Archive for June, 2013

The Mark of the Beast

Sunday, June 30th, 2013
Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.

Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow. Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.

While I was waiting an infernally long time for this “add new post” page to load, I happened to notice I have officially published 666 posts.

Well, hello Satan!

I didn’t even notice you sidle into the room despite that flashy, yet seductive red satin number. I like what you’ve done with your facial hair.

And fond adieu, because these words right here bring us on home to number 667.

Not that I believe in that stuff anyway.

Although I must admit if I was randomly assigned Hawaii license plate MKW 666 I might see if it were possible to get another one.

No need to tempt fate, right?

Or accidentally attract the attention of local Satanists, because Beelzebub knows, if anyone is going to attract the attention of local Satanists it’s going to be me.

Not that I’m interested that or any organized faith movement, but because – to quote my dad – “If you ever hear someone say ‘that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard!’ your name is attached to it.”

In his defense, he then added after a short pause: “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

So anyway, I can no longer remember what I was going to tell you because my mind is consumed with fury over the fact that my iPhone charger isn’t working.

Stupid Apple and their heroin-like products.

I have an iPhone 4S that regularly (see: AT LEAST once a month) spontaneously deletes all my contacts and has a majorly smashed up screen (see: was depositing small shards of glass into my cheek and fingers for weeks. And it can’t get wet or moist or else it starts making a sound that can only be described as “crackling.” Side tip: NEVER become a full-time writer unless you are keen on a life spent patiently enduring all sorts of minor injustices with a shrug and, “Oh well! It’s that or eating Meow Mix or a month.” and knowing you mean yourself and not your cat. OK. Fine. You’ll share the Meow Mix. Mostly. But I digress…)

What the hell was I saying?

<<<scans back through giant run-on stream of consciousness above>>>

Oh yeah.

I have an iPhone 4S that does all this crappy undermining “REALLY!? AGAIN!? REALLY!?!?!?” stuff and is all busted up and the chargers keep breaking and when I learned that the new iPhone 5S is coming out in March or April of next year you know what my first thought was?

Was it, “Oh. I’m due for a new phone in October. Maybe try a new brand since I have all these problems with my iPhone anyway?”


It was not.

Was it: “Screw you, Apple and your expensive products and planned obsolesce and random release dates and waiting six weeks for a new product and shards of glass in my face?!?”


My first thought was, “***sigh*** I guess it’s you and me, busted ass iPhone, for another year. Cheers.”

<<<raises martini glass filled with Meow Mix>>>

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Monday, June 24th, 2013

I am publicly reading in a play tonight, the plot of which is so incredibly dumb I’m inclined to pull a Jack Nicholson and read my lines all over the top and mildly unhinged.

That is all.

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Like Sisyphus, I Am Bound to Hell

Sunday, June 23rd, 2013

I want to make out with whomever first penned that turn of phrase.

Male, female, illegal immigrant, underage child: I don’t care.

I giggle every time I read it.

In that spirit, take a gander at an awesome little video made out of highlights from”First World Cat Problems” (which includes the literary genius of the person who will hopefully give me mononucleosis.)


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Saturday, June 22nd, 2013

ow_logoThis is the first thought in my head when I wake up in the morning.


My new, vigorous exercise routine has rendered every muscle in my body sore.


Especially my neck – what? Am I being turned into Arnold Schwarzenegger here? – and hamstrings. And upper abs.


I’d better start looking like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model pretty soon.


Or at least see some marked improvement in my abs.


If you look up “ow” in the dictionary, there is a picture of me with a thought bubble above my head, and in that thought bubble it says


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Son of a…

Friday, June 21st, 2013
Me. Earlier. Downloading books and smirking through the pain. And wearing the same shirt I was wearing a few days ago.

Me. Earlier. Downloading books and smirking through the pain. And wearing the same shirt I was wearing a few days ago.

I thought I was immune.

Or invincible.

Or at least highly resistant.

But no.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.

Turns out all my wild boasts about not being affected by mango tree sap were lies, lies, lies.

It figures. Seeing as my current living situation seems to be manifesting all sorts of “do not get comfortable” bad juju, I suppose I should have been on the lookout for something like this to  happen.

Seems for all my mango picking and wrangling and handling, the one outside my house – which has three or four different varietals on it, so hard to say which specific type is to blame, although I have my suspicions – contains the evil sap.

Oh, mangoes.

Why did you have to go and be all related to poison oak and poison ivy and thus do  those of us susceptible to the other two this way??

That’s no way to treat a friend.

And for two days now I’m all welty and scratchy  and GOOD GOD WHY DOES MY EYE ITCH!?!?!?

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