Sunday, October 28, 2007


There's a knocking above the refrigerator in the kitchen.

Yes, a knocking.

It's soft and fast like a woodpecker pecking perched atop the fridge. "frank, maybe it comes from the outside. You should check."

Are you fucking kidding me? Last time someone pulled a stunt like that, he was forever haunted by some immortal poltergeist crow on the pallid bust of Pallas just above his chamber door.

So, no. Forget that. I'm just--oh, it was a woodpecker, but outside.

Friday, October 26, 2007


I'm no good at this romance stuff. I just can't get it right.

A couple of weeks ago I planned a romantic dinner with my woman. I made a salad (nicoise because she loves olives) and boeuf bourguignon that I spent all day braising. For dessert, I dropped my pants and exposed myself beside her face and she threw up. "What gives? Don't be such a prude," I said as I chased her down the street to her car.

The following week we were spooning on my bed watching When Harry Met Sally. I caressed her ear and neck with the softness of a feather as I took in lungfuls of her vanilla perfume. She turned around and I told her how beautiful she was and how much she meant to me.

"I feel the same way about you," she said gazing into me with her misty eyes.

"May I sodomize you?" I asked.

"Excuse me?"

"May I buttsex you?"

"What the hell!" She sounded confused so I pulled out some photos from under my pillow.

"This is me and some woman doing buttsex," I said. I don't think she appreciated the photos very much, or the fact that I was already naked. So she left.

I guess I'll never be any good at this wooing business.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

The Beginnings of a Writing Exercise

Here are two descriptions of a tree and a sunset:

1) The tree bent, bathed by the warming beams of the setting sun.

2) The tree twisted against the night as if drowning in darkness, gasping for the last light of the sinking sun.

I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be the first tree. The second tree sounds like a total pansy.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

It Happened

Our first fight. We were in a restaurant and it went exactly like this:

"I'm telling you, Ozymandias was about the ravages of time," I said.

"No! It's about time as the Great Equalizer!

"Kings and queens will sit on thrones,
But in the end they'll blow to dust,
Like all outlived by rocks and stones,
And in the end it's time we'll trust," she said.

"Look at this all, look at it all,
Sometimes stays what we scrawl,
But in the end, no things crawl,
And in the end, all things fall," I said.

"Great Equalizer," she said.

"Ravager," I said.

"Equalizer!" she said.

"Ravager!" and with that she flipped the table onto to me, leaned back against the wall and kicked me to the ground with both feet. She stood and leapt into the air attempting to land her knee against my crotch, but I rolled twice and her knee and fist cracked the tile beneath. I swept my leg into her's and she fell backward collapsing a table behind her. I picked up a chair and crashed it into her arms which protected her face. Her eyes were closed and she didn't move.

I turned around and raised my arms in victory. I took a few steps when I felt her latch onto my back with her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I was turning purple when I reached over my shoulders, pulled her over my head and slammed her onto the table of a family huddled in fear. She bounced up and cackled like a supervillain. She walked toward me and I swung my fist at her face but she caught it and squeezed. My knees gave out as I yelled in agony. She let go and I grasped my crumpled fist and she picked me up by my shirt collar. My legs were dangling and the few quick jabs I could manage to her face with my good hand didn't phase her. Still cackling, she flung me through the brick wall into the aluminum trash cans in the alley outside. She hovered over me as I clutched my head.

"Equalizer," she said.

I decided I'd let it go. We were both right, after all.

Monday, October 15, 2007


It's true, ignorance is bliss.

Look at kids for example. Those little turds couldn't be happier. Why? Because they don't know what the hell is going on. Give them a rattle and they'll shake it until their arms fall off their fat bodies while their fat faces jiggle with laughter. Who the hell is amused with rattles? Ever seen a rattlesnake? Ghastly beasts I tell you! Play-doh! Would you ever eat Play-doh? NO! It tastes like shit and I know both tastes well! But kids devour it like caviar. What gives, you puny balls of plump?

As much as I hate the littles chubs, I do envy them. I wish I could live as an imbecile. I mean, compare the following scenarios:

frank: Doc, give it to me straight. Will I ever walk again?

Doctor: frank, your legs were blown clean off. Without some sort of medical miracle, I doubt your pathetic stumps will support even half your weight. Also, as a result of the explosion, your genitals were pulverized. This jar contains what used to be your left testicle. As you can see, it is dust. Literally, dust. Your legs are worse off. I think they vaporized. Can't find them anywhere. Anyway, no walking for you. Ever.


frank: Doc, give it to me straight. Will I ever walk again?

Doctor: Uh. . . yeah. Yeah, sure you will. I mean, your legs might feel pretty numb right now, so numb that you might think they're not there, but they are, and you can walk. As a matter of fact, you'll be able to fly. That'll come in handy because the explosion made you invulnerable, and you'll need to fly around to save people.

frank: Really, Doc! Like in Heroes?

Doctor: Sure, kid, like in whatever.

Which do you prefer? The sad, depressing reality of being a castrated paraplegic, or flying? Fucking flying, man! WOOSH! Hell yeah!

Monday, October 8, 2007


Do you ever wonder what the geniuses of the past would say about your works?

I do. I also wonder how what I do appears to them. Is it deep, meaningful, layered, and great? Or is it so dumb that they see nothing?

I enjoy writing, it's fun. So I wonder what Shakespeare would say about my writing. If both he and I were artists, that's how it would go.

But we're not, so it would go something like this:

frank: Soo, whatcha think?

Shakespeare: You stupid lollipop!

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Act 1, Scene 1

Monkey: a stubborn, young adult male monkey. Wears an orange cape.
Trainer: Recent graduate of monkey training school. Shy, modest, homely, 27 year old woman who, for two arduous months, has been trying to train Monkey.

A dark, damp, empty hangar.

Act 1, Scene 1

(Bound and unconscious, Trainer is roused by Monkey's paws.)

TRAINER: (Groaning.) My head! Where are we? How long have I been out? Monkey? Monkey, please untie me.

MONKEY: (Unresponsive.)

TRAINER: Monkey, untie.

MONKEY: (Unresponsive.)

TRAINER: (Whispering to self.) Okay, just think back to Monkey Training 101. Appeal to conditioning, positive reinforcement. Command, reward. I got it! (To monkey.) Alright, monkey, there's a banana in my pocket. Untie me and it's yours!

MONKEY: (Scuttling off.) OO-OO, AA-AA-AAA!

[Exeunt Monkey]

[End Scene]

Saturday, October 6, 2007

People Like Pictures

It's true.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out how to add pictures.

You're probably thinking how easy it is to add pictures and maybe you're right. But you're not. You're wrong.

Thursday, October 4, 2007




With what to fill this space? With what to find my place? I know! A story about the incredible sneezeless man. This isn’t just any incredible story, this is the prelude to his incredible death.

Alive, no man suffered more than this sneezeless man, for he was the only true sneezeless man. You see, all other sneezeless men pretended to never sneeze, but they would always be exposed as frauds during allergy season. Not this sneezeless man, though, he would never sneeze. He wouldn’t sneeze in public, he wouldn’t sneeze in private, he wouldn’t even sneeze when engulfed by black pepper monsters.

What of black pepper monsters? They were cloud-like beasts the size of bulls and with temperaments to match but only weighed five pounds. The incredible sneezeless man had amassed a great fortune battling black pepper monsters as he was the only one brave enough to approach them without a face mask or a nose clip. These black pepper monsters were the cause of the incredible sneezeless man’s incredible suffering. The only way to defeat black pepper monsters was to inhale them, and if you’ve ever had the displeasure of inhaling a few specks of black pepper you can imagine what it'd be like to inhale a black pepper monster. As you have probably already guessed, the incredible sneezeless man, unlike you and me, had never felt the satisfaction and relief of a sneeze, thus his incredible suffering.

Where did the black pepper monsters come from? Nobody knows, but its not important as they weren’t the cause of the incredible sneezeless man’s death. He died a tragic death. Let me explain. Following closely behind the incredible sneezeless man’s great fortune were greatly unincredible, green-stricken malevolents. None were more evil than his best friend, the forever-sneezing Dr. Ungregario. How these two became best friends is a story better left for another day, however, opposites attract and that is most certainly true for these two.

It was years that the forever-sneezing Dr. Ungregario had worked on his masterpiece: his forever-unsneezing machine. The night of the machine’s unveiling, the unveiling to the incredible sneezeless man, was a sad night. It was dark and the sliver-crested moon was weeping tears of loss. These tears fueled the already crying clouds which rained upon the almost dry but muddy moat surrounding the bad doctor’s mossy-stoned castle. The incredible sneezeless man felt no danger, no sense of ominous doom upon entering the forever-sneezing Dr. Ungregario’s dark and cave-like grotto. He walked through snakelike halls with disheveled red-rugged floors and time-torn tapestries towards the highest point of the castle where he was asked to be.

Upstairs, near the very top of the bell tower, behind the unopened, metal-fastened, heavy wooden doors, Dr. Ungregario, with his weak, frail, seemingly moldy hands raised the lever that activated his masterpiece and then picked up a recently sharpened knife that seemed perfect for carving out somebody’s sinus, an incredible man’s sinus. Approaching the final steps and feeling the vibrations of something genius through his feet, the incredible sneezeless man felt a great pity and sadness when he heard his friends sudden and unstopping sneezing. He waited in reflection then contemplation at the final step before his mind gave way to silence, before pushing against the door, before meeting his friend, before--.