Wednesday, July 28, 2004


Whose brain is dead?

I am Brain-Dead.

Friday, July 16, 2004

One day on the farm

Who will carry dirty water up over the hill?

We have been here for a year now and we are getting scared. Upon our arrival we thought we'd found Heaven. Now the floods are just starting to recede. The sunshine we once bathed in daily now shines in spurts. We need someone to carry the dirty water up over the hill.

Tuesday, July 13, 2004


Dear Petsmart pet store employee,

I know that even though I declined to sign up for a Petsmart saver card four times in the previous forty-five seconds you may have still been confused. I appreciate you asking for the fifth time and pushing me over the edge. I want you to know how good it made me feel to scream at you, "Dude! Can I just buy my shit and get out of here?". I know it is this kind of resolve that you wish to see. I stand strong in my defiance of your saver card.

My question for you is this: why don't you just give me the dollar off my dog treats instead of making me sign away my life to some secret society? I am sure the card is meant to promote customer loyalty, but why don't you tell your marketing geniuses that if you just make the product a dollar cheaper to begin with, people will probably buy that product.

Why is it like this in any store now? Would you like to use your Target Visa today? Would you like to apply for a Kohls card? How about would you like to fucking let me give your company some money and leave your whorish little pet store and go play with my dog?

Wednesday, July 07, 2004


Time is torture.

It goes by too fast. It goes by too slow. I have too much time. I don't have enough time. I think about how I will utilize the time ahead. I ponder and regret the time I have wasted in the past. I think about how time was different in 1984. When time was my own. Now, time is shared with work and girlfriends and pets and school and words and music and beers and TV and the planes flying overhead and the traffic gridlock I sit in twice daily.

Time is torture.

What would happen if we were allowed to take a half-hour weekly or monthly and do with it what we want. And that time would not be counted in the 24 hours of a day. It would not count as a half-hour closer to death.

Tuesday, July 06, 2004

The Idaho Connection, Pt. 1

It started as just a small bump in my flesh. It was like a little push-button-pimple. It was painless and it did not worry me at all. It was at the left edge of a scar on my lower right abdomen. Sometimes, when I lay in a sleepless bed, my hand would find it and rub and scratch it. I woke one morning to find a small sharp nub protruding through the small push-button-pimple. I was curious. I called and made an appointment to see my doctor the next morning. Sitting on the cold steel exam table I sheepishly held what had bloomed; a green fern leaf. Doctor Pushwood came in and looked intently and let off a few guttural moans. He left the room silently.

Friday, July 02, 2004

Why Robots? Why, Robots? Why? Robots.

I think people are fascinated by robots because they are like humans except they don't have hair and zits and genitalia. Also because they don't suffer from foot odor.


I am not sure what this space will hold. I may give up after a couple silly posts. I may write novels of information and anecdotes and opinions. I may just type dirty words so I can see them on my computer screen and snicker.

I will wait and see.