NT MindBook
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- rasko4
In this ere thread thar shall be posted ye literary ramblings, stories short or long, wordy insights, observations and all things of thy noble art o' penmanship.
Feel free to harvest from threads gone by.
- rasko40
NT productions only me trusty crew o pirates!
- gruntt0
so this will be mainly a kingjulien thread, right?
- e-pill0
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- rasko40
yes gruntt, unless of course you have something to contribute.
Tramadol
Every Wednesday and Thursday morning, between 10-11 am, I get a call from a friend who I went to elementary school with. These are his days off, and he always wants to go to lunch. The thing is, clearly he's still in bed when he reaches for the phone, and his voice reflects this - in that it sounds like he just woke up. At the same time though, it's kind of creepy, because if I didn't know better, I'd think he was moaning on the phone. I always wanted to talk shit about it, but every reference I make is met with disdain and a weird silence, so I've learned to just leave it alone.
Yesterday he let slip that 5 years ago, while managing Round Table Pizza, he got fired for sexual harassment. It was one of the revelations where you don't want to judge your friend, but at the same time this is the kind of information that causes one to raise their eyebrow. When I asked what happened, he said that a girl from work called one morning to see if he could cover her shift, and then reported to her supervisor afterwards that he had been masterbating on the phone. I said were you? - in a joking way, trying to deflect the awkwardness, and he said 'No. I'm just a fat kid and this is how I sound in the morning.'
He ended up getting a better job and he now makes lots of money and clearly this is something he'd prefer would just disappear, but here I am, not ready to let it go quite yet, spinning another ridiculous moment from my world into a cheap anecdote for a bunch of strangers to dissect and belittle.
If it wasn't clear already, I'm a selfish bastard.
kingjulien
(Dec 1 05, 11:55)
- rasko40
back to your handbags e-pill, runalong now.
- e-pill0
NT Raps
Chillin' with a big woodie
Breakin out the grayhoodieNow grunnt can't smoke no cigz
Jail-bait punknigga' NT kidzGo!
JazX
(Apr 11 05, 11:42)
- e-pill0
oh shit he called your mother a bitch ass tit.
dopepope
(Oct 14 05, 13:36)I think he just said your moms is a scabbed over asshole.
dopepope
(Oct 14 05, 13:42)so then he called his mom a cum beaver.
dopepope
(Oct 14 05, 13:44)Oh shit he just said son's mom was gay and drinks piss.
dopepope
(Oct 14 05, 14:55):)
- rasko40
Today on the walk home from church, I noticed across the way two dogs copulating. Breeding. Having sex, I stopped somewhat aghast as I am walking through a relatively nice, middle class white neighbourhood, where one would expect righteous citizens to keep their canine friends locked up with a leash, not running riot spreading their seed throughout the streets and avenues, in clear sight of the elderly and child alike.
So there I am staring at these beasts, and quite large they were too though I'm no expert on species, they were the size of labrador but had short, tan hair the both of them. As the male mounted the bitch I was somewhat impressed by his motion, he was indeed fast, efficient, and his muscles were quite visible during these moments of exertion. I cast an eye to one side, checking of course for the owner so that he (this male dog clearly belonged to a man as it wore a red handkerchief about its neck, much like a cowboy) might restrain this beastly act, this act which was still taking place, there they are going at it, in out, in out and I couldn't help but notice the length of the dogs shaft, the phallus must have extended by at least 9 inches, long and red, thin yet strong, pepperoni in colouration. Disgusting it was. Where this beasts owner was I do not know, I glance around again and by now I have worked up a sweat, the sun was shining and after a walk this often happens as I am not a man of exercise. A young lady has paused and has been watching me as I have been watching the dogs, or more appropriately, trying to find the owner to put an end to this hideous act, this heineous activity. She is looking at me cock eyed, "are these your dogs?" I ask, "no, but they sure look like they havin fun" she laughs, looking me up and down, "disgusting isn't it?" I say and she pauses as she walks by "they just doin what nature wants em too honey" she says with a slight growling inclination in her tone, I have no idea what to make of this and am quite taken aback, this woman, this brazen hussy I might add, is as good as sniffing at my rectum, thats what I am thinking, she is like an animal! I am convinced, she wanted to stand and do the sex act right there just like those animals, those disgusting animals as they pounced on each other, tearing at each others flesh, that's what she wanted. It wouldn't surprise me, thats what society has come too, absolutely immoral. That dirty, dirty woman made those beasts look clean. Dirty woman in that red dress and those big sunglasses.
I dabbed my forehead and moved along, back on my way home. Maybe I would have a sit down when I got home, maybe run a bath and get rid of this horrible sweat. Yes, and thats what I did, well - a shower actually.
Quite an afternoon.
God bless †
max_prophet
(Dec 6 05, 15:23)
- e-pill0
Stories by Dinky
It all started when our cliche, protagonistic figure, JazX, woke up in a fanstic pumpkin patch. It was the first time it had happened. Feeling alarmingly worried, JazX slapped a dull pencil, thinking it would make him feel better (but as usual, it did not). Happy as a frickin' monkey, he realized that his beloved rod of purple balls was missing! Immediately he called his vicariously jealous friend, Mr Dinky. JazX had known Mr Dinky for (plus or minus) 20 years, the majority of which were eccentric ones. Mr Dinky was unique. She was intelligent though sometimes a little... abrasive. JazX called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.Mr Dinky picked up to a very unhappy JazX. Mr Dinky calmly assured him that most South American hissing sloths shudder before mating, yet 3-legged wallabies usually surreptitiously sigh *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting JazX. Why was Mr Dinky trying to distract JazX? Because she had snuck out from JazX's with the rod of purple balls only eight days prior. It was a exotic little rod of purple balls... how could she resist?
It didn't take long before JazX got back to the subject at hand: his rod of purple balls. Mr Dinky panicked. Relunctantly, Mr Dinky invited him over, assuring him they'd find the rod of purple balls. JazX grabbed his hammock and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Mr Dinky realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the rod of purple balls and she had to do it deftly. She figured that if JazX took the Jap Trap, she had take at least five minutes before JazX would get there. But if he took the bat mobile? Then Mr Dinky would be exceedingly screwed.
Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, Mr Dinky was interrupted by five clueless purple monkey dish washers that were lured by her rod of purple balls. Mr Dinky cringed; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling frustrated, she skillfully reached for her carrot and deftly stroked every last one of them. Apparently this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the haunted thicket, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the bat mobile rolling up. It was JazX.
As he pulled up, he felt a sense of urgency. He had had to make an unscheduled stop at Texaco to pick up a 12-pack of wolverines, so he knew he was running late. With a quick leap, JazX was out of the bat mobile and went flamboyantly jaunting toward Mr Dinky's front door. Meanwhile inside, Mr Dinky was panicking. Not thinking, she tossed the rod of purple balls into a box of dull pencils and then slid the box behind her refrigerator. Mr Dinky was concerned but at least the rod of purple balls was concealed. The doorbell rang.
'Come in,' Mr Dinky sassily purred. With a inept push, JazX opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some annoying coke fiend in a rice rocket,' he lied. 'It's fine,' Mr Dinky assured him. JazX took a seat just under where Mr Dinky had hidden the rod of purple balls. Mr Dinky grimaced trying unsuccessfully to hide her nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' she blurted. But JazX was distracted. In a tragically predictable turn of events, Mr Dinky noticed a selfish look on JazX's face. JazX slowly opened his mouth to speak.
'...What's that smell?'
Mr Dinky felt a stabbing pain in her scalp when JazX asked this. In a moment of disbelief, she realized that she had hidden the rod of purple balls right by her oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything..!' A lie. A annoying look started to form on JazX's face. He turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's ninja stars from when she used to have pet legless puppies. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. JazX nodded with fake acknowledgement...th en, before Mr Dinky could react, JazX deftly lunged toward the box and opened it. The rod of purple balls was plainly in view.
JazX stared at Mr Dinky for what what must've been two seconds. Absolutely thrilled, Mr Dinky groped indiscriminately in JazX's direction, clearly desperate. JazX grabbed the rod of purple balls and bolted for the door. It was locked. Mr Dinky let out a exotic chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, JazX,' she rebuked. Mr Dinky always had been a little stupid, so JazX knew that reconciliation was not an option; he needed to escape before Mr Dinky did something crazy, like... start chucking ninja stars at her or something. Before the all-seeing eyes of a perpetually displeased diety, he gripped his rod of purple balls tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.
Mr Dinky looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from JazX. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame nine days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly she felt a tinge of concern for JazX. 'Oh. You ..okay?' Still silence. Mr Dinky walked over to the window and looked down. JazX was gone.
Just yonder, JazX was struggling to make his way through the lemur-infested moor behind Mr Dinky's place. JazX had severely hurt his shin during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral purple monkey dish washers suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the rod of purple balls. One by one they latched on to JazX. Already weakened from his injury, JazX yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of purple monkey dish washers running off with his rod of purple balls.
About eleven hours later, JazX awoke, his double chin throbbing. It was dark and JazX did not know where he was. Deep in the enchanting bush, JazX was exceedingly lost. In a tragically predictable turn of events, he remembered that his rod of purple balls was taken by the purple monkey dish washers. But at that point, he was just thankful for his life. That's when, to his horror, a teensy purple monkey dish washer emerged from the secret vineyard. It was the alpha purple monkey dish washer. JazX opened his mouth to scream but was cut short when the purple monkey dish washer sunk its teeth into JazX's kidney. With a faint groan, the life escaped from JazX's lungs, but not before he realized that he was a failure.
Less than two miles away, Mr Dinky was entombed by anguish over the loss of the rod of purple balls. 'MY PRECIOUS!!' she cried, as she reached for a sharpened dangerous oil-soaked rag. With a heroic thrust, she buried it deeply into her taint. As the room began to fade to black, she thought about JazX... wishing she had found the courage to tell him that she loved him. But she would die alone that day. All that remained was the rod of purple balls that had turned them against each other, ultimately causing their demise. And as the dew on melancholy sappling branches began to reflect the dawn's reddish glare, all that could be heard was the chilling cry of distant purple monkey dish washers, desecrating all things sacred to virtuous men, and perpetuating an evil that would reign for centuries to come. Our heroes would've lived unhappily ever after, but they were too busy being dead. So, no one lived forever after, the end. :'(
MrDinky
(Nov 5 05, 20:23)
- rasko40
This morning in my slumber, I was crept through derelict warehouses, the floors were flooded and rotting in many places, the going was precarious to say the least. As I opened a mysterious door many dozens of large rats escaped, pouring vermin across my goosebumped skin. I panicked and ran, as I stumbled into a puddle I fell to my knees heavily, the floor gave way yet luckily beneath grew many thick vines which gave me a chance, I lowered myself into what I saw was a clearing in the middle of this complex maze of pre-war battleship grey construction. The sun was breaking through a grey drizzle of what I somehow knew had been present for decades. As steam silently hissed from the mosses, I got to my feet, as I rose I heard voices, children were playing here, but who were they? How did they get here? I crept past several large, rusted boiler units and waded carefully through low bramble and back into the warehouse, climbing through a broken window toward where I had heard the child-like voices.
rasko4
(Dec 6 05, 12:31)
- e-pill0
It all started when our uber geek, Mr Dinky, woke up in a fanstic pumpkin patch. It was the first time it had happened. Feeling barely pleased, Mr Dinky grabbed a potato, thinking it would make him feel better (but as usual, it did not). A few freaknasty minutes later, he realized that his beloved Eminem's mix tape was missing! Immediately he called his favorite rape victim, Son. Mr Dinky had known Son for (plus or minus) 550,000 years, the majority of which were eccentric ones. Son was unique. She was intelligent though sometimes a little... insensitive. Mr Dinky called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.
Son picked up to a very mad Mr Dinky. Son calmly assured him that most legless puppies sigh before mating, yet South American hissing sloths usually earnestly yawn *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting Mr Dinky. Why was Son trying to distract Mr Dinky? Because she had snuck out from Mr Dinky's with the Eminem's mix tape only seven days prior. It was a sassy little Eminem's mix tape... how could she resist?
It didn't take long before Mr Dinky got back to the subject at hand: his Eminem's mix tape. Son grimaced. Relunctantly, Son invited him over, assuring him they'd find the Eminem's mix tape. Mr Dinky grabbed his time machine and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Son realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the Eminem's mix tape and she had to do it aggressively. She figured that if Mr Dinky took the gas-guzzling, ecology-destroying, tankish SUV, she had take at least nine minutes before Mr Dinky would get there. But if he took the PimpMyRide? Then Son would be really screwed.
Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, Son was interrupted by two oafish George Bushs that were lured by her Eminem's mix tape. Son grimaced; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling stunned, she randomly reached for her dangerous oil-soaked rag and carefully poked every last one of them. Apparently this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the lemur-infested moor, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the PimpMyRide rolling up. It was Mr Dinky.
As he pulled up, he felt a sense of urgency. He had had to make an unscheduled stop at McDonald's to pick up a 12-pack of ripened avocados, so he knew he was running late. With a deft leap, Mr Dinky was out of the PimpMyRide and went explosively jaunting toward Son's front door. Meanwhile inside, Son was panicking. Not thinking, she tossed the Eminem's mix tape into a box of carrots and then slid the box behind her giraffe. Son was relieved but at least the Eminem's mix tape was concealed. The doorbell rang.
'Come in,' Son exotically purred. With a skillful push, Mr Dinky opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some dimwitted self-righteous ass in a homemade car,' he lied. 'It's fine,' Son assured him. Mr Dinky took a seat vaguely close to where Son had hidden the Eminem's mix tape. Son yawned trying unsuccessfully to hide her nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' she blurted. But Mr Dinky was distracted. Heart filled with earnest fortitude, Son noticed a stupid look on Mr Dinky's face. Mr Dinky slowly opened his mouth to speak.
'...What's that smell?'
Son felt a stabbing pain in her taint when Mr Dinky asked this. In a moment of disbelief, she realized that she had hidden the Eminem's mix tape right by her oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything..!' A lie. A insensitive look started to form on Mr Dinky's face. He turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's gerbils from when she used to have pet legless puppies. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. Mr Dinky nodded with fake acknowledgement...th en, before Son could react, Mr Dinky recklessly lunged toward the box and opened it. The Eminem's mix tape was plainly in view.
Mr Dinky stared at Son for what what must've been three microseconds. Suddenly cheered up by the Hamtaro theme song, Son groped explosively in Mr Dinky's direction, clearly desperate. Mr Dinky grabbed the Eminem's mix tape and bolted for the door. It was locked. Son let out a striking chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, Mr Dinky,' she rebuked. Son always had been a little abrasive, so Mr Dinky knew that reconciliation was not an option; he needed to escape before Son did something crazy, like... start chucking potatos at her or something. A few unfulfilled decades later, he gripped his Eminem's mix tape tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.
Son looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from Mr Dinky. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame five days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly she felt a tinge of concern for Mr Dinky. 'Oh. You ..okay?' Still silence. Son walked over to the window and looked down. Mr Dinky was gone.
Just yonder, Mr Dinky was struggling to make his way through the foxy forest behind Son's place. Mr Dinky had severely hurt his kidney during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral George Bushs suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the Eminem's mix tape. One by one they latched on to Mr Dinky. Already weakened from his injury, Mr Dinky yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of George Bushs running off with his Eminem's mix tape.
But then God came down with His attractive smile and restored Mr Dinky's Eminem's mix tape. Feeling relieved, God smote the George Bushs for their injustice. Then He got in His magic flying carpet and sped away with the fortitude of 153 Indonesian devil cats running from a misshapen pack of South American hissing sloths. Mr Dinky shimmied with joy when he saw this. His Eminem's mix tape was safe. It was a good thing, too, because in three minutes his favorite TV show, 106 & Park, was going to come on (followed immediately by 'When venomous koalas meet pipe bomb'). Mr Dinky was relieved. And so, everyone except Son and a few hand grenade-toting South American hissing sloths lived blissfully happy, forever after.
MrDinky
(Nov 5 05, 20:28)
- e-pill0
Cosmo and Ramon are lounging in the greenhouse, contemplating their lost youth, when three things become apparent:
The starlet under a ribbon trembles, but a woman giving birth sluggishly cooks cheese grits for the erratic bowel over the bubble. DeWayne still whistfully buries her from a gullet near the dilettante, take a peek at her a chic car accident giving birth with the widow from a mirror, and hardly makes love to the underside of her stuffed iguana.
A cigar graduates from a bullet wound from a curse, and a fetishist single-handledly graduates from a sodden ground sturgeon. When a thoroughly likeable girl loses a cage match against Freddy Krueger, the ruffian under another Costa Rican peccary trembles.
Indeed, a surly dissident throws some quarrelous hand at an amorously strawberry-blonde dilettante. Admittedly that last bit makes no sense but at least the first two are irrefutable iron-clad logic.
This is all quite troubling to say the least. Ramon leaps to his feet, intent on taking action. Most people believe that some nay-sayer throws the janitor at the rhetorical doctor, but they need to remember how thoroughly a gingerly lunatic strokes.
Cosmo laughs and scolds Ramon with, " A wily onlooker makes a truce with a ballerina becoming a capitol offense. "
Ramon's blood boils upon hearing those hateful words. "Oh yeah? Jespera still has a change of heart about her from a darling stepping stool, slyly laugh and drink all night with her a fetishist with some clock beside the ballerina, and falsely organizes the underside of her grand old flag. While many haunchs have made their accidentally rascally fist abhorrent to us, hairy chins remain ghastly. " This makes his view of their relationship quite clear to Cosmo.
Resigned to her fate, she goes over the facts of the situation...
The Interloper and I took another ballerina inside a taxidermist (with the menage a trois and a few hands) to arrive at a state of enlightenment where we can hardly operate a small fruit stand with our pocket. Sometimes a clock ceases to exist, but the smalltime freak always conquers some capitol offense defined by a shadow! Jenna, the friend of Nicolas and Mrs. Mojo, reads a magazine with a gonad.
Ramon can only shake his head in astonishment, and declare, "A dilettante defined by the doctor is comely. A snickerdoodle approaches some ground sturgeon living with some midwife, but some curmudgeonly haunch learns a hard lesson from the self-actualized ruffian. " Despite his flowery language the ugliness of Ramon's emotions seep through and wilt whatever vines still hold him in place.
MrDinky
(Nov 5 05, 20:32)
- rasko40
As some of you may remember, I recently posted (and later apologized for) a “farewell to NT” post in which I said goodbye to all of you because of an unspecified mental condition that would require lengthy treatment in a remote mountain retreat. And though that post was a spoof, it actually did contain an element of truth. I have been a bit down lately (as a few of you—well, actually, only Mayo—have recently commented) because of my anxieties about a recently diagnosed autoimmune condition known as Ratner’s Syndrome. While the mechanism of the illness is still largely unknown, what is known is that it affects the optic nerve, and that over a period of months, or possibly even quite suddenly, it causes blindness. The process is irreversible, and incurable. Of course, I’m devastated, not only by my fears of soon being unable to earn a living, but by the thought of never again seeing my wife or daughter’s beautiful faces, and of missing my morning walk up the driveway and looking up at the trees high above me rustling in the wind as I pick up the Times. Which brings me to the reason for this post. I am hoping, before I can no longer log onto NT, that all of you will post pictures of yourselves and things that you love, so that I will have memories of you and of the world I otherwise could never have. Please post them in this thread.
Rand
(Dec 1 05, 13:33)"
- e-pill0
It's Medication Time
Friday used to be a day where I'd write some new anecdotes and then a bunch of cool folks would gather to joke, add witticisms, talk shit, and wind down from the long week. That hasn't been the case recently due to the following:1. I've been working on a longer piece and I need to focus what little discipline I have left on that. Plus I've had these headaches for nine weeks and you're tired of hearing my reports of imminent death, particularly where I blame the west nile or a piece of uncooked pork I ate three months ago. I'm going to see a specialist Tuesday and in the meantime I've been watching the NBA and popping Ultrams like it's my job (gee sorry for the incoherancy, and mayo i promise i'll email you back this weekend).
2. Gorbie decided he hated us and NT really is missing his humor, sarcasm, and recommendations.
3. I realized that at 31 I didn't want to read any more weekly recaps that began, "you missed kingjulien fighting with ________ (although I see uberdesigner has a new boyfriend and perhaps he's dealing with other issues today. btw, did that guy really use Erik Dickerson's gerrycurl on his profile image or is that just me?)
-------------------- -----------
Anyway, the point of this is that I have a new story over at www.slippymagazine.comIt's called "Exits" and it's an experiment for me. I wrote three separate mini-narratives and tried to link them under the idea of people crossing paths, or coming and going from our lives--the little people whose experiences tend to stick with us unexplainably. I think the story is interesting, funny, disturbing, and strange, but I'd be curious to hear your opinions and criticisms. I was supposed to have this awesome photographer http:www.brianmilo.com do some pictures for the story, but last night at the deadline I got an email from him asking for additional time, and well, at the last minute I had to use a self-portrait from the Harrah's bathroom in Tahoe, just after my ex-gf won two grand.
I also wanted to take a minute to compliment mattyd. The Teddy Brushi and Bono designs on the slippy site are fucking beautiful, and it's clear what a talent and a cool muthafucker he is. I wish, in hindsight, that I had asked him to do a design for my piece. I'm sure it would have been sweet.
Anyway, I hope everybody has a fun and productive weekend.
kingjulien
(Nov 4 05, 14:13)
- e-pill0
hide and seek (kj)
I was advised by rand to identify my incoherance in the subject line. Oh, by the way, it's really long today. Thank you for your patience.
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1. I've been sick for nearly two weeks. At first I thought it was a sinus infection, then the West Nile (as you know, besides the schizophrenia, depression, bipolar disorder, and hypoglycemia I'm also a hypochondriac). Yesterday I went to the urgent care and got some antibiotics, but not before getting laughed at by the doc, who found it amusing that I had actually memorized the county West Nile symptoms FAQ list. He asked if I had played with any dead birds, then changed the subject. Later I heard him telling one of his assistants about our conversation, and when I left the little room all these old Philipino nurses were giggling at me and shaking their heads.2. The worst part is that I have all these projects I want to begin, but my brain hasn't been working right-the synapses aren't connecting, so inbetween daily screenings of The Life Aquatic, The Incredibles (damn I love Edna), and Old School, I've been laying here trying not to think. Last night I watched a Scorsese biography on AMC at 3:00 am, and I felt like an idiot for not remembering key lines from Taxi Driver, GoodFellas, and Raging Bull (in fact, I've forgotten just about everything from Mean Streets). It sucks because when I was twenty I had all these heroes and I've either outgrown them or just haven't revisited them in so long that I don't feel qualified to discuss them anymore. I'm sure all this is just the fever talking and by tomorrow the memories will flood back, but in the meantime, this sucks.
3. Speaking of death, did you see Gary Busey on VH1's Celebrity Fit Club? The guy recently discovered that being sober means "everything's real now," and he got choked up at the profoundity of the thought. I couldn't help staring at him because he didn't seem real. In fact, he looked like he just escaped from a wax museum, and yet, he made more sense to me than Marty Scorsese did, and something tells me I should be worried about that.
4. By the way, I've urinated twice since I began this. Something's not right (no it's not the clap either).
5. Should I move to Santa Barbara or Portland? SF's out of the question because my friend has lost her damn mind, and even though I spent 7 hours in the psych ward with her in late May, I just now realized I can't live with her (call me intuitive if you like). SB means lots of coked out blondes to discuss the nothingness of nothingness with at 4:00 am; Portland means trying to find a home that will allow me to possess steaks in the refrigerator without a 30-day notice from the birkenstock crowd. Decisions, decisions.
6. I feel like Deniro in the King of Comedy whenever I discuss Anton, but I recently listened to BJM's set at Lollapalooza and it's the funniest thing. Dashboard Confessional is playing on the main stage next door and you can hear their pansy asses inbetween songs; clearly it's interrupting BJM's concentration. Anton is patient but finally yells at them, "If I ever needed birth control muthafuckers I'd listen to you punks! I'd put a picture of your band over my bed if I didn't want children. And as it is, I would raise your wolfcubs!"
7. Damn ricstultz, I'm still looking at your paintings three hours later. Fuckin A bro, they're gorgeous.
8. Current favorite moment in Life Aquatic: when Steve Zissou tells the interns they're getting incompletes for deserting the ship after the pirates attacked. Yesterday's favorite was seeing Steve's reaction to Angelica Huston's Fabio looking personal trainer. They're so many little jewels in this film it almost justifies the 20 times I've watched it.
9. Actual conversation heard at Thirty One flavors last night: "My boyfriend's sister's best friend's cousin saw KingJulien last night, and rumor has it he only has three days left."
10. I finished a new update on my site despite the severity of my 99 degree temperature, complete with slow loading jpegs, inconsistent navigational logic, and more angst filled self indulgent babbling than any reasonable person would be expected to sit through. Hope you dig it.
And just in case you wanted to say it but didn't want to offend me, I'll get it out of the way now: "KJ, don't quit your day job punk!"
kingjulien
(Sep 15 05, 13:22)
- e-pill0
Julien's Black Book Volume 1
So the Smithsonian has asked for a copy of my black book for an end of the year retrospective. Ladies, if you'd like an entry please be sure your registration envelope, complete with formal wear and bikini photos, are postmarked by October 31, 2005. Gentlemen, if you'd like a copy of the book, please send $50 along with a SASE to the "You Know the King Luvs the Kids" foundation. The first 100 customers will also get a copy of Jan Michael Vincent's seminal book, How to Wear and Eyepatch and Still Keep the Ladies Moist, which isn't available in stores until the fall of 2006.Here a few of the five star entries from the black book:
A. SupahGee: haute! She can do unheard of things with a banana, and if there's an issue with an ex-girlfriend she's not above a good backhand to the dome. We've all seen her junior prom photos, and it's like a young Alyssa Milano in Who's the Boss waiting to bloom. Plus, she loves it when I do the running man in my tight OP corduyos.
B. Salisae: quirky, eccentric, mysterious yet fun, there's no hiding her affection for the King. A cross between Amelie and Juliet Binoche in Blue, this young tender loves it when you whisper Rockwell's Amadeus Amadues in her ear over a forty ounce of Old E and some chicken and waffles.
C. Brooke: brilliant illustrator, loved by millions, this celebrity sure knows how to be positive. Plus she understands meaningless butcherings of the Spanish language, and recites a great rendition of Batte Batte Chocolatte, Mm que bueno.
E. Mayo: her knowledge of microbrews is Cliff Clavinesque, she can flash a gang sign at a moment's notice, she wasn't creeped out (overtly at least) by my sweaty palms, and best of all, she has Jewish friends. This is a winner.
F. Anti-Girl: hot, brilliantly talented, and a propensity for knives, guns and violence. Enough said.
G. Jaline: so preciously young, she hasn't spoken to me since her Dad caught me throwing pebbles at her upstairs window while playing Peter Gabriel's Shock the Monkey, but nonetheless, her sincerity and need for the King's guidance make her a real up and comer.
H. Randoman: controversial, subversive, the stint in the penitentiary did wonders for his technique, this young chap arrives promptly with his own Kurt Rambis kneepads and posse of gangsta Canadians ready to invade any hottub in the Tr-State area.
I. Norika: Ah Norika, yes. She bit on my Woody Allen impersonation and now it's Daddeeeeeeeee this and Daddeeeeeeee that. The big question now: are there happy endings?
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Like what you've read? Want to see more 5 star ratings? Purchase a copy know.kingjulien
(Aug 30 05, 12:51)
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That's Just Fine
Among my myriad other issues, sleeping has been a dilemma for the past month. Every morning I awake at 4:30 am, and after relieving my bladder, I lay in bed wide-awake-- wondering where it all went wrong. This past Sunday I decided to venture into the family room--hoping a fresh bowl and ESPN's NFL pregame would relax my mind. As usual, I spent the first five minutes studying the smoke patterns in the air. The only light in the room was from the TV, and in that blue haze all sorts of cool animations ran through my mind ( as well as thoughts of how I would spend my five team teaser if the Dolphins could only cover). It may sound odd, but sometimes it's during these moments where the best ideas ferment.Then suddenly I saw this quick movement in the left corner of the room, as if one of the patterns in the Oriental rug had come to life. I put my bare feet on the coffee table. My heart started beating fast. Thirty seconds passed, and then, in full view, this little mouse--like one of those sick ass Chinese divers in the Olympics--darted from under the TV into the kitchen, going under the refrigerator to safety.
Okay, when I'm sick I'm the biggest floozie, but this only gets magnified around spiders, raccoons, skunks, falcons with killer claws, and various other rodents too many to name. I freak the fuck out. I've lived in some tough areas in my 31 years and generally felt at ease, but this moment confirmed the obvious, I am a coward when it comes to creatures of the night.
I immediately returned to bed, watching the first 25 minutes of Chunk and Data and 12-year-old Sean Astin in The Goonies. I thought about my nights cabbage patching to Cyndi Lauper's theme song, trying not to think about what i had just witnessed in the kitchen.
Now, it's one thing for the motion sensor in the hall way to mysteriously trigger the burglar alarm one afternoon while I was at work a month back--leading to a patrol car to visit with a half OZ of chronic sitting on the coffee table, and it's another thing to scare me in a Sunday morning haze, but dear lord, did you have to--you little fucker-- leave so many pint sized turds under the sink--ones so small and dark I inintially confused for coffee grounds and picked up with my bare hands? What kind of creature shits like that anyway? How dare you make me pick up those pellets you little bastard.
Once things had fully registered, and once I had scrubbed my hands with soap for twenty minutes in a way that would have made Howard Hughes proud, I went to work. I purchased four traps from the local hardware store--along with some cheese sized nuggets of poison. My mom happened to call while I was making arrangements, and she laughed at my disgust. She said once these sorts of things happen they can be fun, checking each morning for signs of a return. I thought the woman had gone mad, that is until I had the knife and the peanut butter in hand, carefully, and lovingly, applying it to the top of the trap, my own personal killing chamber.
Suddenly a great peace took over my body. I felt alive for the first time in five weeks. I began singing to the mouse, "Come Out Come Out Wherever You are" in my best Deniro impersonation. I saw myself as the father in Friday, chasing dogs with the passion of a world class athlete. I saw myself as Bill Murray in Caddyshack, whispering to it in this creepy voice, "I hope you enjoy your peanut butter BUDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDY".
Last night, while watching Danny Bonaduce slit his wrists, I heard the little fella chirping in the wall panels. I smiled, perfectly at ease. When I put my head down to sleep, all I heard was snapping traps in this precious Beethoven symphony. Snap snap snap snap! Oh, my friends, it was so beautiful. I slept eight harmonious hours.
This morning I awoke to two bloody carcasses, just sitting there so listless in the Sunday comics I had placed underneath. I felt like a father watching his daughter graduate from Harvard.
After disposing of the mice, I became worried. What if there were only two? What if this was all over after just one night? I panicked. Whereas fifteen minutes before I had a purpose, a new calling, now I had nothing. How could I match the adrenaline running through my veins? There's only one solution I'm afraid. A quick call to the pet store, and an ad on Craigslist. I need mice damnit, dozens of them, as soon as possible, and they don't have to be the levee kind either.
No, I think any kind of vermin will do today.
kingjulien
(Oct 10 05, 12:41)
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If a friend
just sent you a picture of your ex-girlfriend (at 14) masterbating with a Faygo bottle, would you feel a little queasy and disoriented?Just wondering.
kingjulien
(Oct 21 05, 13:53)
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silver spoons
I'm 31 and yes, I watched the VMA's last night. This isn't a rant on MTV or the music industry, surely better thinkers have critiqued that world in far more eloquent terms; rather here are 10 observations from someone both intrigued and horrified by what I saw.
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1.) It's a shame about Green Day. What have they become? What happened to the tweakers that brought us Dookie and Insomniac? Would they have hugged the YingYang twins? Would they have gotten choked up over anti-war posturings? Does Billy Joe's wife really have dreads?
2.) After seeing Diddy, Jamie Foxx, Kanye and Usher, I wondered when it became cool for rappers to come out of the closet? Did I miss the Jet article on this? Wasn't this always taboo in the black community? Did it start with Puffy's umbrella waving assistant? Did it start with Eddie getting caught with that transsexual? And did they have to steal Crocket and Tubb's style? Can anything be sacred?
3.) Can Suge Knight's gunman return and take care of Good Charlotte? Please? No, I mean really.
4.) When Coldplay is the best act of the night, something's wrong with the state of pop culture. And yet, if we could get Scott Weiland to introduce them to the needle, they might have a shot. Actually, forget that idea. Those guys will be doing a song with Bryan Adams for the soundtrack to Robin Hood Two in 5 years.
5.) Shamira: facelift? Was that an imposter? For the longest time I thought there was this new artist named Shakita up there performing.
6.) Thank God for Beavis and Butthead. Seriously. And Hammer--I enjoyed seeing that performance, I have to admit.
7.) How many years is Diddy gonna milk this Notorious BIG tribute? Didn't he die in 97?And where was Sting last night?
8.) Hottest nectar by far? Jessica Alba. This is not even in dispute.
9.) Does Johnny Knoxville really party or is this amphetamine talk shtick? I need some proof.
10.) Was R.Kelly's song about a bisexual love trianngle or was I just too distracted by the invisible phone, knife and gun wielding? Where was Mr. Big? Is there not somebody in his management team that can pull him aside and say dude, you've officially gone cuckoo? Did they even try to match his lips with the song? And why were the fans screaming like it was Menudo? Do you remember when Menduo performed on Silver Spoons? That's what the VMA's needed last night. Fuck Eric Roberts. I want Freddy and Carlton and the Ricker. And the train in the living room. That's it! The cast of Silver Spoons performing the Krunk dance in black face. Next year, this will be huge.kingjulien
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It's Medication Time
Friday used to be a day where I'd write some new anecdotes and then a bunch of cool folks would gather to joke, add witticisms, talk shit, and wind down from the long week. That hasn't been the case recently due to the following:1. I've been working on a longer piece and I need to focus what little discipline I have left on that. Plus I've had these headaches for nine weeks and you're tired of hearing my reports of imminent death, particularly where I blame the west nile or a piece of uncooked pork I ate three months ago. I'm going to see a specialist Tuesday and in the meantime I've been watching the NBA and popping Ultrams like it's my job (gee sorry for the incoherancy, and mayo i promise i'll email you back this weekend).
2. Gorbie decided he hated us and NT really is missing his humor, sarcasm, and recommendations.
3. I realized that at 31 I didn't want to read any more weekly recaps that began, "you missed kingjulien fighting with ________ (although I see uberdesigner has a new boyfriend and perhaps he's dealing with other issues today. btw, did that guy really use Erik Dickerson's gerrycurl on his profile image or is that just me?)
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Anyway, the point of this is that I have a new story over at www.slippymagazine.comIt's called "Exits" and it's an experiment for me. I wrote three separate mini-narratives and tried to link them under the idea of people crossing paths, or coming and going from our lives--the little people whose experiences tend to stick with us unexplainably. I think the story is interesting, funny, disturbing, and strange, but I'd be curious to hear your opinions and criticisms. I was supposed to have this awesome photographer http:www.brianmilo.com do some pictures for the story, but last night at the deadline I got an email from him asking for additional time, and well, at the last minute I had to use a self-portrait from the Harrah's bathroom in Tahoe, just after my ex-gf won two grand.
I also wanted to take a minute to compliment mattyd. The Teddy Brushi and Bono designs on the slippy site are fucking beautiful, and it's clear what a talent and a cool muthafucker he is. I wish, in hindsight, that I had asked him to do a design for my piece. I'm sure it would have been sweet.
Anyway, I hope everybody has a fun and productive weekend.
kingjulien
(Nov 4 05, 14:13)