The Boy From Pennsyltucky.

Often times, I find myself under the influence of marrjuana with a pen in my hand writing furiously until I've sobered up. I'll usually reread this work shortly after completing it, to find it hilarious and poignant. Generally the next day, the reality sets in, what I wrote about is technically proficient, creatively astounding, but the content is generally too nuanced to be appealing. On the other hand, when I write sober, excluding extremely rare cases, I find my work to be boring, much like the work of a draftsman. The elements are there, but lacking any kind of freedom. So today's experiment will go as such: I have an idea in my head; I've never been in a relationship during the Holidays.I've never kissed much more than a stranger on New Years Eve, and my birthday has always been without embrace. So as of right at this moment, 5:32PM on November 27, 2009, I am sober, and besides a little bit of heartburn, in relatively positive spirits. At this point, I will set down the computer, light up a joint, and see where I can take this concept, forged in sobriety, and hopefully tempererd with an enlightened mind.

It is now 6:54, and as I had taken into account this posibility, I had assumed my awareness of this possibility would have made it moot. Unfortunately I was wrong. I was quickly sidetracked by my incessant hunger. I decided that a gourmet cheeseburger was the solution to my immediate ill, and ignored my obligation. So now, I'm home from the bar, half soused, all the way high. Because of the duration of my tryst from duty, I had to re-up my motivation. So I'm now beyond effected by the whimsy that is the mind under the influence of THC.

Home, hours after one should have been working, high as a skyhook, filled with fried quale egg and garlic mayo topped burger, watching Gremlins 2; that is my only reality now.

As for the thought experiment...enough data has been collected to make a hypothesis, there is not enough experimentation to compose a theory.

I've been lapse.

I know it's been a while since I've posted, but I've been reading a lot of Hunter Thompson recently, listening to a lot of The Might Be Giants and Tom Waits, and also acting very much my age, which I had been avoiding like the plague for the last 12 months.

That, combined with a few perspective changing moments has exuded itself in my psyche as a fictional account of our early Thanksgiving celebration of last night. I'd like to present to you, my accounting of: Obscene Porcine*

*I apologize for the wall of text, but it's been an acting my age kind of night.

She'd spent the whole night puking and shitting that putrid porcine virus all about the third story half bathroom in our rented row home in South Philadelphia.It'd been Orphan Thanksgiving around the Jury Box, and the twelve very angry people enjoyed a secretly bitter cornucopia. When it came time to cut the bird, no earlier than 10 PM, because God Damned Jonny had decided to slow cook the bird at a temperature slightly warmer than an hour old turd. This is of no concequence, though, because the culprit was clear. That low down H1N1 had struck the first of us. We neglected piles of tissues on the table, ignored the sneezing chef. We'd turned a blind eye to what was obviously the Genesis of the Zombie Holocaust. There's got to be a latent connection between how we view zombies and how we view flu sufferers. We implore them to leave us be, we ignore the symptoms of the obviously infected until it's just too late, and then we eventually emerge from the terror in a world that will never be the same. Ignorant of that impending situation, we carried on our merriment as if we preferred to be culled. We wanted to absorb the beautiful glory of catching the virus of the century. We wanted it like designer luggage and self-actualization. But now we've learned the folly of our ways. Here we all sit, taking shifts, five minute rotations on the two taxed and frustrated toilet bowls in our home. They are so unhappy with their collective station in life; they understand their destiny and accept it as the signal that the end of days has arrived. We attack them with fierosity as yet unknown. The world spins outside the arena, for the combatants waiting in the wings are primed for their chance to do battle. The world outside the arena is plumed in cigarette smoke and tightly clenched sphincters, but inside, the battle over takes all and the contenders fall into a lull of respect for eachother. If you squint your eyes tightly enough...it resembles a dance.

I'd Give Up Forever To Touch You

Susan's Visitor

Hidden thoughts. Smooth operator.
Eye contact? I'm sorry.
No need to see us. Who we're fighting with.
Library. Out of her hands.
Maggie's visitor. Feelin' Love.
Definitely beeped. The taste of a pear.
Powerful feelings. I know you're there.
Just look at me. Serendipitous.
The gift of free will. Music unheard.
A kiss unfelt. Is this Heaven?
Inconceivable. 'Til I fall asleep(Angel)
I just knew. Jordan proposes.
Because I did it. Seth falls.
New sensations. Where's Maggie?
Hard knocks. Tahoe-bound(Iris)
We fit together. Spreading their wings.
The accident. What she liked best.
Life carries on(I Grieve)
A breath, a kiss, a touch. For the tasting.
Dedication and end credits. (Uninvited)


Yeah. Sounds like a beautiful poem, Right? Wrong. Scene index for "City of Angels" starring Nic Cage. Not the Crow sequel.(Credit to Matthew Schmid For Finding This)

Evil Michael Cera Twin?

So this movie looks fantastic. The scene where he knocks over the bowl of cereal and spits on the floor made me lose my shit. That moment really reminded me of Rushmore, the way its shot and the way Michael Cera presents himself. The aviators and mustache are also a nice touch.

History Told The Right Way

This is a sketch created by Derek Waters who is part of the Bob Odenkirk's Derek and Simon Webseries. Bob Odenkirk can do no wrong by me. This man is Bob Odenkirk. He is the one on the left.



You may also recognize the person on the right as David Cross from the tv series Arrested Development or you may even remember him as the Manager in the Alvin and the Chipmunks movie. They both started out doing a sketch show on HBO called "Mr.Show". The wonderful thing about Bob Odenkirk is that he just directs now and finds unknown talent and has yet to let me down. Example. Tom Goes to the Mayor and Tim and Eric Awesome Show. As of recent I started watching this series called "Drunk History" which is basically, Derek Waters gets a person completely shit-faced and has them give a history lesson on a president. The brilliant part is that they have real actors reenact(Jack Black as Ben Franklin, Michael Cera as Alexander Hamilton, Danny McBride as George Washington), in full wardrobe and set design, what the drunk person is saying. There is no sound in the reenactments other than the actors lip syncing the storyteller as he/she is speaking. I've chosen the best one.

Clown baby

You know how old italian women seem to shrink with age? Well, what if that happened to Fag Eater's own Clown Baby? I imagine it would look something like this image.

A Group Of People Woke Up, Got Together And Learned Different Harmonies For This Song...That's How They Spent Part Of Their Time Alive

WHAT THE FUCK