DO NOT BUY THE NEW FLAMING LIPS ALBUM 'EMBRYONIC' YOU WILL DIE ON THE ROAD. If you do buy it, you'll be treated to one or two good songs before listening to the rest of the album on a roadtrip and then be lulled to sleep at the wheel. You will become one of those white roadside crosses.
If you're like me in any way you loudly proclaim that you're extreme and then huddle in a ball of neurosis. You make excuses to not hang out with your friends while at the same time wondering why you haven't developed into that beautiful social butterfly with the charming quips you dream about occasionally when you're not masturbating angrily to Filipino torture-porn. That and whenever The Flaming Lips release an album you get really excited for a few hours and listen to every little bit that you can get your hands on. After that few hours is up you start to wonder why you were getting so excited and begin questioning why you liked them so much in the first place. Then you pop in Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, eat something cold from the 'fridge and think about brewing your own soda.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Aitches, Mongolian Beef
This is a short play that I wrote a while ago I thought since I hadn't posted a short story that this would be cool. Enjoy!
H. S. Halsey Mongolian Beef
Wendy: a woman in her late 20’s
Eric: a confident strong well groomed well-built handsome man 38 years old
Charley: a slightly pudgy 28 year old
Bret: a pretty 24 year old
Alex: handsome 30-year-old man.
H. S. Halsey Mongolian Beef
Wendy: a woman in her late 20’s
Eric: a confident strong well groomed well-built handsome man 38 years old
Charley: a slightly pudgy 28 year old
Bret: a pretty 24 year old
Alex: handsome 30-year-old man.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Aitches, Charleston Sunday
Geoffry brushed his teeth. He brushed them slowly and deliberately trying to hold on to one action so that he wouldn't vomit. His mind was a dull throb barley having been able to force his feet into his Homer Simpson head slippers. He spat into the sink and took a palm fool of water splashing his face with it. His bathrobe loosely tide he stumbled into the kitchen. 'Bacon?' he thought as he held onto the door frame.
"It;s your turn to take the trash out." Geoffry's room mate chirped. Henrietta, had been named after was four eight but perpetually pranced on her tiptoes. At times she was painfully cheerful.
"What's for breakfast, Hen?" She just kept dancing around the kitchen stirring eggs and putting toast in the toaster oven. "What? Did I do something last night?" Instead of responding Henrietta stopped and just looked at Geoffry. He thought what she must see. His disheveled hair and suntanned skin. If only she were a little taller and maybe not such big hips but then again-
"Geoffers!" Came a muffled yawn from his bedroom behind him. Henrietta smirked and resumed her breakfast. Geoffry turned and saw a girl curled up in his bed she seemed to be just starting to realize that she had a hangover.
"Hen, who is that?" Geoffry breathed between his teeth. "Hen, come on I seriously had no idea when I came in here."
"It;s your turn to take the trash out." Geoffry's room mate chirped. Henrietta, had been named after was four eight but perpetually pranced on her tiptoes. At times she was painfully cheerful.
"What's for breakfast, Hen?" She just kept dancing around the kitchen stirring eggs and putting toast in the toaster oven. "What? Did I do something last night?" Instead of responding Henrietta stopped and just looked at Geoffry. He thought what she must see. His disheveled hair and suntanned skin. If only she were a little taller and maybe not such big hips but then again-
"Geoffers!" Came a muffled yawn from his bedroom behind him. Henrietta smirked and resumed her breakfast. Geoffry turned and saw a girl curled up in his bed she seemed to be just starting to realize that she had a hangover.
"Hen, who is that?" Geoffry breathed between his teeth. "Hen, come on I seriously had no idea when I came in here."
Monday, September 21, 2009
Let me tell you a story about a man...
It is difficult for me to tell you much about the intimate and personal characteristics of said man, because I have personally never met him. But thankfully he is a man of high stature and has accrued some amount of fame over the course of his career, and according to all accounts, this man is perhaps the nicest, cleanest man in the business. When I say cleanest, I'm not speaking to his personal hygiene, I'm referring to the way in which he does his job. For there are other, younger men, who have also garnered much fame, money, and accomplishments by occasionally using tactics that our protagonist would deem dishonorable. But he never speaks a bad word about any of his colleagues, and is has humble as they come, occasionally verging on the point of being self-deprecating.
But despite these admirable qualities and his large amount of talent and skill, this man has never achieved the one thing all men in his field value the most: a championship. You see, in his profession, at the end of each year a championship is given out, and unfortunately our protagonist has never won one. That isn't to say he hasn't come close. In fact he's come close more than most. He's finished in second place a whopping 4 times, and in the top 5 many more than that. Not only is he considered the nicest man in his field never to win said championship, but he's also the best who's yet to win one. All this, despite having never having the best equipment, or being with the best organization.
And over the course of his career he's endured more than his share of almosts and near misses. He's battled through injury and personal loss only to come up just short. The toll that this has had on him caused our protagonist to go through a two year semi-retirement. But then, at the ripe old age of 50, arguably the best organization in his field offered to give him one more chance. One more shot to compete with men half his age and prove to the world and to himself what he is actually capable of.
But despite these admirable qualities and his large amount of talent and skill, this man has never achieved the one thing all men in his field value the most: a championship. You see, in his profession, at the end of each year a championship is given out, and unfortunately our protagonist has never won one. That isn't to say he hasn't come close. In fact he's come close more than most. He's finished in second place a whopping 4 times, and in the top 5 many more than that. Not only is he considered the nicest man in his field never to win said championship, but he's also the best who's yet to win one. All this, despite having never having the best equipment, or being with the best organization.
And over the course of his career he's endured more than his share of almosts and near misses. He's battled through injury and personal loss only to come up just short. The toll that this has had on him caused our protagonist to go through a two year semi-retirement. But then, at the ripe old age of 50, arguably the best organization in his field offered to give him one more chance. One more shot to compete with men half his age and prove to the world and to himself what he is actually capable of.
Comic #1
This is the first of a series of comics that we were hoping to do. Since we lack the finesse to draw, I hope that you're satisfied with amateur photography.
OR EXPERT PHOTOGRAPHY
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Aitches, Dead Men's Shoes
I sit on my bed and try to zone out. In the summer I tend to lose track of days. In this new town there is not a whole lot to do but read. Coming home from boarding school has only made things more confusing. I hate it there but I hate it even more when I come home. Now there is no home, we are in a new house entirely. Even though school was hell at least there was something to do everyday. There were people around, not that I had any friends, except Joey. The sun hits my eyes and I put on my sunglasses. I sit in my new room and try not to think. The movers are lifting and shouting outside. As they move all of my mothers furniture into the house. I here them grunting as they lift another antique but the music is as loud as it will go. Something taps my shoe and I try to ignore it. I focus my mind deep inside, I try to escape. the tapping continues, it is persistent. Slowly I take off my glasses and peer through the glare streaming in through my shadeless windows. My mother is mouthing something and yanking at invisible headphones. I turn off the music,
"What?"
"Sweety, the movers need to get in here."
She glares at me but her mind is already unfocused. She has moved on and past me, im crossed off the list and now she looks at the window. Her better homes and gardens mind probably thinking what pattern would best suit my room when I move out in the fall. I remove myself from the bed and pass the movers as they grapple with an ancient armoire that holds my cloths.
"Careful."
"What?"
"Sweety, the movers need to get in here."
She glares at me but her mind is already unfocused. She has moved on and past me, im crossed off the list and now she looks at the window. Her better homes and gardens mind probably thinking what pattern would best suit my room when I move out in the fall. I remove myself from the bed and pass the movers as they grapple with an ancient armoire that holds my cloths.
"Careful."
Unleash the Fury! AKA (Introduction)
That's right, I'm about to open a 24 oz. can of overly-opinionated, purely subjective, half-insane rambling hyperbole on all of you unwitting, hapless readers. BWAHAHAHA! What's that? Oh. We don't have any readers yet? Well fear not. I won't let that little unimportant fact stand in the way of my rants and ravings. Why, I could even stand toe to toe with a brick wall for a good 40 minutes doing nothing but screaming my usual stream of hilarious rightness at it until it's opinion is swayed. And yes, I HAVE done this before. HAHA! So, readers or no readers be damned, YOU will hear, better yet, read what I have to say. And why do I do this dear readers...er...reader...er...no one...because it's important! I'm important. I guarantee that at some point the information that you garner from my posts will save your life. Because that's what I do. I'm in the business of saving lives. I'm also in the business of shaving wives...but that's much less lucrative.
Let's get down to business. I am Pancanbra. I have always been Pancanbra and will always be Pancanbra. When you sleep, Pancanbra stands steadfast, humbly towing the line between justice and insanity. He doesn't need your thanks, appreciation, or monetary sacrifices. But you WILL give these things to him anyway. The name is pronounced pan (as in frying pan) CAN (as in can of coke) and bra (as in bruh or the beginning of brush). Get it right. One mistake could cost you your life. And I WILL be testing you. I am always testing you.
What shall I be writing about? That's a good question. Thank you for asking. You're welcome. The answer is not a simple one...also, if you knew what I was writing about WHY would you bother reading it? Is your mind blown yet? It better be. I suppose that throughout the rest of our relationship (that being the relationship I now have with you the reader...and no, you can't dump me) I will be ranting and raving on whatever strikes my fancy. I am also an avid fan of games of sport, so you can expect these posts as well. Although I will not write about politics or religion. These things are beneath me. Literally. I sit upon a stack of books about politics and religion. And they're boring. Which is why I won't write about these topics. Ultimately, my writings will be the greatest thing pen has ever put to paper...or in this case keyboard to blog site. And I don't want to ruin the ending but there's a chance one of you may die...there's an equal chance that one of you may not...ever.
Let's get down to business. I am Pancanbra. I have always been Pancanbra and will always be Pancanbra. When you sleep, Pancanbra stands steadfast, humbly towing the line between justice and insanity. He doesn't need your thanks, appreciation, or monetary sacrifices. But you WILL give these things to him anyway. The name is pronounced pan (as in frying pan) CAN (as in can of coke) and bra (as in bruh or the beginning of brush). Get it right. One mistake could cost you your life. And I WILL be testing you. I am always testing you.
What shall I be writing about? That's a good question. Thank you for asking. You're welcome. The answer is not a simple one...also, if you knew what I was writing about WHY would you bother reading it? Is your mind blown yet? It better be. I suppose that throughout the rest of our relationship (that being the relationship I now have with you the reader...and no, you can't dump me) I will be ranting and raving on whatever strikes my fancy. I am also an avid fan of games of sport, so you can expect these posts as well. Although I will not write about politics or religion. These things are beneath me. Literally. I sit upon a stack of books about politics and religion. And they're boring. Which is why I won't write about these topics. Ultimately, my writings will be the greatest thing pen has ever put to paper...or in this case keyboard to blog site. And I don't want to ruin the ending but there's a chance one of you may die...there's an equal chance that one of you may not...ever.
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