it's been a long time, buster keaton.

Remember When We Used To Blog?

Oh, those were the days... You know, before computers and cell phones with touch screens and talking ducks and/or geckos on television and digital television and lcd televisions and push button telephones and companies that make billions of money that don't make anything and oil spills that threaten to kill all life in the Gulf of Mexico and other stuff. Damn! I used to walk to school uphill in the snow only to turn around and walk to the park where I ditched and smoked clove cigarettes and ate corn dogs dipped in mustard, and not that shitty brown mustard, the good yellow mustard which is also good on a pastrami sandwich, by the way. Let's not even get into the whole pancakes thing, I could type for weeks about that... and eggs.

Oh Brooooksie...We're Still Rolling...

Cap-sacs They're real. For real. THEY'RE REALLY REAL.

Is this Thing Still On?

Words. No, really. Words. Do you know what I mean? They're important for communication, but not just in a ho-hum real word way, but also in a "If I were a super hero, like Wendy (Super Woman), I would talk to animals" kinda way. Are you sure you know what I mean? I'm staring to doubt myself at this point, so there's only one last thing I would like to say. Don't forget to pack the clown. Peace, Out!

No Dude, Seriously!

I shall join the circus

tomorrow. seriously.

d

Holy CRAP it's 2009! Seriously? No dude.

Everybody's serious but me.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious.
Movie producers are serious.
Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

This is not happening...

I repeat, this is not happening. Nor is this, but who's counting? Who??? Or is it whom? I can't remember. Remember what? What??? This is not happening...I repeat, this is not happening. Nor is this, but who's counting?

Spam is good with liberal amounts of Cheeze Whiz!

Ok, so I'm shooting this naked girl the other day and she looks at me longingly as if to say, come hither (or some other Shakespearean type "come here" phrase). I looked at her for a few seconds because I was a bit cornfused, but the longer I looked the weirder her expression became until it looked more like she was saying, "I have a very bad itch on my back, could you get it for me?" Well, by then, the shot was done and now I have the perfect image for my portfolio. I'm going to send it out as a direct mail piece to all of the ad agencies that deal with clients that make those bamboo back scratchers that you get in your tropical drinks in Waikiki. I'm gonna be rich!!!

Erron Olive

Erron Olive was a sad boy. He made music for sometime but not anymore. He left for the north pole for the xmas season with his buddy Dave and girlfriend Rita. They played in the snow and ate egg salad sandwiches. It was nice.

Phillip thought of his inner electronic workings as railways he could travel on.

Oscar liked to get wrapped up in things

Eric Liked To Sit In The Library Wearing His Mom's Bra All Stuffed With Tissue, All The While Waiting For Someone To Call Him "Ma'am"

He also pulled his hair over his face to disguise his tiny beard.

Father Christmas had his own don't ask, don't tell policy

Gandhi was not amused by the paparazzi

Mr. Rooster liked to color his hens eggs

He was also computer savvy.

Mr Potato Head was always ashamed of his potato body and ears

He often dreamt of beets and having a beet for a body instead.

The rooster's ghost will not crow

Henry likes to wear many ties like scarves

He also likes to drink wine when it's cold out.