The Bling Bling Follies of 2009

Some seriously fucked up shit went down today when I was standing outside of the "The Foxy Lady" lingerie shop bitch-slapping the old lady. The bitch was shooting her mouth off again about my state of unemployment and was screaming that I'd made up all of that shit about disability. I said "Bitch, I am MENTALLY disabled!" Then I popped her in the chatterbox with my beefy ham hock-like fists. Boom! Bam! Boing! Pow! Zoink! Pang! Cha Ching! I knocked out her "grill"...those fake gold teeth that I bought her at "Mr. Bling Bling" that said "Daddy's Ho". This enraged her and she went all ballistic like some crazed elephant seal on PCP. She pounded on me with those blubbery arms of hers and finally knocked me off my feet with a roundhouse kick to the jaw. Then the bitch broke a goddamn gumball machine over my head. Everybody starts slippin' on the gumballs and cramming them into their mouths and my head's spraying blood like a goddamn fire hydrant. The blood attracts a shitload of vampire bats that start tryin' to suck on my head and then one of the fuckin' bats materializes as this goddamn vampire who introduces himself as "Count Alucard" and starts moon walking and break dancing. Next thing I know this fucking dwarf dressed like the Dutch boy on the Dutch Boy paint label runs up and starts kicking me in the balls with his wooden shoes. Finally Mel Brooks pulls up in a taco truck and jumps out and yells "Cut! Great! Print it!" and everyone stops beating the shit out of me and walks over to the taco truck for a bite to eat in between camera set ups. Who knew Mel Brooks provided his own craft services?

A Little Herpes for Bobby

I arrived at the crime scene forty minutes after the call. I'd hit nasty traffic...literally...a diaper service truck had overturned and the results were not pretty. At least I got a free turban out of the tragedy. I was a big Korla Pandit fan and had always wanted to wear a turban to work just like the famed television organist. I wondered just what the L.A.P.D. would make of a detective sporting a jaunty turban. Personally, I thought it gave me an air of mystery. I sauntered up to the body of the dead perp, shoving the patrolmen and crime scene photographer roughly aside. Before me lay the bloody, bullet-ridden corpse of Jackie "The Ventriloquist Dummy Rapist" Jackson. It seemed the batty little perv had sodomized one Charlie McCarthy doll too many. Someone had Jackie's number and they weren't messing around with niceties. "What's with the diaper on your head buddy?" the photographer asked. I responded with a right hook to the chin, knocking myself temporarily unconscious.

When I awoke I found myself shoved into the freezer of an ice cream truck on the prowl. I could hear the tune of "Pop goes the Weasel" playing over and over and over again as I wormed my way free. It almost played out like some old slapstick comedy routine with that damn music, only I wasn't laughing. Finally back on my feet, I approached the driver of the truck from behind, removing my neck tie. He was a large man with a nasty scar running down the back of his bald head, as if someone had removed his brain during an autopsy. I jerked my tie around his neck and began to strangle the sinister ice cream salesman. The truck rolled to a stop as we fought. I could hear several children screaming that a genie was murdering the ice cream man. At first I looked around for the genie, but then realized that I was still wearing my new turban and it was me they were yelling about. I bit the man's right ear off and spat it out of the window of the truck. The children fled in horror. "Where is the crystal skull of Andreas DePlacas?!" I screamed...not knowing exactly what I was talking about...I simply thought that since I felt obliged to strangle my abductor that it should be for a good reason...like the secret origins of a mysterious crystal skull. "Who was the dragon lady with the butterfly tattoo?!" I added...elaborating on my fictitious trail of intrigue. The large man suddenly flipped me over his shoulder's, sending me flying through the windshield of the ice cream truck and onto the pavement. The next thing I saw was a large shoe heading straight for my face.

I awoke in a dark warehouse tied to a chair and missing several teeth. At first this bothered me until I realized that I could now eat as much candy as I wanted without fretting about tooth decay. A sinister character with a rattlesnake tattooed on his face stepped out of the shadows clutching a record album. The man shoved the album's cover into my face. The title of the album was "The Sounds of Holland". "Ever been to Netherlands?" the man asked. "No" I replied. "This album...this record album...it give one the feeling that one is walking the streets of Holland. It is uncanny" he informed me. "Would you like to pretend that we are in Holland?" he asked. "Yes...I would like that very much" I answered.

The man set the record on a turntable and switched the record player on. Within seconds we were audibly transported to the land of tulips and windmills. "Clickty Clack" went the sound of the wooden shoes. "They have killed the ventriloquist dummy rapist" the man muttered. "Yes, I'm afraid someone shot him so full of led that you could use his dick for a pencil" I answered. "The thin stick of pigment encased in the wooden cylinders of pencils is actually graphite...it is very common misconception" he informed me, rubbing his rattlesnake tattoo.

"May I have some cotton candy?" I asked...hoping to stall for time before the inevitable beating resumed upon my person and knowing that it was highly unlikely that a cone of delicious cotton candy would be readily available.

"The ventriloquist dummy rapist....he rape my dummy....he rip his cloth ass with savage rage...put his nasty penis in my little buddy" The man said...a tear running down his cheek. "I'm glad he dead. He deserve to die for what he did to my little buddy!" The man was understandably upset. "You wear diaper on head like genie" he continued. "Maybe you have magic power and see future".

"Yes" I said "My magic turban gives me the power to see the future...but I will need my crystal ball. You can pick it up on the way to get me that cotton candy we talked about".

The tattooed ruffian agreed to my requests and left me alone in the warehouse to make my escape. I wriggled and wriggled hoping to loosen the ropes around my wrists and ankles. Finally I managed to work some slack into the ropes and make my escape. As I ran down the street heading away from the warehouse the man with the rattlesnake tattoo drove past me in a red sedan, looking confused and pointing to a large wad of cotton candy he had bought me. I rushed into an alley and hopped a fence, heading east down North West South Street. The red sedan was hot on my trail. I could hear rattlesnake face calling behind me, "You say you tell future for cotton candy! You lie to Jocko! Now Jocko kill genie man!"

I dodged the sedan by inches, diving off a steep embankment on the side of the road and tumbling for what seemed like several miles down a rocky cliff, finally coming to rest in a shanty town inhabited by hobos situated at the bottom of the mountain. The hobos took me in and tended my wounds. They fed me chili, sardines and rot gut. At first I thought these pungent tramps were simply being kind, but I grew nervous when I kept hearing myself referred to as "fat and juicy" and "genie boy, good eats". In the dead of night I made my escape in a hot air balloon that I had secretly mailed away for that had been advertised in the back of one of the hobos' issues of "Hobo Quarterly".

As I sailed away from the shanty town, screaming obscenities at the hobos below, I was blown high into the atmosphere by a sudden and powerful gust of wind. The wind continued to pick up, becoming fierce, battering my balloon and blowing me to God knows where. When the storm finally subsided and I was able to land, I found myself on a mysterious island inhabited by 3rd rate celebrity impersonators. The team doing Martin and Lewis are annoying the shit out of me and the Marylin Monroe impersonator looks more like Harpo Marx in drag. We all live on coconuts and shell fish and I am learning to adapt to this strange place by attempting to perfect an Arnold Stang impression. Every night we have a wild sexual orgy and in the daytime we hunt and gather and work out new routines for our acts. It isn't a bad life. I find it peaceful here on "Celebrity Island". It is as if fate has brought me here.

Sticky!

This morning I called in sick to work claiming that I was suffering from "Boogie Fever". Luckily my employers are from India and think that this is a legitimate illness. I had some important masturbating to do today and I couldn't let something as mundane as employment stand in the way of my masturbatory obligations. My phony rubber breasts and Sarah Palin mask arrived yesterday and I was up until one in the morning installing the full length mirror and assembling the trampoline. I also needed to work on my rock opera about the life of Chef Boyardee...I'm very close to completing the dream sequence number where he is attacked by the werewolf with the dildo. It was a good thing I took the day off as I was able to sell four more phony Don Knotts autographs on Ebay this morning after my first masturbation marathon. Man that mask gets hot...especially when your masturbating. This Don Knotts autograph scam is proving to be a goddamn cash cow!

The Stupidest Voyage of Sinbad

I wish legendary special effects artist Ray Harryhausen would come out of retirement and make another one of those wonderful Sinbad movies (The Seventh Voyage of Sinbad, The Golden Voyage of Sinbad, Sinbad and the Eye of the Tiger). I loved his "Dynamation" stop motion technique and consider the man a true artistic genius. In the hope of coaxing him back to the silver screen with an irresistible dangling carrot, I have crafted a treatment for a new Sinbad adventure film that I have titled : "The Very Strange and Slightly Disturbing Voyage of Sinbad". The highlights of which include a fight to the death with a "Dynamation" version of "Mrs. Butterworth"...the animated syrup bottle/lady from those weird commercials and another sequence in which a "Dynamation" tapeworm does battle with a "Dynamation" fried chicken.

The climactic battle would be fought between Sinbad and his men and an army of pez dispensers with snowman heads. I see "Grease 2" actor Adrian Zmed in the role of Sinbad and character actor Sid Haig as the evil wizard "Kaleem". Perhaps Eddie Deezen as the voice of a "Dynamation" chimpanzee, and an actress with huge "Dynamation" breasts as harem girl, "Farreakah". I've sent the script treatment to Ray's agent but, to date, I haven't heard back from anyone. I certainly have my fingers crossed! Come on, Mr. Harryhausen! Let's have one more for the road!

The Sexual Ecstasy of Paul Bunyan

It was a close call, but I managed to be excused from jury duty by wearing a wizard costume and flowing white beard to the court house. I was eliminated from the Jury member selection when I proclaimed that I was looking forward to performing my civic duty for the betterment of Middle Earth. Then I waved my hands about as if casting a magical spell. The impending trial concerned an out patient from the state hospital who had been caught making love to a statue of Paul Bunyan. It was a death penalty trial and I couldn't fathom sitting around for six months waiting to have blood on my hands when I could simply open fire on a crowd of innocent people down at my neighborhood Outback Steakhouse. I had bigger fish to fry. Literally. I wasn't about to risk my job at Long John Silver's to put an insane giant fucker to death by lethal injection. I had fought for that job tooth and nail, rallying the company for the reinstatement of employee pirate costumes.

I did however use the jury duty summons to take the rest of the day off. I roller bladed around the waterfront at the beach in my wizard costume, performing my favorite moves from my favorite film of all time, "Xanadu". I bought a hot dog from the Cheech's hot dog stand and shoved it into my under pants, periodically lifting up the front of my wizard's gown to show the foxy ladies on the boardwalk. I had what they used to refer to as "Boogie Fever" and I hoped it was contagious, but not fatal.

Suicide prevention-flavored chewing gum

After the idiots had fallen for my Walt Disney disguise, I entered the dwarfs' cottage and pulled my Beretta. The seven little douche bags thought better of attempting a group attack after I shot Grumpy in the kneecap to make the point that I was not fucking around. They screamed that they didn't know where Snow White was and that they didn't want any trouble. I told them I didn't give a rat's goddamn ass where Snow White was, and that this was concerning a little matter to be taken up with the dwarfs themselves. One by one I handed them each a legal document stating that their requests for their names to be legally changed had been approved by the Magic Kingdom. They seemed puzzled by my actions, as if they were they were those of a crazy person.

"Your moustache is falling off, Mr. Disney", Happy informed me. Pressing my phony moustache back onto my lip, I muttered something about the cryogenic chamber altering the molecules of my facial hair. "Okay you little fuckers", I hissed..."We're gonna have ourselves a little role call". Still they stared, slack-jawed, as if I had totally lost my mind. The seven dwarfs each read aloud their new name, one by one: "Roopledork", "Salmon Slap Jackson", "Ring Worm", " Jo Jo Lucky Penny", "Mr. Bling Bling", "Big Dong McDoodle", "Licky".

There was a long uncomfortable silence before I finally rose and gave them each a bottle Pepto Bismol, placed a paper bag over my head and departed the cottage, whistling the theme song to "Hawaii 5-O". I like to think that in my own special way, I changed the course of history that day.

H.P. McLovincraft: At The Mountains of Super Badness

Is it just me or does horror literature icon, H.P. Lovecraft not look like McLovin from "Superbad"?

Guckenheimer's Sexual Energy Bars

This morning Raven and I awoke to the annoying sound of a frantic buzzing around the ceiling of our bedroom. At first we thought it might be a fly, but once we rubbed the sleep from our puffy eyes we saw that it was actually the recording artist, Prince. He was stark naked, just like on the cover of his album "Love Sexy", and he had little fairy wings. We guessed that he must have flown into the bedroom during the night through an open window and become trapped. Raven wanted to catch him and feed him to our black widow spider, "Joan Collins", but I opted for squashing him with a rolled up Fangoria magazine. Raven eventually won me over and we caught the little pop artist in a jar. Prince was none too pleased and buzzed around inside the jar, screaming obscenities until we dumped him into Joan Collins' tank. Now I have seen some funny things in lifetime, but nothing can beat watching the director of "Under The Cherry Moon" get eaten by a black widow spider. Man, I am still laughing at that. What a fantastic way to start the day.

I'm so fucking high...I know...I'll paint a picture!

I used to smoke a lot of pot (see photograph of an obviously very stoned Dan West). I spent many years creating a plethora of shitty oil paintings while stoned out of my gourd, but this one takes the goddamn cake for being so blatantly created by a stoned idiot. Please note the fantastically retarded nature of this mish mash of crap. There is simply no point to this painting other than "Holy shit...I am soooo high!"

The God Complex: Operation Fill Screens

Here was an interesting second unit shooting assignment that we had to pull off for Mark Pirro's new biblical comedy "The God Complex". We were tasked with shooting the second unit filler material for all of the screens on God's monitors in his elaborate control room in Heaven...well most of them anyway. We had to go out and simply shoot random crap in biblical costumes to take up space for a master shot (I assume). It was yet another odd way to spend one's time. Here is the end result of that work.

A yarmulke made of panties

Pardon the bad pun but it appears that trying to make a snowman out of vanilla ice cream wasn't such a "hot" idea. At first I thought it would be a great way to bond with the kids after I'd gambled away their college money at the Cash Creek Indian Casino. Now it appears that I have let them down again...this shit melts faster than you'd think....we barely got the top hat on before its head fell off and splattered across the kitchen. There are goddamn ants and flies everywhere now! We're knee deep in sticky melted sludge. I'd suggest we try to eat it but that seems really unsanitary and dangerous since I've been spraying this crap with Raid to kill the ants. All I was trying to do was be a good Dad...a good Dad with a rotten compulsive gambling problem that destroys lives and tears asunder the dreams of a brighter future achieved through the means of a college education. Raven is going to kill me for this shit...I think we accidentally drowned the cat underneath this sea of vanilla mush. I can't seem to find her. We didn't even get to name the goddamn snowman before he just fell apart. Jimmy suggested we could posthumously name him "Melty". Johnny suggested "Sticky"....I suggested "The Kick-ass, Titty-suckin' Fuck God!"...but was met with a chilly response....hey...chilly...snowman...that's funny.

Uh-oh, I hear the downstairs neighbor screaming bloody murder. This crap must be leaking through his ceiling. Maybe "Melty" is the better of the three names, now that I think about it. I just put the Addams Family theme song on a loop on the CD player at full volume to drown out the neighbor's cursing and yelling. That should teach him a lesson...what kind of lesson I have no idea...but a lesson nonetheless. He's going to learn another lesson when I start shooting holes in the kitchen floor with my grandpa's old hunting rifle to drain this ice cream out of the apartment. Man oh man, this is all going to look really bad to the review board at the state hospital.

Wooden Shoe Dance Fever

Much like my attempts at swallowing a live bat, I regret to admit that my little "stab" at amateur open heart surgery has failed.

This is so fucked, man! I even bought that pop up anatomy book and these doctor's scrubs from Thrift Town to make it seem more professional. I am gonna be up shit creek without a goddamn paddle when Raven comes home and finds her Grandpa like this. This shit looks like something out of one of those goddamn Hellraiser movies...or the part in "The Silence of the Lambs" when Hannibal Lecter skins that cop. What a mess! What was I thinking drinking all of that Country Club Malt Liquor to calm my nerves before the operation?? It just tasted so refreshing.This is worse than the time I made that snowman out of ice cream and it melted all over the kitchen floor. In fact it's MUCH worse because that accident did not involve a hastily disemboweled loved one. Raven asks me why I do these insane things...I don't ever have answer that doesn't include the words "another wacky misadventure", so I usually just stare at her blankly and pretend I didn't hear her question.

How the fuck am I going to get all of these bloodstains out of the carpet?

Jimmy's Cockroach Farm

At first I thought that dunce caps might be a bit excessive, but then I reasoned that since it was a gay wedding, we shouldn't really care what other people might think, especially if they thought that our dunce caps made us look stupid. They went so well with our "Austin Powers" teeth...the pairs I found in that public toilet. Who throws away two perfectly good pairs of Austin Powers teeth? Those things are hilarious! Some dumbass must have tried to cram both pairs into his mouth at once and then accidentally dropped them in the john. Now, mind you, I normally don't fish things out of public toilets for what I hope would be obvious reasons...but I simply couldn't pass these babies up. We also put on yellow rain slickers and wooden shoes and then stuffed our bellies with pillows so we both looked pregnant. We didn't want to steal the groom and groom's thunder so we were careful to use red grease paint on our faces rather than green. We weren't sure what the couple had on their registry so we just dug an old plastic Halloween pumpkin out of the hall closet and filled it with candy and pennies. Raven wrote a nice card that read "Happy Halloween faggots!". I had her change it from "you fucking faggots!" to just "faggots" as I thought the more explicit language might offend Rico and David, the soon-to-be newlyweds. Instead of rice we brought corn on the cob to throw at the couple. We figured if we were going to throw shit at them we should make it count and try to really do some damage.

We arrived at City Hall in a bulldozer, making sure to ram into the limousine that awaited the happy couple at the foot of the front steps. Talk about making an entrance! Then we sat atop the bulldozer screaming at the well-dressed crowd in a strange language we created that sounded slightly Asian. "Hong pong ching lingy lingy! Sodomites make irreegar marry man! Chingy chingy chongy!"

Then we started lobbing spoonfuls of Miracle whip at the horrified crowd, ruining several tuxedos with the slimy condiment splatter. Everyone was screaming and ducking the blobs of Miracle Whip. It was all done very tastefully in view of the significance of the day for Rico and David. We were surprised that someone actually thought we were some kind of insane wedding crashers and called the police. Luckily Grandma Chicky put up our bail so we could put in some face time at the reception. After a quick change of attire we were back in business. This time we dressed in suits and Barack Obama masks and hummed "Hail to the Chief" as we attempted to shake hands with several of the angry attendees. Not soon after that, Rico chased us out of the hall with the cake knife. Good thing there were no secret service agents present or they would have shot him.

My Hair Smells Minty!

Last night as I was creating my Cenobite costume for the Hellraiser-themed fundraiser for Jerry's Kids, a weird thing happened. My wife, Raven asked me if I preferred the studs through her nipples or the onyx scorpions that I gave her for Halloween. I chose the scorpions, and as I was assisting her in hooking them through, I noticed a large Mothman standing in the living room of our apartment. I realized I must have left the window open. Not really knowing what to say, we simply stood slack-jawed. The Mothman approached us. In its right hand it held a paper shopping bag. From this bag the Mothman took two obviously homemade Phil Spector masks...they were simply color prints of Spector's prison photo taped to a pair of buckets. The Mothman gestured for us to put the buckets/masks on our heads and we complied. The Mothman implied through a bizarre pantomime that we should both dance around the living room as if we were robots. Again we complied with the Mothman's wishes. As we danced about with our Phil Spector bucket heads on, the Mothman took from his paper bag a piece of cardboard with the word "guilty" written on it.

Round and round and round we did prance, as we did the Phil Spector dance. The Mothman pointed an accusatory finger at us as we did so...waving the "guilty" sign in the air. With Raven and I both getting into the whole groove of the Spector dance I quickly put our "Jerry Lewis Sings for Children" LP on the record player. The Mothman tossed his piece of cardboard to the floor, jumped on top of it and started performing head spins. That shit was off the hook! Soon our next door neighbors came in dressed like the cast of "Peter Pan" and we all had a wild, drug-fueled sex orgy.

It was a night to remember. Thank you Mothman...wherever you are

Dentures of Death

I had to do something drastic to get the elderly couple out of their box, so this morning I electrocuted them with a cattle prod. The male didn't seem to take to electrocution too well and went into cardiac arrest. I remedied that my giving him another jolt to liven him up. That seemed to set the old boy straight. This is what I get for keeping elderly people as pets. I took them for a walk in Golden Gate Park and then bought them some sandwiches at Pappy's. The cashier asked if they were my grandparents and I informed him that there were actually pets and that I hadn't thought of names for them yet. She thought I was kidding. She asked why I simply didn't just call them by their given names. I told her that they were my pets and that I would call them whatever I damn well pleased. Then I spit on her and called her a dim-witted mutant. The nerve!

I had to name them something eventually, so I went to my neighborhood hobby shop and purchased a label maker. I printed two name tags out when I got home. One reading : Elderly person # 1, and the second reading "Jimbo Jackson". I pinned the first to the female and the second to the male...and then, just to amuse myself I also made them a pair of price tags. Elderly person #1 was reasonably priced at $72.35...and Jimbo Jackson was priced at the exorbitant sum of $220.00.

They are still rather skittish around me despite the fact that I bought them both nice tubes of denture creme, canes and hearing aids. I also gave them two bags of Toffee Fay and Worther's butter candy and a few back issues of Reader's Digest to keep them amused. Elderly person #1 told me they would feel much more comfortable back at the retirement home and that they would feel much safer if I wouldn't take so much LSD. I told Elderly Person #1 to shut her wrinkled old mouth before I bitch slapped her like a ho. That's when the male attacked me with a steak knife. He was surprisingly strong for and elderly man and very agile for his age.

Once I get these wounds clean I'm heading out to track them. They'd be foolish to head back to the retirement home as I have well-placed friends there...which is how I acquired them in the first place. When I get them back home there's going to be hell to pay. I've already brought the dental chair up from the basement. If those two have any original teeth left in their heads they won't for long! Goddamn elderly fuckers!

The Trials and Tribulations of Barney Whipple, Esquire

Dear diary, I awoke this morning and dressed for court. Thought I would try a new approach for a prosecuting attorney so I donned the Bat Man costume that I normally reserve for my photo op appearances at Comic Con. Had to ride the bus as the Mercedes was in the shop being converted into a makeshift Bat Mobile. I was hoping it would be finished in time for my closing arguments for the full Dark Knight effect, but alas I was S.O.L.

The defendant seemed to find my costume amusing, but Judge Taylor did not and I was reprimanded and sent home to change while the court adjourned until I could return in more suitable attire. When I returned dressed as the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz I was found in contempt of court and fined $150.00 or one night in county jail. I paid the fine and was sent home yet again to rethink my attire. When I returned dressed as Boba Fett, I was removed from the courtroom by two deputies and escorted to the county lockup. Judge Taylor sent word that if I did not comply with the proper dress code I was to be removed from the trial.

Dear Diary, I finally complied with the judge's wishes and dressed conservatively in a three piece black suit and diving flippers. My flopping around the courtroom again annoyed Judge Taylor and he stabbed me in the arm with a pencil. I took the hint and removed my diving flippers. In my socks I was able to gleefully slide across the courtroom, dramatically wagging an accusatory finger at the defendant. During the recess I put two empty Budweiser twelve pack boxes on my feet like Frankenstein's monster shoes and donned green grease paint. Was fined again. The judge let me keep the grease paint on but told me to lose the twelve pack boxes. I argued that given the weight of the crimes, I needed monster shoes to make my point and given that I didn't own any I was simply making due. The judge stabbed me with the pencil again and denied my motion that I sing my closing arguments with banjo accompaniment. What a dick!

Dear Diary, well despite my best efforts the defendant was found "not guilty by reason that the prosecuting attorney was an insane douche bag". Those stupid fuckers on that jury were a bunch of mongoloids anyway. Next time I'm just going to blow up the court house to make sure I win. In the mean time, my new Bat Mobile is ready for my next trial! Yay!

The Incident At Camp Whiskey River

When the boys and I decided to play "Planet of the Apes" we should have realized it would be a bad idea to use real rifles and live rounds considering the limited visibility of the gorilla masks. Donny is still trying to dig the bullet out of Ronnie's leg with a fork. Man that kid can scream. Lucky I'm a scout master and not an emergency room doctor...I didn't have a goddamn clue what to do, so I just told Donny to use the fork utensil on his Swiss army knife to get that sucker out while Will and Brian held him down. Even the Jack Daniels hasn't shut that kid up. Guess I better give him another Dixie cup full. This is like watching Civil War surgery...it's just lucky I'm drunk or I'd be freaking out about now.

I guess I should take off my General Ursus mask and lend a hand. I aught to have my head examined letting kids fire rifles at each other. That wasn't such a concern at first since most of these kids couldn't hit the side of a barn. The problem started when I joined in. Being a marksman of sorts, I was able to take Ronnie out with one shot. Boom! Down he went, face first into the dirt screaming bloody murder.

I guess I'd better bury these weapons and come up with some kind of alibi. Maybe I can blame it on a one-armed, child-hating Cajun. Or maybe we should say the assailant had a hook for a hand...so he could at least fire a rifle more accurately. Gotta think up something better than the truth. Maybe we can say the bullet hole is a spider bite...from a really big spider with a human head and vampire fangs. Jesus I'm drunk.

Don't Make Me Bitch Slap You, Ho!

Manny called this morning. He wanted to know how the homemade embalming fluid turned out. I told him I wasn't sure if I used enough Karo syrup...and maybe too much Palmolive. I think I have the right ratio of Vaseline though. I'm not so sure that the 3/4 cup of Mountain Dew was really a good idea...it seemed to turn the fluid a bit too acidic. I'm starting to think a bargain basement (literally) funeral parlor was not such a hot idea...or rather, not such a "cool idea" as we failed to take into account that the basement has no air conditioning or circulation. The fans don't seem to do much about the smell and our first customer seemed to take offense to this. He asked to see my license and when I showed it too him, he said that he was very happy that I could drive a car but he wanted to see my mortician's license. I showed him the certificate of achievement that I had come with a picture frame I bought...the one I had doctored with liquid paper. I think the man must have had really terrible eyesight as he seemed satisfied after examining it. He didn't seem to notice that I was, in fact, a self-licensed "cleavage inspector" rather than a mortician. Who knew an undertaker needed a license?

I was looking in the brochure for the college of mortuary science and noticed that the process of facial reconstruction employed the use of something called "mortician's wax". I had to make do with silly putty and a couple of pink birthday cake candles, but given what I had to work with I'd say I didn't do half bad...and by that I mean half of the face looks fucked up (the half that I tried to reconstruct) and the other half looks normal (the tissue that was not damaged).

The coffin was easy enough. I spray-painted a refrigerator box black and was good to go. "Waste not, want not" is our motto...it is until we get some better Mortician's shit anyway...I'm not a goddamn wizard....but then, people didn't hire me expecting a wizard...they hired me expecting a mortician...so I guess it evens out that I am actually neither. I'm just a guy with a black suit, a basement apartment and a dream.

Uncle Dick

My skin has become very itchy after brushing my teeth with Comet cleanser. I thought they would be all shiny and white like a bathtub after I was done. Now my gums are turning green.

This is what I get for taking advise from a talking cat. I'm not even sure that it was a real cat, given the fact that it was performing inside of a puppet theatre and was wearing a top hat and a monocle. I really need to use more discretion. I should have asked to see its legs before taking its advise on face value. No wonder Uncle Dick's ghost has yet to reveal to me where he buried his chest of pirate treasure and magic beans. He always said I was a gullible simpleton. But, hell, if it wasn't for Uncle Dick I would never have known that a giant mosquito takes you up to Heaven when you are asleep and makes you strong like the Incredible Hulk, or that Popeye the Sailor was actually a real person who died in the gas chamber at San Quentin for cannibalizing a Catholic family during the depression.

Uncle Dick was a very important person when he was alive. I remember him once showing me his 2005 Three Stooges calendar with several dates marked with notes concerning meetings and luncheon dates with famous rock stars and movie actresses...a number of which he happened to be having simultaneous love affairs with. He also met with foreign dignitaries to consult them on world affairs and held a seat in congress for several years in secrecy. I remember back in 1970s when he created a real light sabre, but he couldn't show it to me because he felt I would think it was so cool that I might hurt myself trying to become a Jedi Knight. Uncle Dick said he had stolen the plans from Darth Vadar when he was helping Luke Skywalker blow up the Death Star.

Whenever I learned anything new from Uncle Dick I would write it down on a list that I kept, titled "What I learned from Uncle Dick". The list included such important facts and lessons as :

1.) Samuel L. Jackson is the descendant of a race of minotaurs

2.) Walt Disney invented Mickey Mouse when he was being held captive in a p.o.w. camp during the Vietnam War. The Vietcong kept him inside a watery cage where he was constantly attacked my savage mice. His psychiatrist suggested that he create a friendly persona for the mice to deal with his flashbacks and nightmares.

3.) Uncle Dick once saved a maternity ward full of newborn babies by killing a cobra with a wicked karate chop move that he learned when he was in Japan on a top secret mission.

4.) Uncle Dick was Mick Jagger's and Keith Richard's second cousin and could go back stage at any Rolling Stones concert and jam with them and do lots of drugs. He has pictures at a bunch of shows but he can't show them to anyone or the F.B.I would see them and arrest him for drugs.

5.) Uncle Dick once got high with Cheech and Chong when they picked him up hitchhiking. He ended up helping them write one of their movies in their hotel room because they thought he was so funny. They paid him in pot.

Bullets Under The Big Top!

The family and I (all 12 of us) had been hiding inside of the musty, circus zebra costume for a month now. We each took turns using the flap in the back leg end to relieve ourselves and, as you can imagine, sleeping was very difficult if not nearly impossible. We existed on cotton candy and popcorn...sometimes the occasional half-eaten corn dog. Times were tough, but we were on the run from the law and we weren't about to take any foolish chances. When I say "the family" I mean that more spiritually than genetically. We were not related in the classic sense...but we had grown close as a blood-thirsty cult of murderers traveling together on a cross country kill-crazy rampage. Together we bonded as only a like-minded band of depraved killers could while all living inside of a cramped zebra costume with very little oxygen. Every day at 12:00 and 5:00 PM we were trotted out before the big top audience to prance around to the tune of "Tutti Fruiti" and then led back to our stall in the stable. The routine was getting very old indeed. It was time to get the hell of of Dodge. We were also afraid that the weird clown who called himself "Choo Choo" might try to sodomize us with that Elvis Presley whiskey decanter again.

Angel Dust Jim, the leader of the cult, had left the camp in Death Valley two days ahead of us to prepare for the coming of the Great Mama Titty Jocky Jocky (The blood ritual of the Temple of Dragon of Sunshine ). He had to gather the required presto logs and shower caps for the blood ritual....and we'd all need plenty of fresh underwear. That was a month and two days ago. We had been instructed to kill "all Zionist, flying monkey, astronaut, Frankenstein, mind control, zombie, capitalist, soul drinkers" by Angel Dust Jim. We weren't sure who he meant by that so well just killed everyone we could. We even killed that kindly old hobo who had shared his sardines with us, leaving his head impaled on a stick outside the shanty town as a warning for the other hobos not to track us and try to skin us and use our valuable pelts to keep warm during the coming winter months. At least we did honor the kindly hobo by eating the rest of his body so that he was now one with us spiritually, although, frankly he could have used more tenderizing and seasoning. He tasted like an old leather shoe.

I wondered if Angel Dust Jim awaited our arrival in New Mexico...if he did, I wondered why, as he told us to meet him in Idaho. Soon we would join him for the blood ritual. Tonight we would escape this circus hideout once and for all. I had a plan...over the course of the previous month we had assembled several wizard costumes, composed a short rock opera, built a 7 foot high, motorized, unicorn and performed amateur plastic surgery on each other's faces to assure that we could not be identified by our existing mug shots. I had opted for a "Bobby Vinton-like" visage, as I had hoped to wow the big top audience with my stunning rendition of "Polish and Proud". Instead, my face now looked like a cross between a melted Halloween mask and a pound of raw hamburger with some dentures shoved into the meat. That's what I get for trusting "Country" Clem to perform my facial reconstruction.

The plan was simple: wizards burst out of zebra costume riding unicorn, perform rock opera as distraction, commandeer 25 foot long car shaped like great white shark, ride off into the sunset, make sure to pick up that vagina-shaped bachelor party cake for Angel Dust Jim to serve as communion after blood ritual.

During the 5:00 show, the plan went into effect. Despite my careful planning, there were more than a few casualties...and by more that a few, I mean that I'm the only one left alive. I was lucky in the sense that I opted to kill everyone in sight, including my fellow cult members, before something went wrong with the plan. I'm typing this blog entry using a stolen Blackberry as I ride precariously atop a unicycle into the sunset...now the only task that lay ahead is to kill Angel Dust Jim and become God.

The Rules of the Game

As per our discussion in the crawlspace lime pit this morning, I have made a list of rules for the new game we have created.

1.) Dwarfs...they are good for 10 points each, 20 points of they happen to be wearing a green top hat with a gold buckle on the band. Midgets are only good for 7 points, but Phil Spectre is worth 50 points.

2.) If you make it across the entire bowling alley with the glass dildos strapped to the blades of the ice skates without slipping you get 18 points and a "Cop a Feel" card. The underwear mask must be worn over the face for the entire length of the bowling alley.

3.) Corncob pipes, rubber spiders and crystal meth will be given away as prizes during the bonus round.

4.) When vomiting occurs it must be left wherever it splatters until the end of the entire game. It cannot be cleaned up between rounds.

5.) We will refrain for using the word "rape" during the sleeping bag escape competition.

6.) If Grandma Ginny successfully wraps her bra around your neck she is allowed to strangle you until you lose consciousness.

7.) Potential sperm donors will be required to give a blood sample.

8.) Prison shanks will be supplied to the elderly for defense purposes

9.) The first full pint of blood spilled is worth 40 points.

10.) Female masturbation is highly encouraged but not required to compete.

11.) Competitors who bring film director Francis Ford Coppola as their guest will recieve 5 bonus points. They will recieve 10 bonus points if Mr. Coppola wears his academy award strapped to his forehead like a unicorn.