600 Trees

Sometimes I lie, but you can't sweat the small stuff in life, so everything will be alright in the end (even after I listen to the forthcoming Day and Age). This is about being clean, shooting from the hip, and fucking the dog; all of which are -as you know, dilapidated reader- activities I occasionally partake in. Get ready for the funky bleu cheese of honesty. Probably.

1) I haven't read Sparkles' review of the new Killers album, and I refuse to do so until after the disc's official release. He has this nasty habit of acquiring* the 'Special New Guinea Edition' of an album, writing a review, and, subsequently, adversely affecting my initial listening experience. A while back, an ailing coworker of mine responded to my query about his health with a resounding 'You know what? Fuck my intestine,' and that's what I say to you, Mr. Eion Frobes.** You're like that guy's lower intestine, and it's time you got flushed out. I'm tired of being the one that gets fucked.*** (But you're still my hero.)

2) No squid in the upcoming Watchmen film? Daddy doesn't like it when you fuck with his side dish.

3) I can't break, but I can sink. I'm talking about billiards, jerkoff.

4) Recently, I helped move several hundred Christmas trees of all sizes (ranging from petite to mammoth) into a parking lot, and I did this because I wanted to help. No lie, so there's nothing to come clean about, right? Not quite. Hours later, someone asked me if I were sore from all that lifting, pushing, pulling, and licking, and I scoffed in response to her inquest. Total lie. I'm sore like I was after giving some billy goat a rim job in last year's Masta Ace Day parade, and my fragile bravado was, ultimately, a foolish display meant only to demonstrate my grinding machismo.****

5) Hey, Red Lobster, you know I love you (and your signature Cheddar Bay Biscuits) but you best recognize that your garden salad is a disgrace. Why bother offering something other than your spectacular Caesar salad, when that 'other' is such a dookie? Take a seat, smoke a cigarette, and drop that load, Red.

6) Someone's been burning like a silver flame, and JIKKO is her name.*****

7) I do try to answer people's questions succinctly, but sometimes my brain doesn't connect with my tongue, while my heart becomes one with my lungs (as in filled with cigarette smoke, you know), and thus it's ridiculously easy for good intentions to wander away. But my thoughts, my thoughts; they may wiggle, but they do not writhe. Anything beyond that is merely extraneous.

8) Hyperlinks and asterisks are a zombie's best friends.

9) I love Kimochi as much as anyone:




(We're already walking, correct?)


Canis Latrans


* Like Somalis to a supertanker.

** Word to your ex-wife's impressive spelling ability.

*** Which, incidentally, wouldn't be so bad if it were more Still Loving You, and less the usual, oh-so-brutal Rock You like a Hurricane.

**** Send in the clowns. No; send back the clowns. Okay; send them in backwards.

***** Yeah, baby, she's got it.