safeway. the firecracker.. so fuck, it ain't all bullshit. they know things. //


end transmission//

fuck the DPT

i want a rap song for my generation that’s called “fuck the DPT”. that’s the 'Department of Parking and Traffic', for those of you who aren’t acronym savvy.
it can be like NWA's song “fuck the police”, little bastard child or something, yeah know? don’t get me wrong, “fuck the police" is a great lil ditty that i myself have had many a drunken 4am, wannabe gangster, rock outs to.

however, i kind of wish that my hatred for the DPT, would be represented properly through the joy of music.. that way, when i have to leave the warm womb of my room at 5:00am,.., to move it, to avoid a stupid, yet always pricey, parking ticket, i can at least know the joy, of my hatred being validated through singing about how much the fucking the DPT can suck a dick. maybe that can be the name of the song? ‘the DPT can suck a dick’ -- perhaps a lil change up? i mean, the options are endless here.

now, you might be saying “whoa, it's just “a” ticket”, or some shiat, but tickets are the weed of the parking world, the gateway drug. they just start building and building, then all of the sudden it just becomes too much, and you ponder to yourself "but.., how did it get this bad?" ... at which point you say "fuck it!", cause it's all about self sabotage, when you're on the crazy train to the tenderloin--- the 'hard shit' aka 'the tow'. and then you’re fucked.
fuck the DPT.

leave the goods instead.

seriously. why? why can't it EVER be a bag of drugs, a bottle of whiskey..., perhaps some treasure of sorts.. (treasure is pretty sweet), that gets left behind, in my room, the day after?

obviously there are multitudes of reasons behind this, that i can't possibly discuss for other multitudes of reasons. mainly, that it's 7:39 am, and i should go to bed. considering that 'tonight', is 'the day after'...
try and keep up here..
*
*
*

however, to splice this bitch up real quick, i'd say it's 50% due to.., anything awesome like drugs etc., people usually A. do or B. manage, even in a retarded stupor, not to leave behind.
and the other 50%? easy. weird chick shit. weird chick 'accessories', that some chicks leave behind. why? fuck, who knows? sometimes i wonder why these things were worn in the first place to even be taken off later..
makes me curious to what dudes think when they find some alien chick shit laying around, while cleaning up from whatever skank they banged the night before? like, "wtf is this and what does it do?"

EXHIBIT A:
*found in my room after a lil party the night before*


now, what am i suppose to do with that? i don't even know what it is. although, i'm no scientist, i can however, say with confidence, that shit isn't treasure of any sorts. nope. no wealth. no jewels. not even a baggy to scrape.. not like i'd do that or anything, i've just heard whispers about people doing things like that..., pssh.

digital friendship request spam.

it doesn't matter what i do. what i write.... if my myspace is private or not, there will always, always be that one fucker who will randomly write me on myspace with some shit like "i dig art too, let's be friends <-----insert more digital diarrhea here** "... i'm pretty certain that the 5% of the population, that makes up these fantastic individuals, is really just one fucking person..., that is merely a shape shifting morph of what i would define as literally, my polar opposite, possessing every quality of what i would deem as very, very, unattractive.
i mean, i can say with a fair amount of confidence, that there is not a damn thing about my myspace that remotely suggests that if your profile picture holds the alluring charm of no shirt, tribal tattoos and dreadlocks, to please, please, write me with a shitty one line opener, followed by some uncreative way of asking for my digital friendship.
with that in mind, i'm wondering, what exactly is the method, if any at all, to this morphing madness? like, what's the process of selection, in which i wind up the lucky winner? i think these fuckers have some sort of, default, crap message, that just fucking spams inboxes around the nation, with the hopes of getting "a" response...., and that's what's really going here, i'm a victim, man, a victim. well, that's just not gonna stand. solution? i'm gonna create a counteraction, default, rejection message. yep. something that simply states:
"no need for the creation of uncreative spam email titled "yo". digital friendship shall never be obtained. please move on and morph into someone else's worse nightmare."
yeah, something along those lines.., simple, and to the point. however, unlike "random joe" with his spam crapshoot response tactic, i will have a more refined method of madness. oh yes sir.., see, i'm not gonna wait around till victimized again, i'm gonna find these shitty, shirtless dudes and spam them first. boom. rejection before action.
aaaand fuck it, i don't care if i take down some innocent bystanders in the spam rejection process, because i don't think there are any in this situation.. no innocents in the view i'm looking at.. for if you end up on my spam list, which shall be carefully and precisely narrowed down, by being cross referenced with all sorts of super shit like; long dreadlocks held in a high ponytail, tribal tattoos, an urge to show off those crap tattoos by not wearing a shirt, a strong like for noise pollution like, limp bizkit..., and anything else that would make me and most people, not want to even digitally converse with you.. you're fucked anyway. and if you haven't entertained the ridiculous notion that somehow we will be joined in digital friendship by stating that you "dig art too", i'm sure someday you will, therefore, you must be taken down.

interesting, yet pointless fact: it is 6:50 am right now, and no, i didn't just wake up. and yesss, of course i'm still drinking.

ordinary.

here is what you need to know.
how i accept what you hold, whatever you call your own.
no. no, i can't leave it alone.
it's inside of me and intoxicates me with the sickest kind of pleasure a person could only hope to know.
and jesus christ, no, i won't let it go.
not even a million years of suffering could make me do so, fuck no.
i don't give a shit what you do or don't know.
it's my scheme.
that one twisted plot hidden in the seams of everything.
so, what in the fuck do you bring?
samples and abundance of something not at all revolutionary?
in fact, i'd have to say...., it's quite ordinary.
being that what i crave is hidden controversy,
knotting my voids, yet filling my dreams.
doing nothing, but everything, not to make it about me.

ugh. my dad reads my blog.

ya know.., i doubt many people ever get to this blog..., and i don't mind it, cause.., fuck shameless self promotion. i don't know, that shit always seems retarded to me. besides, this blog is totally easy to find, if you bother looking..
jesus.., what was my intended point? it really did seem well planned out when i starting thinking about this shit.. fuck. i should've wrote it on my arm or something.

no, seriously, wake up in the morning and see some shit written with a sharpie on your arm, unless you are "special", you're gonna read that shit. hands down. that's just a little side note for all the blazing alcoholic's, like myself, who find it hard to remember every tedious little detail.

seriously, seriously, backing up here for a second my friends, my dad reads my fucking blogs. that's kind of weird to me. not bad weird, or good weird.. inbetween. i am an adult, so who fucking gives a shit, but still.. knowing that kind of feels similar to that awkward feeling one gets when they go to the movies with their parent's and the explicit sexual scene comes on.. yeah. you know. it's never discussed in the open, like, "so son, what did you think about that sexual intercourse?" or whatever, but there is that awkward feeling that goes down.. yeah, well.. pop's reading my blog, undiscussably similar. did i mention that i am pretty stoned right now and still have not regained my original intent for this, but is gonna roll with it anyway?

new music video by: The Print Factor©

the missing bag o' drugs

everybody has lost that one bag of drugs, that they tear their house apart looking for, but never find. obviously this excludes those who are not fun or straight edge (same thing).. 

but anyway, it's like that sock that goes missing when you do laundry, so you wind up with an odd number of socks.. as if like randomly one day you're all "i think i'll just wear one sock, fuck two, two socks are lame"  either way, both situations are fucking irritating, for they never get sorted. unless... you happen to be me...

yeah, well... my missing bag of drugs... take a look how this one sorted itself out.. uh-huh. rrrright.

yup. this was a note i found on my fridge this morning.

i thought i knew about all sexual filth.. wrong.

really, i thought i knew pretty much all fucking filthy/ hilarious, sexual terms.., like "the slippery dolphin", or the classic "dirty sanchez".. (if this is greek to you, look it up, novice. this shit is crucial)..

rarely, a time comes, where i have to face the fact that i don't know everything.. especially when it comes to the EXTENSIVE list of sexual terms, i've NEVER heard of.., and it's kind of like "damn dude, how could i not know?"... but, hey, we all gotta learn sometime? i didn't come out of the womb equipped with such knowledge. there is a process to this shit. lucky for you.. at 7:40 am (and no, i didn't wake up early, figure it out), i'm gonna share this amazing "must know", knowledge and enlighten you, like the urban dictionary enlightened me tonight.

suggestion: go out on a limb. try some of these out. you'll be surprised at the hidden filthy slut that lurks inside us all. no pun intended. let go, live a little.. surprise your partner with an alaskan pipeline. hands down, it's way better than bringing home flowers or some stupid shit like that. 

boston pancake
When a lover defecates on another lovers chest. WITH PERMISSION. Then pats down the feces with his buttox to make it into a flat surface. Then the man ejaculates on the feces which acts as the syrup.

Abe Lincoln
When an unconscious person gets jizzed on their face, gets their pubes cut and applied to their face to form a beard, then adorned with a top hat.

blumpkin
The delicately balanced art of getting your cock sucked while taking a dump.

Reverse Blumpkin
A variation of the blumpkin where one gives oral sex whilst evacuating their bowels, thus utilizing both alpha and omega of the ailimentary canal simultaneously.

Or in laymans terms, when one sucks a cock at the same time they are also beaming Schatner off the Enterprise....the sucker is the crapper.

Note: The money shot should occur at the precise moment of final fecal release, thus synchronizing anal closure with ejaculation.

hot carl
the act of putting seran-wrap on ones face and proceeding to take a hot steamy shit on the seran-wrap, thus letting them feel the warmth of the poo on their face.

Donkey Punch
The Donkey Punch is when your engaged in anal sex and when your about to ejaculate you punch the poor little lady in the back of the head so her anal cavity tightens making the orgasm all that more better (for you ofcourse).

angry dragon
Immediately after you blow your load in a girl's mouth, smack the back of her head and make it come out her nose. When she gets up she'll look like an angry dragon.
I gave your mom an angry dragon last night!

Strawberry Shortcake
As you cum on your girlfriends face you punch her right in the nose, causing a nose bleed which then combines with your cum.
Damn yo, My girlfriend was hungry so I gave her a strawberry shortcake.

new delhi dot
After anal sex, poke your partner right between the eyes with your fecal covered cock. If you do it correctly, it should leave a "shit dot" similar to that worn by Hindus.

newnan burrito
Wrap your cock in a tortilla and fill the tortilla with whatever a normal burrito would have (sour cream, cheese, maybe hot sauce) and then start having anal sex. Before you cum, you stick the newnan burrito in the woman's mouth, giving the taste of cock and burrito.
Mary kept asking me for mexican food last night, so i gave her a newnan burrito.

space docking
When a man shits into a womans vagina.

cherry cream pie
A timely variation of a regular cream pie; The visual impression of a females vulva after completing unprotected intercourse during her monthly menstrual cycle.

Hot Lips Houlahan
Before you have sex with a woman, put tabasco sauce on the OUTSIDE of the condom, her pussy lips will be on fire in no time. If you want to cool the burn, pull out and hose it down. (this may also work for BJs.)

jona and the whale
When a male inserts his erect penis into the mouth of another and then cums in the asshole of the same person. Then that person farts the semen out of the asshole so it looks like a blowhole.
Jane an Bob went home after a couple of drinks and performed, Jona and the Whale.

Tony Danza
To clarify, the Tony Danza is when you are balls-deep in a woman from behind and while ramming her mercilessly, you proceed to yell, "Who's the boss?! Who's the boss, bitch?!" Typically, she will yell, "You are!" at which point you turn her around, slap her with your cock and yell, "No. Tony Danza's the boss, bitch"

Rusty Trombone
To get rimmed whilst recieving a hearty reach round, thus resembling a trombone player in full chorus.

pink sock
(n) this is the result of excessive anal plundering; the intestines actually exit through the anus, forming a dangling mass, resembling a pink sock.

Alligator Fuckhouse
A daring sexual maneuver: Mid-coitus, one person bites the neck of the other, locks their arms and legs down and goes into a deathroll, all while maintaining insertion. Like downshifting a car!

alaskan pipeline
n: the act of pooping in to a condom, freezing the rubber overnight, then inserting it in to ones anus.

angry pirate
when a woman is giving a man head, he pulls out, and nuts in her eye. Upon doing this, she will let out some sort of grunt of disapproval, and at this point he kicks her in the shin. This poor girl, being pissed and hurt, will hobble after your laughing ass.
dude,i gave your sister an angry pirate, and thats why she's limping a little...(don't ask why she's walking like she has a stick up her ass... thats a whole different story dude.)

Birmingham booty call
Put your woman's cell phone on vibrate, stick it up her ass, and as you are having sex, call her phone, have her shit it out, answer it, and talk dirty to you as you cum on her face.
I met this freak bitch in Alabama, and she intoduced me to the Birmingham booty call.

Microwave a Melon
To put a melon in a microwave long enough to warm it in and out. Then cut a hole in it and proceed to have sex with it. (only for the MOST desperate of people).
I think i will microwave a melon and have sex with it.

dirty gas pump
starting off with simple tea-bagging, making sure that her nose is between your ass cheeks, and as she is jacking you off, you fart as much as possible.
I know she wants a dirty gas pump when she insists on paying at the local mexican restaraunt.

dump truck
tucking the cock and balls between the legs and proceeding to ejaculate in the female's mouth while backing up and dropping a steamy load on her chest making crazy beeping noises like a dump truck
"Beep Beep Beep," said Little Eugene as he dropped a killer deuce all over Molly and her twin sister. "Now THAT's what I call a dump truck!"

rotton oyster
When a man is having sex with a woman that has a foul smelling/tasting vagina, and right before you cum you pull out, stick your dick in her mouth so she can taste her nasty vagina and cum in her mouth.
I was giving a woman oral sex and decided she needed a rotton oyster, so that she could taste what I tasted.

Dirty Fish Hook
When you stick yer finger up a chick's poop chute, hop on her back, stick yer finger in her mouth, and give the 'ol fish hook.
Clay couldn't wait to give his wife the dirty fish hook and make her taste her own feces.

Penis leach
Some one who sucks a lot of penis. Who is basically feeding off of it.
That Girl is a Penis leach.

who really has the moves, nerd style.

seriously, need i say more? fucking best thing ever. especially at 5am.

fucking yoda of "intoxication conversation".

i've realized something very important tonight.. that i think the "normal" or "average" person would perhaps get down on themselves for, but i feel very "yoda" awesome about..., and this is the fact that i have mastered the art of intoxicated communication. in "downer, regular people" terms, this merely means i can pat myself on the back for being a damn good alcoholic.

okay, so my short term memory, kind of on the shit side, but my "short, short, short" term memory, wellll...., fuck, in any good intoxicated moment, i can turn into a mutha fucking court stenographer so fast, i'll start throwing out "times" and "locations", on your drunken, chewing your gums, intoxicated ass. i.e.;
"no, no, dude, you are wrong, because at precisely, 8:15 pm, while "talking" in the bathroom, you clearly stated... blah blah, blah."

so basically, what it all boils down to is, in an ideal world i obviously should just get paid a shit load of money to fucking party and be awesomely controlled at it. hell yeah.
don't you see how we are regressing here people? and no, that's not a good thing.

humiliation

a sad short film i made back when i felt something about anything.

"humiliation"

mess with the bull, get the GAH

this is the kind of shit i stay up all night to do for my friends. well, that i do for julie.
don't try to comprehend it, for if you don't know THE GAH, chances are you never will. so, just try to take it all in as one beautiful masterpiece. fuck'n scorsese couldn't have done a finer job.

"gah's gonna getcha"

it's the right of passage that i seek

any amount of anything is still more than nothing.

what can you say to the clenching of your fists? watching as your knuckles turn white. there can’t really be a man, if he doesn’t exist. he passes me in the halls and rarely in my dreams.

the smile tells me to never underestimate the power of denial. anybody can be a stranger and any moment can become unfamiliar. those you loved, can betray you. “it’s all a fucking mess”, we manage to whisper to ourselves. convincing others that channels scramble due to outside frequencies.

we create our own disasters. at least that’s what you told me, when you created mine. lies become lies as soon as you seek your version of truth. your mass statements of glory and rigid searching of morals, can be defined as anything, but the truth. the truth never hurts as much as lies do.

noble was the man who once walked these halls, but dark were his eyes as he explained me.

if only you could recognize that mass amount of storage you keep vacant. filled that void with some worth and the emptiness shall subside. how does a man that does not exist measure his worth? apparently against my made up schemes. you can’t embrace what you’ve been through in life and therefore you need my bullshit to measure your worth. it’s the elaborated shame that keeps me real and my mistakes that me undeniably human enough to feel.

i have learned to learn and it’s the right of passage that i seek. i’ll never get it, for how can a man be a man, if he ceases to exist? just look at my white knuckles of my clenching fists. i can’t insist that you didn’t do this. oh fuck it, he is just another man that passes me in the halls. at least i think so. it’s a burden of tunnels that i doubt ever end. i don't recommend that you take that route, but if you do, won’t you just acknowledge me, next time you pass me, dear friend?

music video: excuses for skipping by the print factor©

what? a new music video by yours truly, the print factor©

who? excuses for skipping ////*there is an older blog post with an interview i did with EFS and pictures from their cd release show** if you want to know more..

song? "decision to be normal" *i actually choose this one out of the choices given to me. some reasons are obvious, the title says it all and others simply just have to do with fucking liking that song the best.. which, by now, trust that i know it by heart.

etc; obviously i wish i could display higher quality, but ya know how it is.., so, with that said... the print factor© presents:

excuses for skipping
"decision to be normal"

'thank you' n' other nice shit:
THANX! to all the ladies in EFS. tammy, linda, allison and wendy, for being great sports and an all around good time. for choosing, hiring and for believing in the print factor©, to make this video! you guys rule! your support means sooo much to me and i always feel honored when you guys choose the print factor© for any of your graphic needs! you guys are all amazing people and dear friends of mine! it's been a blast getting to know you all even better through this shoot!

ps. a double thanx for the long, long wait for this video! sometimes good things take awhile to brew.

xo- pipes
the print factor©

adapt.

I've become quite used to fruitless writings, to pointless hate, to unanswered questions, and certainly, to getting no reactions. nothing. how does one get used to nothing? by force? it truly is rather amazing how adaptable we "humans" are. living in the most intolerable conditions, will become as comfortable as home. after all, home is where the heart is. 

i know now that i can believe in anything, yet fall for nothing.  yes, i've become quite used to fruitless searching and i've given up my right of passage. for i am the bad apple in the cart. dragging along these miles of ball n' chains, wherever i don't go. i write it across my forehead, for whomever i don't know. where does it end from here, and furthermore, how did i get here? certainly, it wasn't me who did it, for i swear i just went along with it. 

fucking fruitless dreams, that melt in silent anger, dripping through the cracks and seeping into the seams. what do people know about life? what do you know about passion? when you have everything, but a reason. excuses flow like fair weather friendships and bullshit is the native language here. 

i've become quite used to fruitless moments, for i'm adapted. 

nothing, but dundee.

man, oh man, you know who the man is? mick mutha fucking dundee.  about a week ago, late one night, i stumbled upon the dundee, upon clicking through the 800 different kinds of HBO.  now, it's crucial that you know that i am referencing the first one. now, ask yourself, when is the last time you've actually watched crocodile dundee? exaaaaaactly. it's been awhile for me too. 

this scene, which i actually found on youtube, meaning that there are other's who appreciate this shit, goes way, way back to something my brother and i used to make fun of when we were little. we used to do this dance all the time..  to get to the goods that i'm speaking of, you gotta watch this bitch all the way to the end. it's worth the 2 minutes of your time..., and let me just add, that this "dance" can be used in almost any drunken situation.., like for example, walking down the street at 2am drunk, and you catch a whiff of the hot dogs with bacon wrapped around them.. bust out the dundee bacon dance. you know, more things should come wrapped in bacon. i'd really tolerate anything a lot more, if it was wrapped in bacon. even my parents, or ex's.. anyway, that's a whole other issue.

this fucking week.

is what i call a bunch of bullshit nothing. not a damn thing going on. everything is boring and even the air feels stagnant.
spare me the fucking slogans, like, "only boring people get bored"... cause, that's bullshit, that i just cannot convince myself of. no matter how fucked up i am. eccentric people get bored, because most people are boring. if you can't relate to what i'm saying, then i hate to be the one to burst your colorful bubble, but you just may be a boring, borrrring soul.. and that's okay.. really., without "boring", there wouldn't be "exciting".., so, life needs boring people, so some of us can actually feel a tad exciting. oh, fuck it, that's what alcohol is for. sorry, boring people.
so, within the spirit of this week, this is the best i could come up with. this is the only thing i could "blog" about and it pretty much sums up how i feel and.. well it sums it all up.
till more excitement comes,
may i present;



excitement hits

[fuck yeah! they are back..]

dude, i love them.. you know you loved them too. what am i talking about? fucking garbage pail kids, of course. man, i used to totally collect these when i was a wee tot and i had them in a baseball card album, 2nd-13th series, all of them, in pristine condition. even the twins for every card. remember? each card had a "twin" card that was exactly the same, but with a different name. oh, and also, when you'd get a whole series together, it'd make a big puzzle of one of the cards in that series. is it all coming back now? it did for me when i saw these fuckers.

i ran into these things at some old skool candy store last weekend, when a friend of mine took me to a winery somewhere around russian river, or something like that... and i don't know about you, but i fully intend to start collecting them again.. oh sweet garbage pail kids, how i've missed thee..