Categotry Archives: General

it wasn’t much of a pool party. there. i got that question answered. mostly it wasn’t much of a pool party because it was raining all weekend. i cursed the sky for a while since it was the only weekend i was getting to house-sit at a place with a pool in may. a couple of you friendly masochists came over to beat yourself over the head with exploding cows though instead of swimming. unexploded cow is a very silly cheap ass game to play.

i understand the general purpose of unexploded cow. there’s mad cow disease in england and unexploded bombs in the fields of france. combine the two and you have a winning idea. admittedly, you also have a lot of cow guts. i think it would be easier if the cows didn’t have such endearing names right there on the card. like reginald and winston. i find it hard to sacrifice a bernard. maybe if he’s worth $400 though i’d get over it tout suite.

i took (very few) pictures. enjoy.

fourth graders are fucked.

my mom teaches fourth grade so i know of what i speak second hand. one of her punk ass kids (G) is stalking a girl in the class (K). K’s parents are none too pleased by the sleep-over disruptions and prank phone calls–well, come on, they’re fourth graders, he’s not really leaving her razor blades in roses yet. but how long will it be till that happens? they’ve only got to hit puberty and have their bodies change for sexual congress before they’re not only fucked, but fucking. which is the point of this post in the first place, since G is totally jumping the procreation gun.

recently these punks showcased a fundamental problem in society–bad, bad manners. they passed a note in front of my mom during class. that’s just rude, punks. were you raised in a barn? this is what the note said:

G: who would you rather make kids with, Y or K?

Q: i would rather fuck a donkey.

as proof, i offer you this tastefully censored scan of the note.

ok, i totally edited that note for you. jesus, who taught them to spell? come on mom, this is why arnold pays you the big bucks.

as i intimated yesterday, i’m having some trouble believing myself to be safe in orinda. this is due primarily to the fact that there are 6 doors to this house and only 2 of them have locks. that makes a grand total of 4 doors thru which someone could sneak in the middle of the night and murder me in the bed.

i’ve come up with whole death scenarios while laying in bed at 4 am after 3 hours of unrestful slumber. the culprit will come in, gag me, tie me up, and then do a lot of slicing while stil keeping me alive. i’ve eyeballed the ceiling supports in the living room to ascertain whether or not he could tie ropes to them and suspend me somehow to further enhance his murderous plunder of my flesh. i’m pretty sure he can and will. the pools of blood here will not be sized for beetles but for large dogs. i’m relatively certain that ellie’s large dogs will already be dead though and thus really missing out on the swimming opportunities.

the point here is that i’m not getting much sleep. i go to bed late, i wake up several times a night terrified by the scratching noises i hear outside, and the dogs then wake me up at 7:30am anyway. i think i really need to come to grips with my death scenario and just accept its inevitability so i can get some sleep.

the last time i house/dog-sat for ellie, the raccoons were trying to burrow their way through our floor and into the house. on sunday, before i left for ellie’s to sit for the week, they were gushing blood all over the garage.

i walked out into the garage sunday morning to offer up mushy food to sammy/simon, setiva, simeon, and punk/jesus christ/j.c. (having already given it to moo cow in the kitchen and fats waller at the back door). immediately upon stepping down the stairs into the garage i slipped in a puddle of blood and cracked my head. raccoons then ate my body. ok no. but i did shriek. there were bloody raccoon paw prints all over the carpet in the garage and a beetle sized swimming pool of blood by the side door. as well as just smeared blood all over the place on carpet, concrete, and the latch that holds the cupboard door closed where the dry cat food is kept.

did they get in a fight and throw familial love to the winds? did they cut their paws on the latch somehow? it’s a rectangular piece of wood and not all that sharp, it doesn’t seem that likely. did one bite into the other’s jugular when crawling through the cat door? this would explain the pool of undried blood at the door.

at first i was worried the raccoons had attacked a cat and we had a dead cat on our hands somewhere. but i accounted for all the cats. the raccoons, on the other hand, could be dying slowly underneath the house and i’m too afriad to enter the crawl space and check. there’s a secret trap-door to the underpinnings of the house in the guest bedroom closet. but lowering yourself down amongst the foundations is fucking scary. something could rip off your leg when you’re half in and half out. i’m not willing to risk that.

so, once again, thank god i’m safely at ellie’s for the week. admittedly, being here comes with its own set of fears. on which i will elaborate tomorrow after a fitful night’s rest.

this week, ellie and i have been communicating solely by means of monk-e-mail. this is a somewhat arduous and time-consuming practice wherein we get an email with a link, follow the link, listen to what the monkey has to tell us, laugh, build our own monk-e-mail, preview it, laugh, send it, wait. this goes on every day. it’s gotten to the point where it’s so absurd that i had to share it. though not only am i sharing my own (perhaps inane) monkey conversations with you, but also the ability to now send your own, no doubt brilliant, monk-e-mails.

monk-e-mail is almost entirely amusing only because it’s based on a monkey saying what you type down out loud. this lends itself amazingly well to typing words like, “penis”, “cum,” and “nipple stimulation”. that last was one of ellie’s more brilliant inventions. but now we’re past that kind of juvenile behavior and into a more mature style. proceeding below you can listen to some of our most recent conversations about the new house she’s moving to in el sobrante. which we refer to, affectionately no doubt, as “the sob”.

ellie

michele

since these will only last a finite amount of time as links, i’ll provide the text transcription after the jump.

Continue reading →

i decided in the interests of fellowship to share my postcards from kristen with cementhorizon. so far they number 10. my favorite front one is this one:

but, by far, my favorite back one is the one referencing locke from lost with the wheelchair ‘hallelujah’ guy on the front:

didofoot and her lad’s recent trip to the berlin zoo put me in a fervor of reminiscence. the thought of touching a baby black panther caused me to remember that time i petted a cheetah. i don’t know why i was petting a cheetah. or what foolish zoo officials were allowing my 10 year old self to pet a cheetah. but the fact remains, that i did pet it, and somewhere there was photographic evidence. i turned the house upside down and inside out looking for this photo. i made my mom help me. we found nothing. until yesterday. yesterday when i was moving stuff from the guest bedroom back into my own bedroom, i discovered a photo album hiding underneath one of my boxes. a photo album with the most sublime image in it ever to be seen by cat-loving freaks such as myself.

as you’re all, no doubt, aware, my cat-loving nature was ingrained at birth. i love all fuzzy things, but cats, perhaps, the most. our relationship has suffered bad fashion, mauling, more bad fasion (will i never learn?), potty humor, interior design, sleeping in unlikely locales (more than once), tight quarters, inappropriate touching of underage cats, stitches, meals, homemade homages and machine mass produced homages and through it all we’ve remained the best of friends. as didofoot would put it, “nature’s best friends”. so, here i present to you, me and my friend, the cheetah.