So I wrote this on my myspace blog and decided to post it here…

I am sofa king…

we todd ed.  Why is that still funny to me?  I'm stricken with self inflicted ADD, thats why.  Six cups of cafe, two rocktars and let the dyslexic typing commence.  Thank you Kiersten for reading and encouraging my blogging habit (sometimes I feel like Chappelle on Knee High Park…ohhhh the blogs kicking in kids).  It's safe to say that this post will follow no logical order and proceed in a stream of consciousness (or lack thereof) sort of way.  I went to Macys yesterday to buy some ties.  Why?  Because I'm a sellout.  Windsor knots and wingtips…did I just type that?  And why am I now corporate Dule?  An obligatory Fight Club reference should suffice,

Tyler Durden:	How's that working out for you?
Narrator:	What?
Tyler Durden:	Being clever.
Narrator:	Great.
Tyler Durden:	Keep it up then

Being clever (or artsy) doesn't pay too well.  In fact on the wage scale I got from my high school guidance counseler, being clever for a living ranked just above professional lottery ticket scratcher and just below clairvoyant.  So now I'm corporate and in Macys trying to buy ties.  Deciding to have a litte fun I ask the loudly dressed customer service rep if his store stocks flair.  Blank stare.  Well, do you have shite?  Blank stare.  In Dillards the shite was right next to the Booyah…just show me where the booyah is and I'll take it from there.  He starts to glance to and fro (looking for cameras, sure that Ashton Kutcher is about to pop up and tell him he is on the normal people edition of Punk'd).  I half expect his head to explode as I turn and point to the ties while saying alfani has some bold-looking booyah…and yes I am shopping at the mall where the six foot two and two hundred eighty pound Bad Santa wanna be Easter Bunny beat the hell out of a female shopper a little over a week ago.  I think the Smoking Gun now has pics and footage up of what will soon be a Fox-TV special, When Mall Mascots attack.  Meanwhile, somewhere in Hollywood…an out of work screenwriter has just banged out a rough treatment for Bad Santa 2: Bad Bunny…a straight to duh vuh duh rental written specifically as a starring vehicle for Johnny Knoxville.  I'd rent it and revel in its retchedness.  Alliteration and a lack of quotation marks run rampant throughout my writing…busy, busy…Why doesn't myspace allow us to choose Bokonist as our religion of choice?  Someone forward that query to Tom.  That's now eleven lizards my cat has caught in the last week.  Poor little defenseless guys.  Karma (possibly assuming the shape of a Monitor Lizard) is going to come back and bite you in the ass Mister Kitty, watch it buddy.  Has anyone had the thought that myspace is the cheapest, easiest way to digitally tattoo oneself?  You can blog, post pics, express all you want…and if you don't like the virtual tat you don't have to cover it up or get laser corrective surgery done…click, delete, start all over. 

                         sincerely,

                               Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Jackass.

!@@#@#&&@#^@&^#*@^#&*&^#@

@$#*#$&@^$(#&$…BIOS…*%^%*(^^&…Damn computer…&%^&*%%(%^&%$&^$&$&#$%@#()!&#@_*(!@^#()^@^$#@&#$^@)$^&*@#^$&*$^*(@#^$&#@$^)#^$#!+()*$&#)*…video card compatibility *(^@)^#@&^#$%$#@$*&#_*$!$_!$$&*_&#*%#^%!_&*)!^%#!)@%*(^#$(%&*^#(…and how the hell did my censored tirade become a clickable link?  Clickable my !@#.  Must…find…good…music…to…offset…BIOS…nightmares…Ambulance LTD…Broken Social Scene…Minus the Bear…ahhhhhhhhhhhh much better.  Night night blogees and blogettes.

I shall name this post…ni (nee).

How come famous quotes are only attributed to famous or anonymous people?  Are famous people more interesting and exciting?  Why isn't Raffi from 7-11 or my bank teller Hong found in the many anthologies of all things quotable?  By the by, my boy Raffi has some serious quotation game…who are the five most quotable 7-11 employees in the world…Raffi…Raffi…Raffi, Raffi and Raffi…cause he spits hot fire.  I don't know if this is a brainstorm or a brain hiccup…I'm thinking about documenting the greatest quotes of my friends, family, people I only know through their profiles on myspace and random 7-11 employees…if any of the three people who inadvertantly clicked on this blog post has a quotation to offer…please send them to me or leave them as a comment on this blog….I'll start it off…here are a few uber unintelligent quotes I came up with:

Love is pain, wrapped in glass.

Dream, have a near life experience.

Time travel is more than possible.  Look at all the people that either live in the future or the past.

Questions with answers lead to more questions…(I had to steal this one from Dilated People)

A dream deferred deadens desire.   

I am officially just a statistic…

Going against my word and wisdom…I have broken down and gone to the dark side…I have joined myspace.  Chalk it up to a yearning to be one of the seventy million users (safety in numbers and all that jazz), peer pressure from the digitally inclined crowd or a way to connect to my friends from back home; whatever the rationalization and minimization…I have turned into Darth Dul (might just be following the lead of the South Park guys).  So, I'm feeling a bit melancholy about it all…so, I'd like to take a moment, bow my head and mourn the passing of the me that existed pre myspace…moment over.  My initial observations are that it's not as bad as I believed it to be.  Yes, scorned lovers post pics of their exes online and yes people bicker about all sorts of nonsense…and yes random girls send you their profiles under the subject: am I HOT! or r u hot…don't think I'll get used to the creative spelling employed by the myspacers.  Myspace is, in effect, the cheaper, less scarring way for individuals to tattoo themselves and espouse their individuality…you don't need a laser to burn off the pics and ambiguous statements posted on your particular site.  Anyhoo, must run…work, it beckons…

What would be your perfect day?

A date with your significant other?  Catching a ballgame?  Movies and popcorn?  Or perhaps the Dave Chappelle impersonation of Sean Combs/P. Diddy/Puff Daddy/Just call me Diddy approach,

 "If I had my way, I'd never work. I'd just stay home all day, watch Scarface 50 times, eat a turkey sandwich, and have sex all fucking day. Then I'd dress up like a clown, and surprise kids at schools. Then I'd take a dump in the back of a movie theater, and just wait until somebody sat in it. Hear it squish. That's funny to me. Then I'd paint, and read, and play violin. I'd climb the mountains, and sing the songs that I like to sing. But I don't got that kinda time."

Sticking feather up your butt does not make you a chicken…

And spraying fake and bake on Nick Nolte does not make him Native American.  Just saw the movie tralier for "Peaceful Warrior" based on the great book "Way of the Peaceful Warrior" (oh Hollywood, they will abbreviate everything).  Seeing Nick Nolte, in essence, wear black face is a bit, um, well…scary.  I've seen Mr. Nolte in a plethora of movies (would you say I have a plethora, Jefe) as well as in countless mug shots…the man can play: white, drunk, angry, cracked out (or its more gussied up terms disheveled, unkempt and unruly)…if he can pull off playing a wizened peaceful warrior of ethnicity then give him an Oscar…

Take this post with a grain of salt and a wink (considering this is my self indulgent blog)

A quick impersonation of myspace sites.  Ahem,

Looooooooooooooooooook at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee loooooooooooooooooooooooooook Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm sooooooooooo cooooooooooooooooooooooool and u rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr laaaaaaaammmmmmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeee sooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaammmmeeeeeeee.  Looooooooooooook atttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee coooooooooooooooooooool people that do nooooooooooooooooooot suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuckie people rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaameeeeeeeeeeeeee.

In closing, I'll probably have a myspace website I can call my own before you know it (no lame or suckie people though).  I'd also like to use this time to pose a question for anyone bored enough to slog through this post, would anyone be interested in a column of quotes from myspace sites?  That site is a gold mine for satirists. 

Is there such a thing as fourth person?

I love it when athletes or George from Seinfeld refer to themselves in the third person.  It adds a pompous yet charming little kid trying to act bigger than he really is quality to self aggrandizing behavior.  But when the aforementioned begin calling themselves by their nicknames it gets a bit creepy.  Yeah I’m talking about you Starbury (Stephon Marbury).  I’m all for people signing their nicknames at the end of letters and emails (it’s clever, it’s cute) but the fourth person reference, in public, with people watching, on television, is um, not so clever or cute.

Schizophrenic Society

I’ve become the antithesis of the morning caffeine consuming and newspaper reading masses.  Cover of night, cup of decaf and a chance to peruse the online archive of news stories now that’s the pirates life for me.  In the age of acronyms I suppose I am just AB or ass backwards (probably born that way too).

Any-hoo.  Day after day I am left wondering what effect our news cycle has on the neurodynamics of the public.  Can prolonged exposure to print, television and computer based news that is presented in bi-polar or even schizophrenic tones influence the viewership to individually assume said personality disorders?

In the space of a few minutes tonight I was able to read brief articles about: MIT students using nanotechnology to restore function in damaged brain areas (in rodents of course), ambien pills causing sleep eating and sexing binges by initiating a short lived fugue state, an article that starts, “11 dead in Texas fires, cattle burn alive…”, the bungling of the Moussaoui trial, Issac Hayes versus Matt Stone and Trey Parker in a fascinating debate about the overly sensitive reaction some religions react to when confronted with sarcasm…wait for it…the coup de grace, the television in the next room reports that a mother has just put her child up for sale on the internet.  A good ol’ fashioned bi-polar bludgeoning.  Same bat blog same bat time tomorrow.   

Noooooooooooooo whammies-stop!

A moment of silence. 

Tonight I write with a heavy heart.  Peter Tomarken has died in a plane crash.  Tomarken was the host of the greatest game show-ever, “Press Your Luck.”

Tonight the whammies stop forever.  This is a perfect time to reignite a great cloning dialogue.  And bring back Mr. Miyagi if at all possible, “No whammies, Daniel-San.”

Tomarken and Miyagi-San you are missed.