Thursday, February 24, 2005

Cute ways to Kill

if you ever thought that regular handguns are just not cute enough, here are a couple which might appeal to your japanese female sensibilities.

i'm looking forward to when they come out with the pokemon cruise missile...

Monday, February 21, 2005

Marketing the Babyspace

i heard about this item on the news the other night. i'm not sure i understand it since there is no shortage of places to advertise in more conventional locations.

probably the next step is to use well looked at spaces on the female body (such as the butt or the breasts) to advertise brake repairs or chimey sweeping. i think females should be encouraged to embrace the marketing mentality...

Sunday, February 20, 2005

magna carta

i. my butt itches

i buy 10 rolls of toilet paper to feel mundane and appeased. please please please. don’t squeeze the duck. oh fuck. my chew toy used to bring me luck. i threw the throw rug across the room. it rained dust like powdered custard. mustard spots sprinkle the dishes in the sink. flecks of pink cat food calcify on the brink of becoming rock. my socks too will calcify in time. hush. even compassion will crackle when crushed. i’m bushed. time to water my neo-fuscist tendencies. (no i’m not a fusspot)

this burglary hones my slurp
i make soup with onion broth
burped (in bucolic overtones)
over burning bukowski tomes
drowned in drink and sloth

ii. wigwams warm my wagpole

i shop like anyone’s business shops when anyone shops at my business. i take the bus. milk drinkers make a fuss. political correctness makes me feel erect. my sausages are hickory smoked. come here bitch-ass and bring my rope. i fiddle with borders and cut the tags. glossy mags make help me feel whole. roads are better sloped. the pope rings my phone. control control he croons, coughing occasionally for effect. he swoons my prefect. perfect. let’s flip this reject regent reflex.

iii. ichthyologist’s lament

parched arched wriggling a swansong – or even a sonnet. did someone forget my fishnet bonnet?

iv. molotov made one hell of a cocktail

i’m not much for ranting i prefer pants panting rolled into cuffs at my ankles so spank me, loretta. i like salad with feta. frank rants get chicks by the busload (if they are old and asleep). don’t goad me into a false sense of abuse. i’d rather burn some jiffy pop than brake your caboose.

v. how to disseminate your decolletage

i’m not one to make you stumble over this ass. pass the gas station, i’m full. no, this is hardly bull (you cow). i won’t stand for twiddling. perhaps a tweak. speak to me of political dualism while i flip your flapjacks, you rag bag. flag it, i can’t be fagged.

vi. curtain cacophony

melrose place was once a symbol of the failure of single life. now titans warps time. slime lubricates every smile. it dribbles the chin like a simile.


my son adam never stops talking.

instead of engaging in inward contemplation he vents all the chatter of his detailed memory including episodes of pokemon, digimon and dragonball z.

meanwhile, i am trying to drive and relax at the same time. lately my drives have become the only times i have any solitude. the drive out to my son's house is a good 30 minutes, which means i can listen to almost all of my groove armada cd in the round trip.

i want to tell him to be quiet, but we haven't seen each other in two weeks. so i listen to his perpetual banter and attempt to respond in a way which at least gives him the illusion that i've heard every word. after 20 minutes, my head starts to throb.

"adam!" i say, trying to interrupt his flow.

"...and then goku said, "you'll never defeat me" and they started to battle and-"


"yes dad?"

"please. talk less. say more."

"but i'm just telling you what happened."

"then tell me another time."

adam is quiet for a few uncomfortable minutes.

i eventually feel bad and ask him about his school lessons. this ellicits the short "okay" and "good" answers from him and then silence again. i know that i have stifled something in him.

i can't but feel like he's trying in his own way to reach out to me and catch me up on everything he's experienced in the last fortnight. he's trying to make everything normal since the divorce, to include me in his life and share himself with me. and my requests for silence start to put distance between us a little at a time. i wrestle with this thought as i turn on to the southern motorway.

however, my desire for music and calm overtakes my guilt and i turn up "raisin' the stakes". after a few minutes, i almost forget he's there.