December 28, 2014
Coming Soon: The Entry!
Hello jerks. It's me. The guy who
writes entries! I don't think I know even one other person who writes
entries on a regular basis. I'm the best! Let's throw a party in my
honor. My remote is broken. What The Hell. It showed me how
much I rely on T.V. in my daily life to distract myself from the horror of the
truth. The horror, the horror. All I'm good at is titling
entries. Other than that, my life is pretty empty. At least the
channel it's stuck on is Comedy Central. I was in and out of sleep last
night while Shallow Hal was on. Could be worse. I think that's the
situation they made Shallow Hal for. When your remote is broken, and they
want you to figure, Well, it could be worse. Now it's stuck on
Coming To America. That's how that goes. Anyway. The Christmas
season is over. Now it's the New Years season. I don't like it one
bit. The next year is nothing but Horror, The Horror. I'm bound to
take a few steps back, considering how relatively good 2014 was. I mean, I
don't have much to look forward to. Keep doing what I've been doing, and
do that for several more years. Yawn. At least I don't have a
job like you suckers. My mental illness is paying the bills. I got a
pack of gum. Gum is one of those things where, I don't specifically ever
want or need it, but once I have it, I'm like, "I should never not be chewing
gum. It's great." Four out of five dentists recommend dentists.
The fifth has very low self esteem. I wanna spit out this gum to smoke
a cigarette. There goes that line of joke. I'm a false based
Anyway, whatever. My finger hurts. I blame you.
Whoever you are. Doesn't really matter. Whoever you are, it's your
fault. Eddie Murphy around the world, he's coming to America.
That's what I got for you. Enjoy. What else is going on. I
need T.V. back. Either that, or some sort of social life. So,
probably T.V. I had never seen C2A before, but my Dad used to quote the
part where he gets his ass wiped by servants a lot. "Wipers!"
my Dad for ya. That's my Dad for me. Get your own.
Now Tommy Boy is on. That's a nice father/son movie. It's not
time, to make a change/Specially cause my remote is broken. Waka waka
waka. I'm happy with that joke. It validates the entire entry, as
far as I'm concerned. Assuming I can work in one or two more jokes of
similar quality and characteristics over the rest of the entry. I probably
can. We'll see. I got my fingers crossed. Not literally.
I don't have the time to cross my fingers, I'm busy typing. Anyway, gotta
finish this entry. Because that's the kind of guy I am. Guy who
finishes stuff. It's a lot better than not finishing stuff. I can't
wait till January, because with the new month comes a new color scheme.
What colors will it be? Stay tuned!
New Years Happened.
Hi! It's 2015.
That's right, 20. Didn't jump in space any centuries, either forward or
backward. At least, not to my knowledge. I guess it's possible we
all jumped to 1815, but since we all did, our points of reference all remain
the same. Only you and me know about it. Anyway. I'm gonna
finish this entry of December in December, as God intended it. Anyway.
For my New Years resolution, I realized that Free Willy is a pun. What
else have I been missing out on. And Big Miracle is just blatant sarcasm.
What's next, A Whale of a Movie? Probably. Whale
Whit-ler. That's the quality of non sequitur you've come to expect
from me. Also, I've made progress in how I drink my alcohol consumption.
Now I get six packs of beer. And keep em in my fridge. I like to
imagine that I'm a 26 year old shacking up with these old geezers that I used to
call my parents. Like, do you remember Roy, from the Poochie episode of
The Simpsons? That's me in my house, now. But, on the real, it's a
lot more convenient this way. I can control portion sizes, and so on and
whatnot. Six packs of beer? That's 36 beers! You idiot.
Also, when I say now, I mean starting fifteen minutes ago. Hey, when it's
time to set a precedence, it's time to set a precedence. I like in Disney
World, the Hall of Precedence. It's just a old drawing of Mickey Mouse,
and it says Tom & Jerry owe me big time. Cartoon mouse?
Disney has precedence. That was a long way to go for little pay off.
Is Mickey a Mouse a racial slur against the Irish? Probably. Is
Modest Mouse a racial slur against the modest? I don't know, you figure it
On the real, though, hello. Next, on The Real...
they they show some reel of footage from the upcoming episode. Reels and
reels and reals. Is The Real a real show? Yep, it is.
I knew it. Pay up. Or, do you wanna go double or nothing on Is
Maury a real show? I'll give you ten to one odds that it's not.
You'd be a sucker not to make that bet. It's not double or nothing,
anymore, though. It's an entirely new mathematical equation.
That's how I feel about things. Anyway, floss. I got some floss.
You want any floss? I got plenty. Anyway. I decided not to
take my Winter class. For various reasons. The main one being that I
felt I could use a break. So, I went to McDonalds, as per their commercial
guidelines, and there I decided to drop the class. Not before ordering a
double hamburger, just the bread. Loadin' up on carbs. Why did
you need to get a double hamburger? Because it was On Sale.
Mario Cuomo died. I can only assume to join his brother Luigi in
Heaven. Are we really sure he died, though? Maybe he just
went down a tunnel, never to be seen or heard from again. I remember I
once had a dream, maybe when I was around eight, that I was playing the original
Mario, and at the end of level one, where you are supposed to jump as high as
you can at the finish line, and the higher you're at, the more points you get,
well, at that point, I jumped over the finish line, and then there
was a whole new hidden level after that point. And I hung around there
until I woke up. It was awesome.
It all turned out to be just a dream. Yeah, the
greatest dream of my life! The only thing I know about Mario Cuomo I
learned from The Critic. They made a joke about his indecisiveness of
running for president. Also, that I went to Marie Curie middle school.
Mario Cuomo, Marie Curie... same thing. Anyway. I'm twenty six years
old. When I bought my beer, I took it to the cashier, I swiped my credit
card, signed the receipt, and went on my way. No asking for
identification. Why? Because I'm 26. I'm the manliest little
boy ever! Or the loneliest mole man ever. One of those, same thing.
Anyway. Entry just flew by, didn't it. What a joy. I'd write
an extra paragraph or two, but, you know. Got things to do. Places
to be. What other titles are puns, gotta ponder that one for a while.
Let's see, looking at my DVD collection... I used to think Adaptation was
a pun, before I realized that Adaptation and Adaption were different words.
I guess Adaption isn't a word. I used to think it was, briefly.
Adoption is a word. That's how I feel about things, and that's how I'll
always feel about things. I guess I can write an extra paragraph.
Night of the Living Dead. It's like they're knighting
the living dead. So now we have to call them Sir Zombie. That's
right, I'm an idiot. Anyway. Year is 2015? Something doesn't
feel right. It'll be November, and I'll still be like, Nah, this
can't be true! It's the year after 2014, and the year before 2016.
Why put a label on it? That's all it needs to be. Anyway, late.
December 26, 2014
Wasn't I gonna quit using the word, "Title?"
Well, in pun form, at least. That's clearly an appropriate noun in that
phrase. So, it's okay, I guess. It was Christmas yesterday!
Fun 2 Tha Max! This year, there was only zero relatives I
accidently hitted on without realizing I was related to them. How much was
it last year? One! Well, hitting on is a little extreme.
I was just like, I'm Mike, what's your name? And they were like,
I'm ******, your second cousin. And I was like, "Oh yeah,
right, right." and rubbed soap into my eyes so I would forget forever that
embarrassment. I mean, thankfully, I really didn't get to the point where
I was hitting on her. But in my mind, I was there. Oh boy, was I.
Anyway. Family is good. But now, we must rebuild. There's an
entire year before us with no Christmases. 2014 was a relatively productive
year, if you take into account how unproductive I usually am. I did four
albums of music, about an entry of crazysheet every other day, three Queens
College classes, lost a few pounds. Will 2015 equal or even surpass that
level of production? I can hardly imagine. In my imagination, I just
lay in a vegetative state for the rest of my life, pretty much. So
anything above that is pretty much progress. I'm starting to seriously
consider a music teacher. I mean, comedy, yeah, I love it. If I
could choose, "Career in comedy," or, "Career in music," I'd definitely choose
comedy. But I'm not as quick witted as I once was, and there's not really
classes you can take in comedy. I mean, there's UCB classes, but that's
more to show off what you've already got. They don't teach you how to be
quick in scenes, and stuff, really, it's more about showcasing what you've
already got. But I can quantitatively take lessons which improve my guitar
and/or vocal ability. Either way, I'll probably get a job as a librarian.
I wanna be a librarian. Just have a poster behind me
that says, "Shh!" and any time someone calls for my services, just point to the
poster. Except in Ghostbusters, there was a ghost in a library. I
don't need to deal with no ghosts. Unless I get paid extra. You can
put a price on anything. My main memory of libraries is in sixth grade, I
rented a movie called, "Smoke Signals," from a library for a class. It was
about American Indians, and the only thing I remember is that one of the mothers
in the movie made good, "Soda Bread." And they were always like, "I love
that soda bread!" in their crazy accents. I remember in elementary school,
we would take class trips to the library. The library, which was two
blocks away. Which we could easily just go to after school. But, no,
we had to go there during school. Whatta joke. I guess they figured,
If we could hook these kids in early, they'll be going to the library for
life! Who goes the the library. Other than homeless people who
need a quiet place to defecate in, and school children. Someone should rob
a library. Everyone on the ground, you know what this is!
And then take a bunch of books without signing them out with the librarian.
Luckily, no one would have to get on the ground, because there's nobody in
libraries. Libraries always have nice buildings, though. Because the
city/state wants to make it an attractive place, so they spend millions of
dollars to make the structure look attractive. Why don't homeless people
change their name to Raisinin T. Sun. and move to the library. I'd live in
a library. Why not.
There's no good reason why not, that's why. Library.
Pshh. I bet in Texas, Libraries are places where you could rent guns for
10-14 days. Cause they don't like reading, but they like guns.
That's the basis for that joke. Get it? Good. Because, that
makes it 15% funny. If you don't get it, then it's 85% confusing.
Remember the Alamo. The Mexicans should have told themselves to remember
the Alamo. Hey we won this battle, I bet we could win the war!
Makes sense to me. Maybe it's just me, but I'm against the Louisiana
Purchase. Has anything good ever come from east of the Mississippi?
They made The Shawshank Redemption in Los Angeles, I assume. That's one
thing. I can't think of anything else. I wish I could move into the
place Brooks and Red lived. Brooks was here. So was Red.
Mike, Too! I was Totes Magotes Here! If only. I
wish I could get a job at the supermarket Red worked at. Double bag,
that's all you need to remember. Pretty straightforward stuff.
Anyway, half way through the entry. That means I need to write 100% of
what I already have written. That's math for ya. My remote broke.
I can't watch T.V. without a remote! This ain't the 1950's. If it
was, I'd probably be like, I can't wait to see Richard Nixon V. John Kennedy!
I bet one of them looks a lot better than the other one on T.V. And
then, ten years later, when T.V. is out of style, Nixon is right back in the
thick of it! How's that for poetic justice for ya. Especially
if Nixon wrote a poem about it. I won, by Richard Nixon. I
ran for president a second time, I knew the presidency would be mine. It
was easier this time around, because the public was used to my fashionable
frown. I hated hippies, I was for Vietnam, I made a tripsy to the farm.
Way before there was Deep Throat, for me the public turned out to vote.
Kennedy's dead, I'm back in fashion, thank God I won this election.
Anyway. He's pretty good poet. I can't believe McGovern
lost. His name is exactly what he was supposed to do! Obviously he
would have been good at it. That's like if I lost an election of who would
be good at farming corn.
Alrightio. What else is going on. Yoga in the
Spring! Everyone loves yoga. And, if not, everyone loves Spring!
Hey, look, it's warm again! I never thought that would happen!
Whatta deal! I dont' get why everyone considers Winter the end of the year.
It's only a week and a half in the end. It should be Winter, Spring,
Summer, Fall. But most people think, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter.
What are you, stupid? You morons. What idiots. Winter is
first, you dolts. Holy shit @ your stupidity. I find it pretty
convenient that a second lasts as long as it lasts. Sixty seconds in a
minute, sixty minutes in an hour, 24 hours in a day. That reeks of
corruption. Things shouldn't work out that nicely. Three hundred
sixty five days in a year, most of the time. I'm not buying it. No
Siree Bob. Anyway. Christmas. What fun. It's like,
here's a group of people that have to tolerate your prescience for a few hours.
Have to! You ain't going anywhere, I have to tell you about what I
have coming up in the next year. Suckers. Of course, I have
to listen to them too. That's fine. I love listening to people!
Holy shit, these guys have lives outside of how they relate to me!
Interesting as fuck! And kids. Kids running around! How
charming. I need something new to look forward to. Yoga class?
Okay. Hopefully, my winter screen writing class which starts next Friday,
hopefully? If there's enough people? That should be fun. New
Monkees? Probably not. The Undergrounders? Probably not.
Homeless Girlfriend? Probably not. I'll think of something.
Last paragraph time. That's fun. Hopefully I get
my new remote soon. How long can I go without T.v.? It's not right.
Depriving oneself of T.V. is like torture, in this day and age. Unless if
you're a person who watches everything online. Then it's pretty
straightforward stuff. But I'm not one of those persons! Yeah!
That's how that goes! Probably, I forgot what I said. But, either
way, let's continue. I wrote an entry. Almost. Still a little
bit to go. That's how that goes. Hey, I gotta half a paragraph to
write! I wonder how awesome it will be. Mostly awesome, or extremely
awesome. If extremely, I might write an extentra paragraph. And coin
the word, "Extentra." is like extra, but extra! I
remember, I used to have a friend that I would play, "Make Me Laugh," with.
Make Me Laugh was a T.V. show where a comedian had to make a contestant laugh
within 30 or so seconds. And I would play it with my friend. The
last time I played it, I made him laugh immediately by saying, "So, you wear
glasses?" but then never again after that. It's a fun game. I was
pretty good on both sides, making people laugh, and keeping myself from
laughing. That's exactly the kind of crap that fills up a paragraph.
But also makes me think, "Should I include an extra paragraph, to make up with
the crap I included in these first five?" Probably. But, still, six
mediocre paragraphs is worth more than five adequate ones. That's how I
value things, and stuff. Quantity over quality. So, see ya later.
December 23, 2014
You Got Here Just In Time For The Entry!
Knocked it out of the park yet again!
Whatta title. Anyway, see ya later.
I'm just joshing around. What's really
going on. I've never had a friend named Josh. Seems like I'm really
missing out. And, I've never known what's really going on. Whatta
coincidence. Let's get into some entry, though. Today's entry is
brought to you by-- brief sobriety. When you don't want to drink
at 9 A.M., consider brief sobriety. I did, and look at me now!
I'm living the dream. I've always wanted to be included in high sobriety.
Which, it turns out, is an oxy-moron. When I grow up, I want to be an
Oxycontin moron. If I can find it on the black market, I'd want to take
whatever drug it is that they give you that makes you fall asleep in five
seconds. I think that might have been what Michael Jackson was up to.
But, why not, it's great. Or, at the very least, get my own oxygen tank.
You know, for fun. You suckers are breathing regular air.
Also stick myself with needles. I don't need to be doing heroin or
anything, I just like the sensation of needles. That's called
acupuncture. You're called acupuncture! You can't spell
acupuncture without pun. That qualifier would have been more powerful
if I had made a pun with the word acupuncture. But, what am I, made of
puns? Hardly. I'm made of blood and ornaments. I mean, organs.
Whatever. Did you know the human body is 80% water?
Did you know you're 100% Bullshit? Yikes. Humans only
use 10% of their brain. I use 10% of my foot in your ass.
One paragraph down. At this rate, I'll have five
paragraphs eventually. That should be nice. How come liquor stores
don't sell soda and juice and stuff, for mixers. They could be doubling
their profits. Maybe even tripling them. Anyway. I'm
full of great business ideas. Now I gotta think of another one
to live up to that declaration. What have I gotten myself into.
Well, anyway. I hate it when people write words or images into concrete
when it's wet. Now, every time I take a walk, I have to re-read the same
stuff every day. Yeah, I read that yesterday. Where's
Dufrane's rock axe when you need it. I could carve it so I distort the
words. Or, at the very least, lay down a poster of Raquel Welch and staple
it to the sidewalk. Yeah, fish. I read that
yesterday. Come up with some new material, sidewalks! That's how
I feel about things. Probably. I don't really remember. I do
know I have three paragraphs and change to go. My new neighbors moved in.
One girl whose college aged, but I haven't seen her yet. That's exciting.
Looks like we're neighbors, now. Can I come over some time?
Come over in your mouth? Smooth like lemonade. Smooth like J.B.
Smoove. When life gives you lemons, you have a lemon party.
I kind of need to google that, to make sure that's a thing, but I really,
really don't want to. So, I'm not gonna. Oh, what the Hell!
Yup, pretty much was what I thought.
Anyway. I need new stuff to listen to during my
exercising. For months, I've just been cycling through my own songs.
Someone's gotta listen to them. Not really. Either way, though,
let's move on. I have to write more paragraph. Why, God, why?
Don't start something you can't finish. That doesn't sound like
God. Ass, gas, or grass. God's really different than I
thought he would be. I melt in your mouth, not your hands.
God's kind of a pervert. Anyway. That's why he didn't want us to eat
the knowledge fruit. He wanted us naked 24/7. So he can watch us
with his peepers from up above. We kid God, he's a friend of the website.
Also, I wanna go to Heaven. That's the practical reason for not getting on
his bad side. I'm no dummy. When Santa checks his list twice, does
one of those times include when he made the list? Like, is checking it
twice, making the list and then checking it once? Or making the list,
checking it, then checking it again? I need to know, for a friend.
A very naughty friend. Hoping to get some presents on a technicality.
Why does Santa live on the north pole. Who came up with that. Why
can't Santa live in Iowa, or something. Is it just because people think
Christmas=Winter=Cold=North Pole? Because, my friends, that's some faulty
Yup. Yip. Yep. I mean, I guess it's just
because he'd need to be in a secluded place, to carry out his work in peace.
But then, why can't he be in Siberia, or something. Qatar. Galapagos
Islands. Also, The Santa Clause. How much of that movie is based in
fact. 50%? 70%? Is it 70%? Anyway. I gotta finish
this entry. I just took a break. Now I'm back. And I still
have to finish this entry. That much has stayed the same. How much
of this entry is done. 70%? Is it 70%? Let's see. 3.5/5.
5 x 20 = 100. 3.5 x 20 = SEVENTY. Have a party, everyone! Well,
that's good news. Everything worked out as it should've. Now, gotta
write 30% of an entry? That doesn't sound fair. I already got
excited by a number. What more do you want from me. I haven't
been this excited by a number since M.O.P. said, "Representin' 1718,
dangerously." Anyway. Seventy deadly sins. After the first
dozen or so, it was stuff like Not double knotting your shoe laces,
you know, really scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to faults.
Also, only using one example when the rules of comedy clearly
specify you need three in a joke. Guilty as charged. We could
write jokes proficiently, or we could move on. I vote for moving on.
Also, liquor stores don't sell beer. There's gotta be some law, or
something, that makes it so they can't sell these other fluids. Otherwise,
they would. Right? Probably. I remember, over the last couple
of years, whenever I would go into the city, I would always get a beer in Penn
Station to drink on the train on the way home. Because, my parents funded
this excursion, and when else am I gonna have free money to use on alcohol,
might as well always fit in as much alcohol as I can in the trip. That's
just logic, common sense type stuff, ya know.
Anyway. We made it to the last paragraph. You and
me, we're in this together. One would imagine. We've been entrying
it up, haven't we? No doubt. It's been fun. Relatively
speaking. Better than nothing. A few houses down from my house, 80%
of my walks, there's an empty bottle of liquor laying on the grass. Now,
we have people who do maintenance work for the neighborhood, which would include
cleaning that stuff up. So that means, every day, I have a neighbor who
decides to litter an empty bottle of vodka in front of his house. Every
day. Could it be a homeless person? Probably not. It's always
in the same place, and besides, you don't see a lot of homeless around here.
Maybe it's someone in a similar position I'm in, and wants to keep his drinking
a secret from his housemates. But, then, why litter right in front of your
house? There's got to be a better way. Maybe the guy lives a couple
blocks away, and just always goes to this spot to discard the evidence. I
don't know. I don't want to know. I mean, I do want to know. I just
thought it would make sense if I said, "I don't want to know," in terms of being
poetic and English-ing about it. Maybe it's a subliminal advertising
campaign by Smirnoff. Hey, look at that trash. Hmm, I
could go for a drink, actually. They've got my number. Seventy.
See ya later.
December 22, 2014
You Asked For It! New Entry At Crazysheet!
Well, You Didn't Specifically Not Ask For It!
Way to go guys, using yesterday's tape.
It's a reference to a movie. You wouldn't understand. I don't
get ticker-tape parades. Let's litter in celebration! And
then, have a parade to celebrate how great this parade was! Oh, Hell,
let's just never not have a parade. Did you know, the only thing on Earth
that you can make out from space is a well executed parade? It's the
truth. I used to listen to a podcast called Shit Parade. I forget
why, or what, or any of the logistics. Anyway. I had an idea for a
podcast where I just interview any acquaintance who happens to pop into my life.
Except, in this scenario, I'm affable and have a social life. And,
ideally, it's people trying to make it in the funny business, or the music
business, or something creative like that. But it really could be anybody.
And the podcast's de facto role is to sorta form a community for these artist
types. And it's called Let's Make a Scene. With Michael
Kornblum. I also have an idea to become a fortune cookie philosopher.
Here's a bit of wisdom I came up with recently-- "We're Free To Do What We Want,
But What We Want To Do Is Be Free." Put that in a fortune cookie, bam, pay
me 20 dollars for the thought, we all walk away happy. Also, I'm good at
the lucky numbers. "6 32 1 34 43 16" Another 20 dollars for that,
thank you very much. Hire someone to make the English-Chinese
translations, split that money 50/50. Anyway. Let's Make a Scene.
Pun'd it. I have zero friends, what makes me think I can form a scene.
Self delusion, for one. Also, for two, three, and four. Five,
your garden variety idiocy.
Anyway. Here's another fortune cookie fortune-- "I'm
Inside The House!" Because the fortune cookie is like a house for the
fortune. That's why. Maybe a fortune cookie fortune from a Nigerian
prince. Look, we could mine this topic for humor for another paragraph, or
we can move on. I vote for moving on. It's the easier thing for me
to do. What else is going on. Also, I should be clear, even though
podcaster and philosopher would be great things to be, I pretty obviously don't
have the skill set required to succeed at them. I can barely live up to
the title of, "Blogger." And that's one of the worst titles there is.
Identifying someone as a, "Blogger," lumps them together with pretty much the
worst human beings on the planet. That's how I feel. One day, maybe,
blogging will be an accepted artistic process. Like, if blogs were around
in the 19th century, there'd be no Narrative of Fredrick Douglass. It'd be
FredrickDouglass.com/blog.html. I read that for my last class, that's
why it's fresh in my mind. Or maybe @TheRealFredrickDouglass on
twitter. Also, I don't think it's yesterday's tape. Yesterday's
something. A word they use in the radio business. Oh, I know.
Tape. Got it. What else is going on. Maybe I should
pull a Captain Phillips in my screenplay class. I am the teacher now.
Is that your final answer? I guess not.
So, hey there. It was snowing a little bit yesterday,
and in my mind, I thought, "Hmm, it's Wintering outside." Because I no
longer speak English proficiently. That's how that goes. So,
friend, you say you're trying to make it in comedy. ... ... ... Favorite number,
from one to ten? Oop, that's all the time we have for this show.
Stay tuned for next week's show where we interview my brother about his favorite
colors. That's how that might go. On occasion, I've tried to get
my Dad to tell me his favorite number, because he's a math teacher, so if
anyone's got a favorite number, his would probably be the most accurate.
He doesn't have one, though. I find that hard to believe. I once
bullied him into telling me his favorite variable, and he said X. I think
he was just caving into the pressure I was putting on him, though, I don't think
I really meant it. Stay tuned next week when we talk to my Dad
about math puns. It turns out my family is all the scene I need.
Thank God, too. I can't stand these comedians and artistic types.
But, that's actually a pretty good idea for a podcast, I think. What's
the idea, there's no idea! Just have a microphone and interview people,
that's your idea!! You got that right. Anyway, I can't have a
podcast. Ninety percent of my jokes, afterward, I'd have a soundboard guy
who inserts a clip of crickets chirping. But I'd also have a D.J. voice
saying, "You Got Blammed!" for the other 10% of the time. And by a D.J.
voice, I mean we'll hire the kid who played D.J. on Roseanne to be our intern.
So, now that we've had you on the show, will you be
friends with me? Alright, let's take a break, you can answer when we
get back. Also, I can't be the only one whose upset Serial isn't about
Cinnamon Toast Crunch. That's my topical humor. We'll bring the
guest in in a second. Okay. I can't be the only one whose upset
Topical Humor isn't about tapioca. Christmas in a few days. Not only
do I like Christmas, I like spending time with my immediate family, I like
spending time with my further family, I like eating, getting presents... I get
to ride in a car on the highway and bridges! Magical. Yeah,
anyway. Paragraph and a half to go. Probably the one time I felt
really, really comfortable performing, was when I was playing Rock Band late all
night with the volume down, high and/or drunk, and they have the graphics of
people cheering in the background, and I really felt like, Yeah, I'm
doin' great! They love me! If I could capture that feeling for
when I'm on stage, in front of real people, doing an open mic, we might actually
see me get somewhere. Anyway. I still may get a guitar teacher.
It's within the realm of possibility. It's pretty expensive, though.
But if I'm ever gonna make sure my parents kiss at the Enchantment Under The Sea
dance, I'm gonna need to play some guitar. It's practical, more than
anything. Unless you play guitar, the show isn't going on.
I do play guitar! Whew. Right handed guitar? That's
what we got. Oh, oh shit. Shit shit shit. Eh. I
could play power chords on a right handed guitar, that's about it, though.
That's about it for left handed guitar, too. Bango!
Okay. Curtis Kobain played left handed guitar. So
did James Hendrix. Actually, he played right handed guitar backwards.
Sir Paul McCarthy played left guitar. I find it weird that McCarthy and
Lenin were in a band together, you'd think they'd be sworn enemies.
I'm the 13,642 person to make that joke. At least I'm better than
the 13,643rd person. Way ahead of you, buddy. Anyway, it's
about that time again. Entry winding down. What have we learned here
today. I can't do anything. I'm completely useless.
Everything I attempt to do, I fail at. I have no friends. I
don't even know the word, "Snow," anymore. My dad doesn't have a favorite
number. I can't play a regular guitar. If someone does the work for
me, I can earn 50% of what he would make. That's about it, I guess.
Catch ya on the flip side, partner.
December 21, 2014
You Asked For It! New Entry At Crazysheet!
Well, You Didn't Specifically Not Ask For It!
Yes, indeed. Let's Sunday it up.
What's in the news this morning. I recently found out all my great
grandfathers names. Anyway, moving on. I forgot most of the
names. Anyway, moving on. Most of them were from the old
country. Which old country? You know, one of the old ones.
That cluster in the mid-right part of the map. You know what I'm talking
about. But they all came here in search for a better life. And a
place where their great grandchild can make funnybones with strangers on the
internet. Anyway, today is the first day of winter, I've been led to
believe. If you change the first letters of his first and last name, Ted
Leo becomes Led Teo. Led in a band name? That's like royalty!
That's what I've been led to believe, at least. Also, that song
Royals isn't like royalty. It's about as far away from
royalty as you can get, when you really think about it. I
can't wait till Yoga class, where I can learn to relax my body and focus my mind
on what really matters-- What's the deal with that song Royals?
Is it like royalty, or not? Think about that for an hour every day
before I go to bed. The good news is, you already read this
paragraph, jokes on you. Checkmate, one might say.
Chess is a good game if you like bullshit. I remember, when I was kinda
first getting sick in NYU, I decided to play one of those chess masters in
Washington Square Park for twenty dollars. I don't think I thought I could
win, I think I was just high/drunk/bored. I kinda thought of it as
charity. Go figure.
Alright. What's the band that plays Royals?
Is it Kansas? I know they do (There's No Place Like) Home.
And if there was a song called, What's The Matter, they'd do that.
Those are the only three things I know about Kansas. Baseball, Wizard of
Oz, and that something's the matter with Kansas. Also, it's in the middle
somewhere, and is probably one of those square states. Probably near above
Texas. If a manager asked me what to do with an incompetent worker,
I'd say, "Shit Kansas Ass." Puns, puns, puns. I like puns.
Also not a bad name for my middle-America pornography website. It's not
scat, it's just like, Shit!! Kansas Ass. I got
my attention. Is Kansas one of the places the President is from?
Probably. Once you go Kansas, you never go Bang Sis.
Unless you're in Kentucky, or Florida, or one of those states.
I'm gonna be honest, I'm not 100% satisfied with that joke. But, in the
face of adversity, I succeeded in achieving my overarching goal of filling
space. Where's my Parade. I think the only parade I
ever went to was the Holiday parade. You know, that one. I had fun
until the bulls trampled me to death. Because, after all, what is the
running of the bulls if not just a really fast parade. I'm goin' to
Wichita/Our band's name is Kansas forevermore. That's a song that
happened once. I remember being in an Applebee's once and they were
playing a jazz version of Fell In Love With a Girl. I once heard a song
somewhere. You didn't specifically not ask for it!
From now on, though, you probably will. Nobody needs
this nonsense. Except for me. You know why? Because my life is
supremely empty. I wanna do a Rorschach test, and for each slide, I'll
just say, Rorschach picture, Rorschach picture... I'd get 100%.
Because I'm a genius. This patient obviously wants to project a snarky
intelligence, but is even more obviously severely closed off and empty inside.
Nailed it! Like I said, 100%. Christmas is in a few days. I
love me some Christmas. Probably from growing up Jewish. Christmas
is the new Jewish. That's how I feel. I think Carry On My Wayward
Son was about Jesus. Either that, or me. Me, me, me.
Probably telling me to finish up this entry. Sure thing, fellas.
I guess. Why don't you carry on, jerk. Every new
years, I watch the The Twilight Zone parade. There's my parade. I
don't like the 2000's. Can't we start going backward? I wanna do
the 90's again. See what the 80's and 70's were all about. Chill out
in the sixties. Die... I don't wanna be fucking around in 2030.
That's too high a number. What about The High Numbers?
This isn't the sixties, moron! They're the superb owls,
now, The Who! It's only a matter of time that there'll be a band
called The Superbowls. There's Bowling For Soup. There's
Superman, the song, by Goldfinger. Hoo, hoo. You took a white orchid
and made it blue, didn't you. Didn't you. Until you say
something, you're grounded, mister. When he's old enough, I
wonder if Jack White's son'll be like, So, because of our name, does
that mean I'm in the White Stripes? And Jack'll go,
No, of course not, son. You've been completely useless up to this point.
Now, let's try to enjoy our Christmas dinner. Here, I got you a book about
There'll be peace when you are done. I don't think,
even if I raised them Christian, I would ever perpetuate Santa to my kids.
That's just weird. Hey, a weirdo stranger breaks into our house
and leaves the little children presents. Let's worship him.
Something's really wrong in that scenario. And, yeah, I know it's hacky to
complain about Santa, but, let's face facts, it's extremely weird and egregious.
I probably feel that way from not having grown up with it, but still.
It's stupid. Maybe it's because I'm so ignorant of him, I don't feel I'd
be able to properly incorporate him into my children's lives. That's
probably what's goin on, deep down inside. Most of the information I have
about Santa Claus comes from The Nightmare Before Christmas. Hey, kids,
there's a war on Christmas. Are you ready to fight back?
Are you ready to fight back? Good, go to sleep. That's how
that might go. One would imagine. Anyway, I'll see ya later.
December 20, 2014
You Just Got Blammed!
Finally. It's been months since I Blammed
someone, I started to question whether I still had it in me. Anyway, gotta
go to the good ol' QC to hand in my final paper in a couple of hours, but
besides that, nothin' to do again. I mean, sure, there's drinking. I
could do that forever. But I probably shouldn't. There's rumors of
bad health effects from doing such a thing. What if, for my screenplay
for next class, I title it, I'm Going To Kill You, Professor?
That'd probably get a reaction from the teacher. Oh, I just had the
greatest idea. I'm going to write a movie where Dat Phan works in a hair
salon and knows everybody's secrets! I ought to do that for real.
People love jokesters. Dat Phan is about to get Blammed. I hope
he's ready for it. No one can fully prepare themselves for getting Blammed.
It's an experience like no other. So, Matt, do you have any
secrets for me? Matt looks to his left, then to his right.
My family's ashamed of me. Cue hitting a gong sound, then that
Chinese chop-sticks-type melody on the piano. What's his
conflict, though. Maybe he has it in for Julian Assange, because he makes
people's secrets accessible to everyone. Dat Phan wants to be the only one
with people's secrets. And he needs to decide whether to take the red pill
or the blue pill, whether to stay in the Matrix, or not. And the bus can't
go under 55 miles per hour. And he has an excellent adventure.
Maybe I should just write a screenplay with Keanu Reeves as the imagined star,
that seems to be where my line of thought is going. What if they're
trying to recruit Keanu Reeves to play Superman, because of his last name, but
he doesn't really want to. And he's studying for a role by working in a
hair salon, where, inevitably, everybody tells him their secrets.
Makes sense to me.
Anyway. If I have to write a screenplay for the
class, I'm gonna make it count. No bullshitting around like I'm doing
here. If I'm writing 90-120 pages of something, it ought to be something
worth reading. Anyway. I'll think about it. What else is going
on. Maybe a fictionalized account of the Puppy Bowl, that they show
on the Animal Planet as counter programming the Superbowl. The Superb Owl.
What's so great about that owl. He's not great,
he's superb, you idiot. Every 4:20 P.M., I like to say, "Sup, 'erb?"
Because puns are all I have going for me at this stage in my life.
Anyway, no one can relate to this. Nobody knows who the Hell Dat
Phan is. And, if they did, they still wouldn't know why I
devote so much time to talking about him. It's because I find other's
mediocrity funny! And relatable. But mostly, hilarious! If I
was on Last Comic Standing, performing after him, I'd just use all his jokes
against him, but because they're obviously terrible jokes, the audience would
vote in my favor. Hey, that guy's name was Dat Phan, remember?
I bet his mom used to say to him, "Dat Phan, turn off that fan!" Oh, she
did, because he already said it? I knew it! If I was at
that imaginary show, I'd be rolling in the aisles. Hmm, maybe I should
be a comedian. That comment, in this context, makes little to
no sense. Because that wasn't a real joke, or anything. But, just
imagining myself saying it on stage, part of my brain was like, Hey,
maybe I could do that. II can't be a comedian. I've done
two comedy open mics, and I was awkward and uncomfortable as Hell. Maybe
if I had tried one when I was sixteen, I coulda done good, and been way ahead of
the curve. Now, not so much. Also, my last open mic, was at the UCB
at an open mic called, "Sledgehammer." And, for hours, I kept thinking,
"I'm gonna make the joke, sledge hammer? They're basically
calling us sledge. Garbage." Because I was confusing
'sledge,' with, 'sludge.' Luckily, one or two people ahead of my slot, I
realized my mistake. Nuts! If only they had
called the show Sludgehammer, I woulda been in like Gunga Din.
I was uncomfortable as Heck up on stage, though.
Stop looking at me! Nothing gives you that right! I
remember this time I climbed a tree, at Robert Sledge's party. I wasn't
the same after that. Anyway. I gotta leave for QC in half an hour.
Sledgehammer. What an idiot. And I thought people would
worship how clever I was with that. They would elect me their king.
Because I summed up the entire evening in one joke. Instead, I summed up
the entire evening, to myself, in one failure. Still, at least
something happened in summation, right? Good point, Italics Man.
You're one of the good ones. Dat Phan would never confuse,
"sludge," with, "sledge." Also, Dat Phan would know that you don't elect
kings. Anyway. I don't like comedians with gimmicks. There
was one guy at the open mic, at this point, half a year ago, or whatever, and
his gimmick was, "Cat Facts-- something or other pun about cats" and he
was killing. And, I mean, some of them were pretty good, but I just don't
like gimmicks. Now, let me replace words with "title," make obvious
puns, and talk about Dat Phan over and over again. If I don't do it,
someone else will. It's simple supply and demand. If this was a
romantic comedy, this would be the point where I realize I love Dat Phan.
Unfortunately, this is a Weekend at Bernie's. Anyway. I haven't seen
Short Circuit II in a while. It's all about robots gaining the right to
vote. They present it as a positive thing, but in real life, no thank you.
They're new to Democracy, they can't be trusted with the right to vote.
Look in my eyes! I'm a jokester 2.0! Whatever happened to the kid
who played Cop & a Half. He was genuinely great in that movie. My
guess? Grew up to be president Barack Obama. Just look at his dog's
name. What comes after, "L?" You got it.
Only time for one more paragraph. Oh well. "Bo,"
is his initials. That's like if I named my dog, "MAK." Which, now
that I think about it, isn't a terrible name for a dog. Probably use a,
"C" instead of a, "K," but yeah, that's a solid name for a dog, now that I think
about it. I will never have a dog, though, because I don't want to look
after it. And have to pick up it's garbage in the street. I call
shit garbage. It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it. If I
ever have another cat, I'll seriously consider naming it, "Aslan II," sort of as
a nod to the Simpsons. I know my Mom used to have a cat named Beethoven,
because he was deaf. That's pretty clever. I could probably fit in
another paragraph and half with the time I have left. Coolio. Maybe
I'll name my cat, "KitKatKittyKitKatKatKittyKatKitKitKitKitKitKatKit."
There's no reason not to. Re-reading that name gave me a headache.
Oh well. Anyway, this year flew by. At least I actually accomplished
some minor accomplishments. Nine credits. Four mediocre albums of
music. Bunch of crazysheet. Improving socially to the place where
it's possible I might potentially almost make some friends in the near future.
Cutting down on my drinking, I don't know, 10-20%. Anyway, I'm gonna take
before the last pargraph, to go to QC to hand in my paper. But, for now,
I'll finish this paragraph. Hey, the paragraph is done. How about
I'm back. On the bus, I had the realization,
If Dat Phan is in anything... on anything... I would watch that in a heartbeat.
It would be just like seeing an old friend. Who doesn't know I exist.
He's that likable a guy, he made that impression on me in the little time we got
to get to know him. Still, though, watching his act on youtube?
This isn't Clockwork Orange. Beethoven couldn't have been deaf, he's a
music man. He was, though. Good for him. Anyone whose
listened to my songs knows that the composer doesn't necessarily have to have
working ear-parts. I named my cat Gutenberg because he invented the
printing press. Anyway. See ya later.
December 19, 2014
I'm Afraid You Have To Leave
First of all, how come eggs come in standard
sizes. If someone gives birth to a baby, sometimes he's three pounds,
sometimes he's five pounds, it's not uniform. What the Hell are they doing
to chickens to make eggs standard sizes. I don't get it. Also, which
came first, the chicken or the egg? It was the egg! I've cracked
open some eggs, no chickens inside there. That settles that debate.
Obviously the Rooster came first. Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am.
I got forty minutes on poultry. Well, forty seconds, anyway.
What else is going on. I got a couple weeks off from class. Good, I
can finally devote some time to my true passion, Not Doing Anything. It's
a tough job, but somebody's got to not do it. That creates a double
negative, fool. You're the double negative! Fool.
It's my birthday one week anniversary. Anniversaries have to be yearly.
You're the yearly! Fool. Can't understand what I mean?
You soon will. That sounds like a threat. Also,
that's the last time I'm inviting you to a funeral. Your laughter was
totally inappropriate. Anyway, let's get entryin' it up. I
told you a couple of entries ago I had a few punters back in AOL time. And
I remember one of their theme songs was the Bloodhound Gang's "Fire Water Burn."
I don't know why a program had a theme song, but it did. I wonder what
Mike Rimsert's theme song was. I kinda remember having one, but no clue on
what it was. My guess? Closing Time by Semisonic, or, at the
time, Matchbox 20, because that's what my illegally downloaded copy said the
artist was. I know in my screenplay adaptation of the video game Myst,
the soundtrack included Closing Time in the opening sequence, because it
involved the main character closing up a bar. And I figured, why not
drive the point home.
That's usually the way to go. Hit the audience over
the head with a hammer. Hammer of the Gods. Maxwell's Silver Hammer.
The Golden Hammer. Ooo-ooo-ooo. John Hammer. John Hammist.
Because I'm an idiot. I remember I once read somewhere that our eyes don't
grow from the time we're born up to when we're adults. That's fascinating.
I once read somewhere that I haven't grown since I was a baby, neither. I
like how Rick Moranis is known for being really selective with his roles, that's
why we rarely see him in anything, but he did three, "Honey, I Shrunk The Kids"
movies. Explain that, I can't. Hey, look, grass is like forest.
It was an okay movie. I like the porn version, though. Honey,
I Shrunk My Penis. We have fun. Anyway. Nine credits down
this year. That's almost a barely significant amount. Better than
nothin', though. I hadn't finished a class since Fall 2010, before this.
Not counting my USB 201 improv class. My UCB 101 teacher was Mike Still.
I hope I run into him on the street one day, so I can say, "Are You Mike,
still?" And he'd be like, "Yup." It's that kind of joke that made
them not accept me for UCB 301. That, and I'm terrible at improv.
Starting a scene, the other guy or girl doing some character. That's
not really you. This is a facade. You're lying to everybody.
I, for one, won't stand for it. I'll out you as the trickster you are.
Anyway. What else is going on currently.
Sometimes I like to pee in the toilet sideways. There's no law that says
we have to do it at 180°.
Have some fun with it, why not. The last episode of Colbert Report was
last night. What a run. Why they're not calling it's replacement
"The Wilmore 'Repore" is beyond me.
Oh, because they want it to be it's own show? Shut up!
Maybe I should get a job there. If you're reading this, Mr. Wilmore, I'm
available! I can write all the top ten lists you want. Only, nothing
else. Only top ten lists. Call me. I remember in
college, playing a karaoke video game, and doing, Take On Me. It's
relevant because I don't know why. It's Christmas next week. Surely,
everyone's gonna be talking about, What writers will be on the new Larry
Wilmore show? Will Michael be one of them? Stay tuned, that's
all I've got to say! I would follow Colbert to CBS, but I have a long
standing feud with them ever since I said, "CBS" is what I do when I watch their
channel. Larry Wilmore? Better than being less. That's how
I feel about things. Probably. I had a friend in high school, who
turned out to be my best friend, but when we were just acquaintances, he put gum
on my book bag for no reason. And wouldn't own up to it. I guess, in
retrospect, it was just a call for help. I coulda been making 74
million dollars, instead, I was wiping gum off my book bag. I only
ended up making about 1,000 dollars during my lunch hour and free periods,
like a sucker.
I don't know. I don't know about anything.
Except that this is the fourth paragraph. Of this, I am fairly certain.
The funny part about high school was, by the end, sure, I had a few friends, but
I really blew my social life out of proportion. Because, the first year
so, I literally had no friends, so, by the end, when I had people to hang out
with during my free periods and stuff, I felt like Mr. Cool. Like,
yeah, everyone walking by will see how popular I am, because I clearly have a
friend or two. And that's what mattered. What other
people thought of me. Well, what I thought other people thought of me, at
least. Also, the I'll Push You Down The Stairs song. That,
and the Fresh Doctor song. Another song I sang in the shower.
Fresh like a doctor who's on T.V./I don't even know what it means to me/I
don't expect you to understand/Fresh doctor gonna lead us to the promised land.
Another mega-hit, according to my sixteen year old self. You're just
jealous you didn't think of it. Probably my crowning achievement in
high school was during a history class, and our teacher said something about,
how after slavery, the former slaves were allowed to vote, and if we, as a
class, thought this was a good idea. And, since it seemed like such a
stupid question, I raised my hand to offer the counterpoint, "No, they
shouldn't, because they're new to democracy, they're not ready for the right to
vote." or something like that. And the teacher and everyone looked at
me like I was serious, but the girl I had a huge crush on, who I never even
spoke to personally, was like, "He's joking, just look in his eyes."
That's like something she would say in a romantic comedy about me! How
I probably already shared that here. Oh well. It
was pretty great. And did I talk to her after that? You know
it! You know that I didn't. That's what you know. Also,
luckily, I remember the one black guy in our class was out to the bathroom at
that point. Whew. I also remember, for a class freshman year, our
teacher asked us to bring in an mp3 of a song we liked, or something. And
that's how I was exposed to Get Down by Nas, and Lithium by
Nirvana. Those are the only two songs I remember. I forget what song
I brought in. United States of Whatever by Liam Lynch? That's
probably the song I would use now, if I was 14 years old and in Stuyvesant high
school. I forget. Anyway. What else is up. Another
paragraph and a half to go. 1,200 dollars, counting the time I'd spend
reading ESPN Magazine and Baseball America for advice for my fantasy baseball
league. Take on me. Take me on. I'm right behind you now,
Charlene. That's probably Colbert's true legacy, that song. I
wonder what my legacy will be to the world. Self-referential titles,
no doubt. Although, for my summer class, we read a poem by Emily Dickinson
with the word, "Title" in the title. So I guess I'm not even original
there. My extravagant use of exclamation marks? Maybe. I don't
do that for style, I just do it because we're in the 21st century, the
information age. Gotta attract people in somehow. Also, if
everyone's taking the road less traveled, doesn't that make the main road less
traveled? Something for all you poets to ponder.
Anyway, time to last paragraph it up. This entry
was fun to the max. Assuming the max is about a 5, from 1-10.
Hey, it's the max for me, so back off. When I was 12, I had a
friend who had a subscription to Maxim Magazine. Don't think I didn't use
that to my advantage. My cumming advantage. Ewwww.
Sorry. Just speakin' my truth here. Note to
self, name for next album=
My Cumming Advantage.
Yeesh. MCA. RIP.
WTF. GFD. Now I'm just saying letters. I've been
drinking a lot lately. Cause I have nothing else to do, so might as well
incorporate a drug to become the main part of my life! Hey, if you don't
like it... be my friend! Yeah? That's what I thought.
I'll stick to alcohol over nothing, thank you very much. Man, imagine
if I had friends. Especially lady friends. How... fucking...
awesome... would that... b... e... ?... Pretty awesome.
Especially if I could do things... to... them... with my... penis...!
Wow, that would be insane. I think I haven't had a sex act since 2008.
Put your penis in my ear. Whatever you say!!!! I started
listening to The Best Show on youtube, and I don't ever want to stop.
Until the end of this clip. Then, I'll probably stop. Until I
re-listen to the bit about the XFL. Once I find that, I'll listen to that
every day for a couple of years, then give it a break. There was a cute
girl while I was waiting for my doctor's appointment. If I can't talk to a
girl in my element there, where can I? Turns out, nowhere. Oh
well. See ya later.
December 18, 2014
That's What They Want You To Think
Precious greetings all around! It's your
friend, me. The guy who is writing as we very speak. Well, typing.
And we're not speaking, I'm typing into a computer. So, I'm the guy whose
typing while he's typing. That's right, I'm a multi-tasking monster!
Big shout outs to my brother! His picture was on the front page of the
Night Imes for protesting against Fracking. It reminds me of the time I
was once on T.V. And, since this is my blog, that's what's important.
I was around eight or so, and my mother took me to the museum of modern science,
or something. And, while we were there, NY1 was shooting some footage to
use in a segment where they tell people places they can go for their winter
vacation. And they ran a three second clip of me smelling something on T.V.
Like my Mom was picking up something or another, and I had to smell it.
Sounds like a Spinal Tap album, or a Nirvana hit song, or something, right?
Wrong! It's what I did when I was on T.V. when I was eight. Me, me,
me. Such an interesting life. But, yeah, good job with
your public service. I'm busy smelling things! That's pretty
cool, though. Being on the front page of the Nightie Mes. That kind
of publicity would really go to my head. I'd be ordering all my friends
around, acting like a real big shot. Who was it that was documented on
the front page of the Nye Tim Easy? As a hero?
Anyway. That reminds me, when I was three or so, we have
footage from home movies where my brother is wearing superman pajamas, being
egged on my Dad, pretending to be Superman. And, me, the after thought,
was encouraged to embrace the role of Jimmy Olsen. Thanks a lot,
Dad. I see how it is.
And that's why I hate my father and brother.
Jerkholes. I kid. My brother and my father are pretty much the best
guys in town. Not counting the Ghostbusters. They bust
ghosts for a living. I want to be a Ghostbuster when I grow up.
Or at least a Rick Moranis. Or at least some guy who smells things for a
living. Also, I have it on good authority that when I was born, my brother
suggested to my parents that we throw me out in the garbage. I can hold
a grudge a very long time. A very. Long. Time. Watch
yourself. Avery Fisher Hall. That's some place. That's some
fishy hall. A very. Fishie. Rhall. Is Rhall
like Our Town? Sorry I never saw it. The good news is,
what's up. I finished my paper for my class. That means I'm all
done, except for having to go there and hand it in. I'm a little worried
my winter screenwriting class'll be cancelled. There's only six people
registered out of 25 seats. But, if that happens, at least I get to take
no classes. That's pretty fun, too. My brother majored in
dramatic writing, he could probably teach me a thing or two. Damnit,
is there any area in life my brother hasn't far surpassed me?! That
jerkball! Makin' me look bad. Mike, you do realize, just because
they showed his picture, that doesn't mean he made Cuomo's decision to happen?
You idiot! A picture's worth a thousand words. And my final essay
was only 994 words! He's got six words on me in this past week alone!
Oh, I know. I live with my parents far more than my brother does.
I'm here in the shit 24/7/365. He comes once a month? Better son,
that's me. Suck it! Hopefully he doesn't score a front page
article in the New York Sun. He'd have to go back in time to 1950.
I don't think even he is capable of that. This is like Almost
Famous, This T-shirt says everything you wanted to say for years. I
like my brother, I've liked him for years. I'm just joshing around.
You dolts. Jason Lee, on the other hand? Belongs in the background.
That's how I feel about things.
My brother! He did it. He's a hero. And,
who knows, maybe one day I'll get a job as a newspaper sidekick. And we
can each fulfill our destinies. Anyway. I just think that's really
cool, bein' in a picture on the newspaper, that's all. Some guy I knew
from Stuy was also in the news a couple of weeks ago, because he got married on
the subway. I guess I would consider him a friend. I remember who he
was, and I remember talking to him sometimes, but I can't really place what
class or whatever I knew him from. And, of course, I remember Eric Holder
from Stuy. I didn't know why there was a 48 year old in my freshman class,
but there he was. (He went to Stuy in real life, before me). Just
like Tim "Crawls In Shit" Robbins, Lucy "Ecks vs. Sever" Liu, and Guy Who Lied
About Making 74 Million Dollars Man. Guy Man might have actually been his
real name, I don't know. Anyway. Look, brother, this is what
happens when you become a public figure. You get your face in the
paper, someone's bound to come around and knock you down a peg or two.
Also, J. Jonah. Jameson keeps asking me to take incriminating pictures of you.
Man, does that guy hold a grudge. Alright. If four people read
my blog, my brother would probably be one of those four people. Too bad
only 1.4 people read my blog. That makes him, what, .35 of a reader?
I'm a good guy at math. Man, seeing that picture in the N Why Tie Mess,
what a thrill. I know that guy! He's like me, but three years
older, and better in every way! Anyway.
Bernie Brillstein also went to Stuy. As a teenager,
that's probably the alumni which excited me the most. He was a producer of
some really great comedy, most notably to me when I was 14, Mr. Show. I
can't believe he cursed. No he didn't. Fracking,
what's the difference. The letters, "R and A." How old are we
really. I told you last week, I'm 26! Get off my back. If
four people read this, and my brother is one, then probably two and a half
people listen to my music, counting my brother as one. That makes him 40%
of my listener, too. Where does he find the time? I
wonder what issue he's gonna devote to next. I had an idea for a public
interest organization sorta like the one he works for, called Immediate Action
Network. And, basically, each year, they pick a new issue to focus on for
that year, something that needs immediate action. But because it's always
something that's urgently important, people donating money will know they're
getting their money's worth. And the acronym is IAN. I knew a guy
named Ian in Stuyvesant. He's the guy who asked me if I drew anything
other than boxes. Anyway. It's Christmas in a week. That'll
happen from time to time. The good news is, I finally have time to see how
Bad News Bears ended. My guess? The kid in the wheelchair high tails
it to Guatemala. And the guy his daughter has a crush on turns out to be
her brother. But they don't care, they get married anyway. And Billy
Bob Thornton takes a giant shit that lasts for forty five minutes. I
remember when I played handball-baseball with my brother and his friends in the
park, I was the designated catcher. Cause we would have an odd number of
people, and no one else wanted to do it, so I would just catch for both teams.
Because I'm a team player. A multi-team player. That's a tough role
to live up to.
Anyway. In the major league baseballs, why doesn't the
umpire just catch for each team. Make yourself useful, that's what I say.
My favorite memory from the park, though, is I was in sixth grade, listening to
Mystikal and Ludacris while on the swings, because I guess I thought that was a
cool, vaguely-emo thing to do, and some lady came by with a child, and somehow
we got to talking, and she offered me a baby sitting job. So I was like,
"Great! Let me go to my house so I can write my phone number on a piece of
paper!" cause this was before cell phones. And when I got back five
minutes later, she was gone. It's just one of those things in life where
you're like, "Why? Why did this happen?" Doesn't make sense.
Anyway. I just googled, "Was Mavis Beacon a real person?" Turns out,
no. That's relevant, I suppose. Anyway, I'm not gonna have to write
a paper for a while. Maybe weeks, maybe months. Either way,
wonderful. I should write a crazysheet entry. Oh, that's what
I'm doing now? Wonderful. Anyway. Big ups to my brother for
his moment of triumph. We couldn't be more proud of him. We, meaning
either my parents and me, or me and me. Either way. The great
news is, there's a program on T.V. about a 650 pound man which I
haven't seen yet. Oh, boy, I bet he loves oreos. Maybe ring
dings. Or cheese doodles. Either way, look at him go!
There was once a time where, if I mentioned someone I knew in crazysheet,
they would get all excited. Now, he's probably not even reading this.
Oh well. This isn't about me, this is about fracking sucking the big one.
One would imagine. This isn't about fracking, it's about me getting to
watch a 650 pound man on T.V. Let's frack him. We could probably
get significant amounts of sugar and fat. Is fracking like Fuddruckers.
Anyway. See ya.
December 16, 2014
On The First Day of Chanukah My True Love Gave To Me
Nine Golden Rings! I mean, Five
Golden Rings! It's funny, because he's wrong about things. On
purpose, too! It's wiggity-wiggity wack. When I was a kid, we
actually did the Menorah lighting, and presents, and stuff. It was fun.
I haven't opened a wrapped box present in I don't know how long. As a
goof, someone should give someone a gift of a China-doll gift box. You
keep opening gift-paper wrapped boxes, and they keep getting smaller and
smaller. And then, when you finally get to the end, there's a small piece
of paper with, "Fuck You!" written on it. It will capture his imagination
forever. Anyway. What if you get to the end, and there's a
miniature you opening boxes. That would be pretty scary. This
ain't the Nightmare before Chanukah here. The Pa-nic before
Ha-nick-ah. As close as you can get for a literal translation that
still vaguely rhymes. Anyway, have I started the entry yet? I don't
think I have. Hello, good sirs. Wait, actually, I think I've opened
presents the last few Christmasses. Just because they're books doesn't
make them any less presents.
Yes, it does. Still get to open them, sure. Menorahs have
nine candles, eight for each day, and one candle which is the utility candle,
they use to light the other candles. Ever since I started using, "Utility
Rock" to define my music, I've had a soft spot for all things utility. Off
road vehicles? Great. Joe Mcewing? Double great. Anyway...
TThis isn't about me and my genre of music. It's about blog. In
the saying, "No Ifs, Ands, Or Buts," is, "Or" included as one of the things that
there's to be none of? It seems like it would fit the description, but
it's also serving a literal purpose in the phrase. Please get back to me
on this. My email is
Kornblum@Theinternet.internet. I guess if they were including
it, it'd be, "Ors." I don't know. E-mail me at
Anyway. What else is happening. I remember,
whenever I did a draft in baseball video games, I would always end up with Tom
Goodwin. He's really fast, so he's a good guy to have off the bench to use
as a pinch runner. But the computer teams never picked him. Fine,
more speed for me. Me and my brother would do drafts over and over, as if
that were the main part of the game. It was fun just picking teams, and
then comparing our teams to each other. We would probably play one game
against each other with our teams, I guess. I don't really remember.
On The First Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave To Me.
Chlamydia. That shuts down the carol pretty quick. One
would imagine. Two and a half years of this incarnation of crazysheet.
That's about as long as the original crazysheet lasted. Only, then, I had
readers. People encouraging me. I liked the new entry! I
put a quote in my away message! Will you have my e-baby? I did
it all for the compliments. I first bought the domain name, crazysheet.com,
in 2002. And for two years, I had a graphic that said, "Crazysheet --
Coming Soon!" and at the time, I don't think I had any idea what it was
supposed to be. I just knew I had that website, and I'd probably do
something with it eventually. I think, at first, for a couple of months, I
had two movie reviews on it, of Lilo & Stitch, and another movie. And I
said my name was Mike Rimsert. Because I didn't want to use my real name,
I was twelve. Rimsert. Hahaha. Wait, no! My name was
Mike Burrell! Inspired, no doubt, by Phillies outfielder Pat Burrell.
Where'd I get Rimsert from. Oh, I know, I think. I was in
some weird chat-based fantasy wrestling league, when I was ten or so, and I
think my wrestler's name was Mike Rimsert. And I remember, two other
'wrestlers,' one of who was my ally, teamed up to turn on me. And I took
it really personally, and I punted them with some punter I had. A
punter is a device that basically hacked into AOL and allowed me to do illegal
things with impersonating screen names and sending mass-emails, stuff like that.
Then they cancelled my AOL account, predictably, until my Dad called them and
was like, "It was our son, he's very sorry for what he did," etc. And we
got our AOL account back.
Like, looking back, I realize, "Oh, they were just playing
the game, that kind of stuff is what makes wrestling fun." But, at the
time, I felt genuinely betrayed. I had a thought, recently, if I could buy
stock in one company, it'd be America Online. People love them some
nostalgia, it's primed to come back in a big way, sooner or later.
Assuming it still exists. It probably still exists in some form or
another. I'm also gonna buy stock in, "Whazzzzzup!" and "You Are The
Weakest Link." That's how that goes. That's how that goes.
What else is going on. Life used to be fun. I will not rest until
crazysheet is it's own domain variant. Crazysheet.crazysheet. Until
that comes, my life's work is not complete. Anyway. Life
did used to be fun. Now it's all bullshit and crapdom. I guess I
can always go back to the hospital. Cool off for a while, make some new
friends. That kinda reads as a cry for help. And
if that didn't, that qualifier definitely reads as a cry for help. Now
it's time to add underlining. Don't worry about me, I'm doing
okay. Sure, life is a D+/C-, but, hey, I'm taking classes, making progress
with my degree. Soon enough, I'll have a job, save enough money to live on
my own, then be able to drink or smoke every day, and my life will
be grand! It's good to have something to look forward to, and alcohol and
marijuana is that thing. And, if there's time, a social life. And,
if there's time, growing up.
I can't have a social life. I'm traumatized.
What if my two friends team up and pile drive me. This is the fourth
paragraph, right? Right. Good stuff. What other names
did I used to go by. I remember, as preteen, I used to involve myself in
different games on the internet, and I would always say I was older than I
actually was. I just figured people would accept me more if they thought I
was their age-equal. Now I say I'm younger than I am.
Crazysheet.net? Yeah, written by a six year old. That's how that
goes. That's why I bought stock in the Budweiser frogs and
Y2K. Man, people would get upset over anything in 1999.
Some computers might get the date wrong! It's the apocalypse!
I'm still here for the people. They just don't say out loud they like it.
Sometimes saying nothing is louder than nothing at all. As long as you're
signing it. Gotta let people know, one way or another. And, every
time you post a comment on your friend's Facebook, every time you create an
event, every time you have a birthday, I know, deep down, you're saying, I
still like crazysheet. Yeesh. When did this entry take a turn
for the worse? My guess? AOL stock. Nobody's buying it.
Anyway. I still need to watch the end of Bad News Bears. Do they
win? Or not. Either way, nothing happens. I'm Billy
Bob Thornton, I'm a likable jerkoff, here's some kids that say three or four
So, this has been a good entry, ignoring the cry for help
bit. Believe me, if I needed help, there's only one people I'd cry to.
Ghostbusters. And possibly the Pope. Maybe Flo Rida. My rapper
name'll be N Ew Y Or K. Because I steal other people's ideas and use them
for my benefit. That's how I roll, my brother. I remember, when I
was in fourth grade, I took one or two after-school lessons on the clarinet.
Literally one or two, cause I dropped out. I learned, "My Heart Will Go
On," and then I quit. Cause, once you learn the pinnacle of songdom, what
else is there for you to do. Just play that song at each and every
occasion. I've already won. Too bad they didn't have me playing Miss
Misery. Hey, the Oscar voters have spoken, and My Heart Will Go
On is the Pinnacle of Songdom. I wonder if you could strangle a man
with dental floss. My Mom was actually the P.T.A. president for a
year or two, while I was in elementary school. My main memory of it was
having to stay after school for a few hours and playing, "Mother, May I?"
It's just a coincidence that it was my mother that was why I had to stay there,
and that was what we were playing. I'm assuming. Maybe that guidance
counselor, or who ever was in charge, had a hidden agenda. Psshhh, cry
for help. I don't need to cry when I need help! It's implied.
Seriously, though, I'm doing okay. Why, my DVR records every time there's
a Simpsons episode on. How bad could I be?! Anyway, I'll see ya
December 15, 2014
Lets Go Crazy!
Hi fools. What's going on in the world.
It's the Ides of December. You know what that means! It's the
fifteenth. That's what it means. Alright! I watched the 2005
version of Bad News Bears yesterday. Nothing happens in that movie.
Literally nothing happens. But any A list actor that goes by the name,
"Billy Bob," obviously has a lot going for him. He might be a B/B+ list
actor. He's an A in my book. Have you seen Bad Santa? Me too!
It was a solid B movie. I like that movie, "Bee Movie."
"Hey, what if we have an animated movies about bees, and call it Bee
Movie?" "HAHAHAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHA. HAHAHAHA.
HAHAHA. Ahhh. I wasn't even thinking of green-lighting a movie
today, but you sold me." How'd that happen. I thought of a
knock-knock joke Keith Moon can say. Knock Knock. Who's
there? The. The Who? That's right.
What fun. Anyway, I'm 26. I like the song Who Are
you. Who are you, hoo hoo, hoo hoo. No, Who is
you. You oughta know your own name.
Darnnnnnit. How do I dig myself out of that hole. Worst joke in
the history of jokes. I had a dream that people referred to me as,
"Sheets." I don't like it. If we're gonna use a pronoun from this
website, call me crazy. That's how I feel. Keith Moon has been dead
for thirty six years. If he's knocking at your door, run the Hell away.
Submitted For The Approval of the Midnight Society... Keith
Moon Knocking At My Door. Throw some sand in the fire. I
want to advertise myself as a daredevil, and get a big crowd, and then my trick
is smoking a cigarette. These'll kill me after about 100,000.
Keeep watching. Did they outlaw smoking completely in New York?
In places? When I was a kid, restaurants had smoking sections, which we
would sit in, because my Mom smoked. Now, I don't think they even have
that. What a shame. Except, it gives me a good business idea.
Open up a speak-easy diner, off the books, which allows smoking. You gotta
give a secret code at the door, walk up a few flights of stairs, and, look,
people are eating French toast and waffles, and smoking! I'm full of great
Drink soda of whatever size you want! As long as I get
a cut. That's right, you don't need to pay me, just let me sip a bit of
your soda, and we'll call it even. Alright. I remember a few months
ago, like around May or June, I went to some group that my hospital has, to help
people with mental illness socialize. The main thing I remember from it,
was they had a bottle of generic brand soda, and it was three liters
big. That's a big bottle of soda. But, then again, if you're
gonna have a three liter bottle of soda, you know it's gonna be some off-brand
shit. And they had all this snacks, chocolates, cupcakes, chips.
Which further proves my theory that hospitals try to placate mentally ill people
with unhealthy food. They don't care if you get diabetes, they just want
you to shut up and quit yer complaining. Here's another joke I thought of.
Well, 60% thought of. Magic Johnson is HIV positive, right? I guess
his Johnson wasn't so magic, then. Something like that, but phrased
better. I know, it's hacky, but I never heard i before. I remember
my Dad was once at a diner, in around 1994, and, making a pun on orange juice,
someone said, "Don't have the O.J., it'll kill you." I wasn't there, but
he tells me about it every few months. He would hate me sharing
that story. He doesn't want to be mentioned in anything, ever.
Who can blame him. That's right. If the glove
doesn't fit, you must acquit. You're the boss!
Yep. I'm re-thinking about taking music lessons.
I don't know why. I can't sing, can't write lyrics, can't play the guitar.
I'm 0-3! Taking lessons, I'd still probably be 0-3, but worth one walk.
That's an on base percentage of .250. Not good at all. Now, if I
could manage two walks while being 0-3, that's an on base percentage of .400,
which, is pretty good, not great, if you consider the low slugging percentage.
Maybe I should be playing hockey. It's been a productive year, though,
music-wise. I wrote and recorded three albums, The Uppers
during my spring semester class, Invented Seas during my
summer class, and Lunatic during my fall class. Sure,
they're all D+'s, but they each got somethin' unique going for them.
At this rate, assuming I die at around 75, I'll have about 150 albums.
Not too shabby. Almost as much as Guided By Voices.
Anyway. Also wrote a shit ton of crazysheet. Again, all
D+'s, but hey, erm, hmm. Darnnnnnit. I still gotta write my final
paper for Fall class by Saturday, Should take all of about forty minutes.
Maybe I should just write Attica! Attica! Attica! I
mean, Ferguson! Ferguson! Ferguson! He'll understand.
That's how that goes, one would imagine. One of the nurses I saw today has
a poster of John Lennon, from around 1980, wearing a, "New York City," t-shirt,
and another poster that says, "Imagine," and another poster with a quote from
Bob Marley. So, naturally, I said, "Where's the Nickelback
tribute?" I want my nickel back. My brother used to have
a friend named Danny McNickel. That's super-relevant here.
Because he's my brother.
Okay. You can call me Sheets. If you really
want to. I recently had the thought that it would be weird to marry
someone, and have them take your name, because then, when you have sex, it's
like you're committing incest. Blahblahblah Kornblum? I'm having sex
with myself! I get confused easily, though. Not my fault. I
also had this hacky line of joke, where, I would never have a kid, knowing
what I was like as a kid. I was a real asshole to my parents. Think
about it, when you have a kid, you're basically just creating someone who will
be your mortal enemy. You're consciously forming the bane of your
existence. I'm sure twenty comics have said the exact same thing.
But I still thought of it independently. I'm the greatest! I'll have
a kid or two one day, sure. Why not. When I have kids, and they find
out there's no Santa Claus, that I've been the one giving them presents, I'm
just gonna go, That's because I Am Santa Claus. Kids
are stupid, they'll believe anything. And, every Christmas, I'll make it a
family tradition to watch Poltergeist. When they're twenty, they'll go,
What was up with the Poltergeist at Christmas? And I'll be
like, Why don't you tell me? That's how I raise my
kids. And no sex with the wife. We're brother and sister
Time to close it up. This has been a fun entry.
It's had words... Anyway. It would be weird if your kid turned out
to be Bane from Batman. I thought I raised you better than that.
Boo. Quiet, you. I like how in that movie, Batman
fell down a well. That's his main conflict. He fell down a well and
needs to get out. Love it. Anyway. See ya later.
December 14, 2014
He Died With His Pants On
Hello friends. It's me, the guy, who is
running out of introductions. I wrote a, "t" in my notebook yesterday, and
it looked like a cross, and in the back of my mind, my instinctual mind, I
immediately sort of hissed and looked away. I think that's a fairly good
sign that I'm possessed. Don't know what to do about it, though. You
can't really call an exorcist on yourself. No one would take you
seriously, if you were really possessed, you wouldn't be calling. But,
yeah, if any of you are trained in the exorcism arts, your services may be
needed. Also, don't be scared about my demon transferring into you.
I'm pretty sure that won't happen. I'm not possessed.
Probably not, at least. Why, just today, I saw a church in the distance,
which had an actual cross on top of it, and I was like, "Yeah, that's whatever."
No hissing or immediately looking away. If I was on a dating website, the
main part of my profile would be, "Is Not Possessed." It's the one thing I
have going for me. I might be possessed, I don't know. That would be
interesting, at least. Maybe it's the Devil what makes me bite my
nails. That asshole. Maybe it's an angel that makes me bite my
nails. She wants the nails to go to Heaven. That's probably what's
going on. If I had to guess, that would be my guess. It's the option
most likely. The good news is, Hello. My schedule is about to do a
mixemup. No more Saturday classes, then, starting in January, a month of 5
day a week class. With the potential for creating a screenplay! How
exciting. Let's see. One of the first movies I ever thought of,
along with Mental Hospital (which I think I mentioned here... basically, a
comedy starring Leslie Nielson), was Yokozuna Attacks. Where a
monster-sized Yokozuna wreaks havoc on a city. Yokozuna is a sumo
wrestler, I think. Either that, or some Yoko Ono off-breed. I
stated a joke... that started Yokozuna attacking...
Wait, that's Bob Dylan's son. Oh well. Sean
Lennon did some shit, too, right? Oh, but I didn't see. That
Yokozuna was on me... I've also given some thought to write a
screenplay based on my life. But, it's also about New York. Like, it
shows me doing something in all the five boroughs. And stuff like that.
Although, I'd have to make something up for Staten Island. That borough is
a zero. I've spent some time in Battery Park. That's close enough, I
guess. Cannot stop the battery. They're biased,
they're Metallica. They're biased towards anything metal. Anyway.
If Yokozuna was attacking, there'd probably be a Japanese lady saying, "O, No!"
Darnnnnnit. I guess. I don't know. That's how I feel about
things. What else is going on. I'm writing an entry. I
already knew that. What else is going on. I'm still writing an
entry. Yeah, I knew that too. What else is going on. The
year is winding down. My best memory was going to Bay Terrace to get a new
pair of glasses. It had all the great things of a great time.
Driving, being with my Dad, going to places which inspired memoria, getting new
glasses when I needed them, being in the summer. And, perhaps most
importantly, thinking of Moleman from The Simpsons during the ride over. I
just had the thought, I really like Moleman from the Simpsons, and for
some reason, that stayed with me. Good Moleman To You. That's
what he said on his radio show!!! That's the most genius thing of genius
I've ever geniused.
Alright. I wonder what 2015 will bring. That's
the future. The movie told me so. I remember going on the Back To
The Future ride when I was in Universal Studios, in 1997. Which is
basically a car that stays stationary, but moves up and down and stuff to
simulate the feeling that it's moving. And when it started, I freaked out,
it was like I we were leaving the building and flying. And while,
logically, I knew what was going on, another part of me was like, Oh Shit!
My main memory from that trip to Florida, though, was staying in a Disney World
hotel, and there was a pool for our hotel complex. And I was gettin' ready
to to do the slide in the pool, and there was some kids from Texas behind me,
and they made fun of me and pushed me aside to do the slide before I could.
So that's when I learned to never mess with Texas. They mean business down
there. I like Epcot center. It's like the parents are like, I
don't want the kids to have fun, and, since we can't have fun neither, let's
none of us have fun. Also, one of the buildings is a giant golf ball.
I like that. Anyway, what else is going down. I remember my Dad
video taped me in the pool there, and then, four years later, I taped over it
recording myself singing, "The Real Slim Shady." Either way, memories that
will last a life time. The Texan kid said something like, "What are you,
retarded?" When he was the one speaking at 50% speed and still slurring
his words. Oh well. What else is going on seventeen years ago.
I hear Bill Clinton is gonna get a blow job out of wedlock, soon.
I had a horror dream last night about Chucky. It involved me being Superman,
and I had to fly as high as I can, to drop him on the ocean, so all his bones
would break. That'll end him for good, I thought. It also involved me putting
testosterone gel straight into my penis. I used to take testosterone gel, in
real life, because of my underactive thyroid, for about a year, and you sort of
rub it in where you abdominal muscles are. But in the dream I was funneling it
straight into my penis, and thinking, "This isn't going to end well." But I did
it because I needed all the help I could get to defeat Child's Play. This is
relevant to you, the reader, because dreams are fun. I have fun dreaming. I
used to have sleep paralysis a lot. That's when you wake up, and you're
conscious of what's going on outside your body, but you can't move. And it was
always accompanied by the thought that there is some evil presence, right
outside my line of vision, so I was scared, and tried desperately to move, but
to no avail. Glad I don't get that anymore. My waking life is scary enough.
In a way or two, I have waking-life paralysis. Some shit's going down every
day, but I just can't do anything about it. What a shame. And I remember, at
the end of the dream, I was carrying Chucky, and I was flying, but I was only at
about 20-30% power, so I couldn't fly that fast or that high, so dropping him
wouldn't really kill him. Oh well. Being able to fly at all, in any speed, is
a pretty good feat. I should be happy with what I can do.
That's how I feel, one would imagine. Imagine
there's no Yokozuna. It's easy if you try. I like calling
nightmares, "Horror Dreams." It implies a severe lack of adequacy at the
English language. That's something I can get behind. I found a pair
of glasses on my walk last week. So, of course, I picked them up and put
them in my pocket. Now I wear them when I feel down. It makes
everything blurry. Like I can't see clearly what's going on. That's
how it makes it appear. Am I wearing them right now? I don't know.
Why don't you tell me. I can't tell. Wakawakawaka. Stupid
angel making me bite my nails. Doesn't she know she's leaving me ripe for
infection? Well, this has been a solid D- entry. Passing! I
did it! Anything is better than nothing. I learned that somewhere.
From a song, I think. That's how that goes. Next month is a whole
new color scheme. If that isn't exciting, I don't know what is. Next
entry is gonna be better, I promise. I'm just in a rut. I'll get
back at it again, sure I will. But for now, we gotta make do with what we
got. And what we got is a D- entry. Oh well. See ya later.
December 13, 2014
Break Yourself, Mister!
Hello jerksballs and baguettes. Friend till
the end here. Finished my fall class. I did it old school! Not
really. I did it current school, if anything. Oh, and, perhaps most
importantly, I've made a very important decision about, not just this website,
but, my life. I'm calling a moratorium on all references to the word,
"Title." So, please load up Green Day's, "Good Riddance," while we say
goodbye to what will never be again.
Your Title, I Object!
All For One, And One For Title
Titles Speak Louder Than Titles
Title Out of Wedlock
Chicken or Title?
No Title For You!
Keep Your Titles Close, And Keep Your Titles Closer
The Title Strikes Back
Return of the Title
Crime and Titlement
A Tale of Two Titles
100 Years Of Titletude
Farewell, friend. I'll miss
you. Anyway, what else is good. I finished my class. Did I
mention that? Sorry, I'm still a little emotional. I mean, no more
replacing words with, "Title?" What does my life even mean.
Oh well, onwards and upwards, as they say, in spaceman lingo. For what
it's worth, it was worth all the title. The End. Coffin nails
shut. What else is going on. I had a pretty good day today.
Except for waiting 40 minutes on the bus, am I right? Ya'll were
there... Why do I think people can relate to this nonsense.
Because I'm a moron. That's a pretty good title for myself.
Darnnnnnit. That's a catchphrase to replace using, "Title." Not
in the same situation, of course. It's just my new thing.
Darnnnnnit. People can't get enough of it! Darnnnnnit.
I got enough of it. No more. Anyway. Whatami gonna do with
all this time off. I can't say darnit. That's taking the Lord's name
in vein. In an abstract sense. Blasphemous. I think she
said, "Feck." No one asked you, young Cameron Crowe. Young
Patrick Fugitaboutit. How old are we really. I don't
know about you, I'm 26. I just had a birthday, so it's fresh in my mind,
no mistakes there. If each year was a week, I'm through half a year.
That means nothing. That doesn't help conceptualize a thing. But, if
you're gonna talk about the number 26, you're gonna come into the territory of,
"26 is half 52, which is how many weeks there are in a year." It's
inevitable that we will end up discussing it. And, now that we've
discussed it, it's relatively inevitable we will end up discussing it again.
I run out of things to talk about a lot, so year-week-half-26-52 talk will
come up again. It's just a matter of when.
The Mets did their winter meetings. They signed
someone named John Mayberry, Jr. Anyone with a a Jr. in their name is
alright by me. Tony Soprano's uncle? Alright. The problem
child from Problem Child? Alright. Juno from Juno? Alright.
I was supposed to read a book called, "Drown," by a guy named Junot Diaz.
I never read it! Man, is this professor a sucker. He's
all like, "This is a very important time we're going through right now, what
with the Eric Garner and Ferguson and all that nonsense." What am I
supposed to do about it? I watched T.V. about it! What more do you
expect from me? Believe me, if I could think of a clever joke about it,
I'd say it. Let's just start calling private security guards when we
need the police. They'll get the message. Ship up, or ship out.
That's the free market at work! I can tell you one thing, Paul
Blart, Mall Cop wouldn't stand for that kind of racial profiling nonsense.
He's a man of integrity! Haha, Blart. There's a major motion
picture, which they spent tens of millions of dollars on, and the name in the
title is Blart. That's pretty funny, if you just give it a
Yeesh. Now that I made a joke about it, it
doesn't exist anymore. I am of course talking about the movie Paul
Blart, Mall Cop. What a tragedy that was. I like malls. I
remember talking to a parrot outside a rain-forest themed restaurant at a mall
once. He thought he was so hot, but he was so not. He thought he
was so Blart, but he was so Nart. Anyway. The
professor also kept saying the year was 2015. Wrong!
It's 2014. I know, because I write the date all the time.
Apparently he also has a radio show on Thursdays, or something. He never
gave the station, though, so how am I to believe him. I'm not to believe
him, that's how. Get off my back! Darnnnnnit. Anyway,
what. There was a cute girl sitting next to me at the bus stop. But
she was talking to some other guy she just met at the bus stop, not me. If
she turned to talk to me, though, I was ready with some apropos conversation.
"Bus." I was ready with that. She turns to me, I just say, "Bus."
Bus. That's what I had prepared. Because that's what was going on.
"Bus." "Yeah, I heard that." You shouldn't talk to strangers.
But she already was, though, like I said. Therefore, she should talk to
all strangers, shouldn't she? Spread the love around.
Using the word, "Love," made that sound dirty. Oh well. This
is taking forever. Bus! That'll teach her to talk to
strangers. What about The Stranger, by some author. Kafka?
Albert Camus. I almost read that once. Almost, in that I did read
it, but don't remember it or understand it. I'm 0-2 on the important
aspects of having read it. If it was written my Kafka, the story would be,
some guy wakes up one day, and realizes that suddenly, he's a stranger to
people. Before that, everyone knew him. Quite the
metamorphosis that is.
Anyway. Why doesn't the stranger just
introduce himself to people. Now we're not strangers anymore.
That happened at a bus stop! Now, if I was offering chocolates to
people at a bus stop, I'd be a pervert. There's no justice in this
world. Pervert is a pretty good title for me. Darnnnnnit.
It's because I was thinking all the busride long about what pronoun to use as
the third word of this title. What title do I give this person,
more or less. Oh, I went through them all. Fool, mother fucker,
buster, friend, moron, jerk, asshole, buddy. Settled on this one.
Which one is it? I forget. I could scroll up, or devote one and a
half seconds of brain time to trying to remember it. Friend. It was
friend, right? Mister. Oh yeah. Good times.
I even considered no pronoun. But that makes you stress the
exclamation mark too much, which is another thing I gotta cut out. So,
that's basically a sign of how progressed my mind is since becoming ill. I
can plan one thing ahead, but no more. Forty minutes on the one thing.
If I try to think of a second thing to write, after the title, I'd just get
confused. And if I tried to think of how to better my life beyond writing
a crazysheet entry, why, then, well, hmm. Darnnnnnit. The professor
is a real dick to me. I saw him before class and said hello and he just
brushed me off. What an asshole. And, when I participate in class, I
say the best things. I'm on point. And he just sort of rolls his
eyes after everything I say and moves on. Maybe he can tell from my papers
that I'm consciously not fulfilling my potential, and just half assing it.
And because of that, dislikes me. Or maybe he just thinks I have a stupid
face, and because of that, dislikes me. Both are valid reasons to dislike
me, I gotta admit. Especially the stupid face bit. My face
is pretty stupid.
Alright. I made friends this class. It was
awesome. Like, not keeper-league friends, where I can keep them on my team
into next year, they're that good. But, like, "Hey, what's up with you
this week?" friends. Not bad. And it got to the point, class after
class, that by this class, I was pretty much just 95% comfortable around them.
That's more comfortable than I am with anyone. My doctors, my parents, my
brother. I hope you had the title of your life. Oh, I did.
Intro to Narrative. I learned all about introductions to narrative.
I had a dream a couple days ago that I was in the future, and ranking my top 50
favorite songs. And #47 was Jesus of Suburbia. That was the only
song actually included in the rankings in the dream, but it was definitely Jesus
of Suburbia by Green Day, and it was definitely #47. Well, one other song,
was #50, which was also a Green Day song, but I forget what it was. It
might not have been a real song. So, in the dream, I was thinking,
Hmm, So, I guess Green Day is my favorite band. In the dream, at
least. That's how that goes, one would imagine. Alright. So,
this was an entry. Can I say, "Entry," if I can't say, "Title?"
Well, I've been saying title. But I am going to definitely phase it out
over the next few years. Anyway. See ya later.
December 12, 2014
Yeah, I Guess
Hi! Or, hi. I gotta stop using
exclamation marks so often. That's my birthday resolution #1. #2--
eat some pudding. Anyway, hi. I've never been a fan of pudding.
I can't say I've ever had pudding, to tell the truth. It's consistency
does not appeal to me, to tell the truth. Apples and oranges appeal to me.
You don't peel apples. Maybe you don't. Anyway, hello.
Lots of ways to greet people. There's hi, hello... the others.
We live in the Big Apple. Well, I do at least. We, this blog and
it's readers, as a center of momentum, at least, are located in New York, either
way. Are or Is. Griff en Dor.
Griff is Biff's grandson's name. How come we never meet the man in the
middle, Biff's son/Griff's father. He musta hated manure.
Maybe it's a woman. Biff had a daughter, and for some reason, she and her
husband decided to name their son after the maternal line. Families,
am I right? Probably not, for some reason. Anyway, so I did end up
seeing a doctor about my toe, I had an infection, but it's all good now.
And, it's appropriate it was this time of year, because that's exactly which one
I would have used for my mistletoe. Get it, missile toe?
Someone's getting toe banged. Maybe that's how I got the infection.
Got herpes from when I missile toed someone. What's a missile toad.
Probably something, one would imagine. These days, what isn't
something? Clocktopus. What? A combination clock and
octopus. That isn't something. Well, you got me there. I
got me there. That's my catchphrase I say after completing masturbate.
Then I take the belt off from my neck and put it back around my pants.
Anyway, what's good. Not this entry.
You cocksucker. Just speakin' my truth. I'm not really
sure what that's a reference to. "My truth." Is that an alcoholic
anonymous thing? Something like that. I want to set up a liquor shop
where we remove all the labels from the liquor, and call it, Alcohol
Anonymous. I'd need a liquor license, though. And
probably explicit permission from all the brands to take their labels off.
They'd probably have a problem with the whole idea, though. What
assholes. You know that song, It's my party, I can cry if I want
to? I do. I don't know why, but I do. Also, why does this
party-haver have to cry? And why does she think it's something people will
be able to relate to? You know, there should be a song for all
those times where you're having a party, and want to cry, but other people don't
want you to cry... That person should have self destructed as soon as
their line of reasoning was over. That's how the human body works,
right? Say something stupid... explode. Then they gotta put you
back together again with almost 99% new parts, but your soul was in the original
mix, and then you get a new body. Then you track down your good friend
Andy to military school, and start wreaking havoc. My main memory of
watching Child's Play III was in my dorm room, fall semester sophomore year, and
thinking about a girl I liked, and thinking, "I am sad." I
don't remember exactly how I used to follow a line of thought before I got ill,
it's been so long. But, for that memory, I remember I more or less
was just watching T.V., laying in bed for, I don't know, a few hours, slowly
making out the thought, "I... Am... Sad." Too bad I wasn't
having a party, I could have cried. The song gave me permission to.
Not explicitly me, but it insinuates that it's okay for everybody to do it, if
the song-singer can do it.
Just speaking my truth. What. Don't act
like you're never sad. You're probably sad right now. It's okay to
be sad. Just not at my party. Get sad at your
own damn party. I cry just a little when I think of letting go.
That's how I feel. Tomorrow is the last official class of the fall
semester. I did it! Took a class. Put it on it's ass.
And had some class about it, you feel me? That's right, I'm
master-rhymer. I'm being facetious, to speak my truth. Facebook tie
us all. That sentence makes sense if you're able to follow an idiot.
I am. I've been following one for just about 26 years now. I had
this memory, recently, of being in fifth grade, and listening to the teacher
talk, and people raise their hands and participate, and the only thing going in
my mind was, "What can I say to make this funny?" And, not in a negative
way. It's not like I wasn't really paying attention, and trying to
interrupt things. It's the exact opposite. I was just so in the
moment, I was absorbing everything, but the ultimate goal was say some snarky
thing as quick as possible to make people laugh. And thinking about that
makes me realize how far away from that I am now. I still want
to be funny. I still try to be funny. But my aptitude
at funniness has been severely reduced. Thanks a lot, Congress.
Man, if I was in Congress when I was in fifth grade, I'd be having a ball.
Everyone would love me. John Boehner? More like John B...
Boring... Boing... Bertrum Davis... I don't know. This ain't fifth
grade anymore. I don't even know what Bertrum Davis means.
It's probably a couple of letters off from being something. Bertrum
backwards is Murterb. That's when you murder someone who perturbs you.
Just speaking my truth, baby. Alright.
Thanks, Scotty Nguyen. Let's make some comedy. Paragraph Two was
Birthday Song. Paragraph Three was Used To Be Funny. Let's make
paragraph four something worth reading. Also, what the Hell
happened to party-crier? "You would cry too, if it happened to
you." I can't tell you, darlin', unless you tell me what happened.
What happened? Did he hit you? You and your
damn blackjack addiction... Maybe she was just choppin' onions.
And then her husband came in and starting hitting her. Who knows.
This guy sounds like a real butthole, though. I think she could do better.
Anyway. Birthday! I did it! Double Bar Mitzvah. That
makes me twice the man those youngins are. Well, twice the
size, if you divide by three, at least. I'm glad I know math.
Exponents, multipliers... the whole thing. What's going on. I seem
to have hit a wall. You can't tell, but I just spent five or ten minutes
staring off into space. After "the whole thing." But
now, I'm back. With a vengeance. With an avenger. Here's
the Hulk! Waka-waka-waka. You wouldn't like me when I'm
angry. Easy, guy, I don't like you when you're not
angry. What. What, you gonna cry now? This ain't your party.
Wuh-oh, you're turning green. Time to run away! This skit was
brought to you by Pizza Hut. Pizza Hut-- When A Hovel Just Isn't Good
Enough. That's how I feel about things. Pizza Hut-- When
You Want To Eat Shit. I believe that's their official tagline. I
think that's one of their new crust flavors.
Truth! Mine! That's a fine
get-out-of-jail-free card. Pizza Hut-- The Perfect Meal For When You
Get Out Of Jail Free. You know how, all those times in real life, when
you're in jail, and you hit double fives, and land on free parking?
Wonderful. Do not pass Go. Do not collect two hundred dollars.
Can I collect three hundred dollars? They don't say
explicitly, I don't know. Anyway. I haven't done the treadmill in a
few days. It's great. I might start not exercising at all, it feels
wonderful. Don't even need to get dressed. But still, I do.
What am I, a slob? Hardly. The bols on that guy. Bertrum
Davis! I think he or she might be akin to Clay Davis, from The Wire.
Or Ike Davis, from The Baseballs. Or Frank Davis. There's
probably a Frank Davis out there. Anything's possible. What else is
going on. I used to know a guy named Frankie Davi. That's pretty
close. Pretty, pretty close. He's the guy who didn't
appreciate my bench-shitting antics in the class trip to the park. Loyal
readers may understand that reference. Bench-sitting. Oh,
what wonderful webs we weave. Not sure if that applies here.
Probably doesn't! That's how I feel. Does beer come in orange soda
flavor? Probably not. When I was new to alcohol, besides beer, the
main drink we drank was screwdrivers, that is, vodka and orange juice. And
the one kid who was their roommate always got mad that we drank his orange
juice. Oh, how he would complain! And we would laugh, and laugh.
Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor after beer, in the clear.
That's how that probably goes.
When I first drank beer for the first time, I was like,
so this means I can never drink liquor? They're not specific on
the rules. I was a dick when I first started drinking. I was still
insecure enough to get it goin' on, conversationwise, with girls, but when I
would see a friend chatting with a girl, then I was like, oh, so it's
on, so I would hit on the girls my friend was trying to hit on! What a
freaking asshole jerkbag dickweed nogoodnik didisaysasshole moron stupidface
jerkball. Moron asshole dickface. Jerkassic Park, if you will.
Also, that probably happened like once or twice, but it sticks in my mind as a
severe blight against my character. Blight is a word that I know.
Don't mean to brag. Anyway. I think that's where Bud Light got
it's name. Thud. Thud is sort of the sound you hear when a
joke dies. One would imagine. Let the bodies hit the floor, it's
like I'm sayin'. Anyway, another complete conquest of Facebook, through my
birthday wishes. I got three! And only all of them were people related to me. Tons. Of. Friends. What kind of self
deluded idiot gets that kind of message on Facebook, and goes around and writes
an entry as if a significant number of people are reading? Hey, didn't
you get the message? What happens on the internet stays on the
internet. People could be reading this five, ten years down the line.
Gotta put out the product now, so when the demands there, I can keep up with it.
That's how that goes. So that's what he was like before I met
him. I love Michael! Mike, Mike, Mike! C'mon, let's get a
chant going! Thanks, future admirer. Yeesh. I don't get
secret admirers. Who admires secrets that much? Haven't
they heard it's just, positive thinking, or some shit? Call back to a
self-help book from eight years ago! See, if I had written that then, I
wouldn't have to write it now.
Last paragraph time. Let's last paragraph it up in
here! There's only seven people enrolled in my screenwriting class.
Hopefully it doesn't get dissolved. Someone needs to write World's
Greatest Grandpa, and that someone is Me. Bad Grandpa sort of stole
some of it's thunder, though. Maybe I can come up with a new title.
Let The Bodies Hit the Floor. It's all about Bodie, from The
Wire. He's a good character. Everyone loves them some Bodie.
Hmm. What's a good title. New Monkees is played out.
World's Greatest Grandpa has been cancelled out by Bad Grandpa. The
Cartoonist is shit, and I also once saw a trailer for a movie called The
Cartoonist before a film, and they never released it, but it still happened.
Homeless Wife? More like Homeless Who Cares. Movie Time.
The theater I go to is called Movie World. Maybe I can write a movie
called Movie World, and it's loosely based on the shenanigans that go on in that
theater. The main shenanigan is they see this guy come, maybe twenty
times a year, sometimes with a haircut, sometimes wearing glasses, sometimes
fat, and he sees all these movies, right. And what's he up to?
That's a zero. There's a good idea out there for a movie, and I'm gonna
think of it. I'll think on it, for now. Also, I was hoping I'd get a
chance to use the phrase, "Think on it." And I did. Mission
Real last paragraph time. For real this time.
Hmm. I'm trying to think on it, but to no avail. What else can be
said to close it up. I'm 26 now, this ain't no joke. Gotta start
taking things seriously. Like, writing a movie. What do people want
from their movies? Happiness. Sure, but in what context? They
want something they can relate to. Okay, go on. They want to see
their life up on that screen. How so? They want something they
can relate to, that's all. Well, you got your World's Greatest
Grandpa. You got your Homeless Wife. Yeah, but thems be
played out. What's wrong with Homeless Wife? I don't know that
much about women. Fair, fair. What if we made it
Homeless Girlfriend? That'll work, you think you can do that?
I've never had a girlfriend. Good, man, that's good!
Use your cluelessness to your advantage. That was a movie, yo.
O... ... Oh no, he's turning green! Brought to you by Pizza Hut--
The Official Pizza Of Double Bar Mitzvahs. Alright, anyway. Homeless
Girlfriend. There's no reason I can't do it. Except if I can't.
Then the reason I can't do it is if I can't do it. It's also reminiscent
of Arrested Development's Homeless Dad. I just want my kids back!
Love it. Except for how it screws my movie. Hate it.
My brother once conceived of a movie called, "The Undergrounders," when we
were kids. I could write a movie called The Undergrounders, no problem.
Maybe I'll give him a call, we can compare notes. Either way, see ya
December 9, 2014
My Own Worst Title
Jello. I mean, hello. It's your
friend whose me. Unfortunately, this entry will be written without the aid
of the drink. Unfortunately for me. And, maybe for you, assuming
this entry is gonna be a two instead of a three. Maybe it'll be a four.
Maybe it'll be whipped cream. Sounds like somebody's got a case of the,
"Maybes." Yeesh. This is what I sound like sober? Now I need
to write a good entry just to prove to myself I can still follow a narrative in
my mind without drugging myself to ease my pain. My deep dark psychic
pain. Not like the pain a psychic has, just your regular brain pain.
Psychics never have brain pain, they know to just take two Advil when they get
up in the morning, ahead of time, and skip all the pain. How are psychics
not just supremely bored all the time. I knew this episode of Spongebob
would be on. Gotta watch it anyway, what else is there to do.
It's raining hard today. Some might even call it a storm. I'm no
meteorologist. I'm a weatherman. Good for you, I'm a
regular man. More or less. I wonder, if it's clear outside, and the
weatherman is up in the news show, he thinks to himself, "It's my time to
shine!" Then talks about the sun shining. That's almost a joke.
Not even almost. That's got some parts which could potentially be
misconstrued as leading to a joke. I'm twenty six, get off my back.
Maybe that's what I should take away from turning 26, how I should learn to
define what that age is going to mean to me.
I'm 26, Leave Me Alone.
Happy birthday, Mike. Yeah, whatever. How have you been,
Michael? Who cares. Did you do your reading assignment?
Probably not. I'm 26, get off my back.
I'm a man with a plan. Panama. I like how
when they were hyping the Panama canal, they thought using a palindrome would
really excite the public. Yeah, we've connected the Atlantic and
Pacific oceans, who cares. A Man, a Plan, a Canal, Panama.
WHAT? THE PHRASE IS THE SAME BACKWARDS AND FORWARDS?! HOLY SHIT.
Four more years! Four more years! When I run for office, I'm
gonna campaign on a platform of, "So Many Dynamos!" That'll pique the
public's enthusiasm and imagination. That's how I feel. I thought
about saying, "Too many dynamos," but you probably would have thought I made the
mistake in earnest. Rather than as an Ernest. Anyway, what else is
going on. I don't like using an umbrella. I feel like the guy in The
Exorcist. I forget his name. Oh, yeah. The exorcist. The
Exorcist is like Frankenstein, in that, when you say The Exorcist, you think of
the girl. She's the exorcistee. How Frankenstein is really
Frankenstein's monster. I don't know, maybe Frankenstein considers the
monster his son, and gave him the family name. It's possible, I wouldn't
rule it out. And how Armageddon isn't Bruce Willis, it's the asteroid.
Dunno what I was trying to accomplish with that sentence. Anyway.
I can't do my two daily walks in the rain. What am I, impervious to the
rain? Hardly. I gotta write a paper by Saturday. Then, another
one, by the Saturday after. I don't need this, I'm 26.
Yeah. Yeah! Yeah.
Yeah. I'll deal with it when I'm 27.
Twenty Six is an off year. What else is going on. Maybe I should go
to meteorology school. And learn about Armageddon and Deep Impact.
That's a child's joke. I'm 26, nothing matters anymore. In a
good way! Not like, nothing matters, time to end life.
Like, nothing matters, hey, what else is... not mattering. I would
ace the final exams at meteorology school. Meteor is when it's
still in space, when it enters the Earth's orbit, it's a meteorite.
100%. Time to plan the graduation party. What happens at a
meteorology school graduation party stays at a meteorology school graduation
party. That's how I feel about things. I'd like to teach a class at
meteorology school. Show a slide of the sun. Thumbs up.
C'mon, everyone put your thumbs up. Show a slide of a cloud
raining. Thumbs down.
C'mon guys, thumbs down. Gotta teach people what weather is good and
what weather is bad, I assume that's the gist of what goes on. Cloudy with
no rain. Alright, this is a tough one guys. Raise of
hands, who thinks this is good? It's a real brainbuster. I like
that Twilight Zone episode where the whole time, they're worried about the Sun
getting closer to the Earth, and it's too hot. Then it turns out it was
all just a dream, and the Sun is actually moving away from the Earth, and it's
too cold. Really makes you think, huh. Almost a little too much.
I don't wanna think about things, I'm 26. In my whole life, one
constant has always been that I don't want to think about things. Thinking
is hard. I wouldn't wish thinking on my worst enemies.
A Child's Joke. Ugh. My favorite part of any of
the Chucky movies is in Child's Play III, because Chucky is starting to respect
Andy a little more, cause he's older. They have more in common now and
they can relate to each other a little better. I like to see that kind of
growth in long term relationships. Really warms the heart. Anyway,
what else. One of my favorite jokes from old crazysheet was, "Wouldn't it
be funny if you were buried alive? Well, not to you, but to your enemies."
That's a solid B joke, on any scale. I like how, according to Poe and
other horror writers, being buried alive is like the scariest thing imaginable.
It's not really. I'd rather be buried alive than buried dead. At
least you got a slim chance of gettin' out of there. That seems pretty
common sense to me, at least. Oh, and, The Raven? It's
a bird! Birds aren't scary. Just like The Birds. You
serious about this shit? Oh, wow, you're outside and there's a bunch
of birds around. Unless they're pigeons, who cares. Pigeons, now,
they're the rats of the sky. Carrying God knows what diseases. Stay
away from pigeons. Any animal that piggy backs on the name of another,
unrelated animal, can't be trusted. And the animal they're piggy backin'
on are pigs themselves! Have they no shame. Probably not.
Their inferior minds can't process human concepts such as shame.
Anyway, last paragraph time. We did it! Almost.
Maybe, from now on, instead of wasting my drunkenness on the entry, I can save
it for when the entry is done. And waste it on watching Spongebob
afterwards. I don't watch Spongebob. C'mon now, I'm 26.
Gotta watch iCarly. Finally, something for my generation.
Maybe watch some Big Time Rush, and other shows like that, for inspiration.
The New Monkees isn't gonna write itself. A couple of weeks ago, when
I told you I wrote a couple of song titles for The New Monkees, I actually also
wrote pretty much a sequence of plot points which provide a pretty good outline
of what could happen in the movie. Then I left my notebook in class.
At least, it's not in my book bag or anywhere in the room. So, someone
must have found it, and seen my notes. No one's come forward,
unfortunately. Or, fortunately. Hopefully the janitor threw that
shit out without looking at it. When I first noticed it was missing, I
panicked, thinking someone was gonna read that crap, and have it lead back to
me. Now, I realize, Who the fuck cares, I'm 26.
See ya later.
December 8, 2014
Row, Row, Row Your Title
Gently down the title. Life is but a title,
its like I'm sayin'. Good Monday to you. I got the week off. I
have every week off. Until winter session. Then, I'm classing it up five
days a week! For three weeks. Then, I'm classing it up twice a week!
This is interesting because I might suffer brain damage in the next two weeks,
and will need to refer to this entry for important life facts about me.
Class five days a week, but he doesn't say where. I'm no use to
myself. I like how they derogatorily say humans use only ten percent of
their brain. So what, I don't even use 2% of my bones. My toes?
Zero. Totally useless. I think I might have a staph infection in one
toe, like I had in my thumb about a year ago. And it's the thumb toe, on
the same side as the thumb I had the staph infection in. What are the
odds. One in ten, if I was a betting man. I'll give you twenty to
one odds, though, just because I'm a compulsive gambler and really want to throw
some money around. What good are toes. I mean, it keeps the feet
symmetrical with the hands, in an abstract sense. But, really, who needs 'em.
Also, finger and toe nails. We evolved nails so we can scratch
things, obviously. Don't obviously me, jerk. You're the obvious.
If nails aren't evidence of God's creation, I don't know what is. God's
like, I just thought they'd look nice. No other explanation.
Why else would so many people compulsively bite their nails. People don't
consciously destroy any other part of their body. Nails are just
there to give people somethin' to bite.
I guess. What else is going on. I'm writing an
entry. That's fun. I'm pretty sure I've ranted about the uselessness
of ears in the past. They're so delicately designed, and for what?
Amplifying sound? Maybe. I don't know, I'm not on trial here.
I like how Picasso cut off his ear to prove his love for some lady. That
lady was probably like, Yeah, umm, that's kind of weird. You
don't wanna deal with that kind of behavior, who would. Then Picasso can
stitch it back on, and go, well, I tried. Get back to
painting some nonsense. I bet Picasso's mates made fun of him all the
time for that ear situation. Then he'd cut off his other ear to
symbolize asking for mercy from the relentless mocking from his friends.
Then the medical community, who he's turned to now twice to amputate
extremities, gets a wind of it, and pretty soon he's gotta chop off something
else. It never ends, once you've started. He opened Pandora's box on
that one. Why didn't he just paint the girl a picture. I mean,
that's what he's good at. Just print, "You+Me=<3", sign your name,
send it to her through the post office, she'll get the message. Little
does she know that you mean to say that, "You+Me" actually equals "Less Than an
Ear." A 3 kinda looks like an ear. Or a sideways butt.
Anyway. I like how there are ear, nose, and throat
doctors. What's next, a nipple, bellybutton, and taint doctor? I
don't know. Probably. What else is going on. This entry is
going great. What else is going on, though, to talk about for two and a
hizzalf paragraphs. I don't know yet, I haven't written it yet. Once
I've written it, though, I'll know for sure what there is to talk about.
Because it will exist already. How do we get to that point, though, is the
question. Turning 26 on Friday. Shit, that's my upper twenties.
FUCK. In my mind, up until now, I was like, eh, I'm in my
mid-twenties, no big deal. It's just a little bit above low twenties.
But 26 is in the second half of the twenties! That's upper! I'm
living at home, with no friends, going to college part time. And I'm in
the upper of the twenties. That ain't right. Some of my old
friends are married. Next they'll be having kids. And I'm here,
dicking around, what's the deal with toes. That ain't right
one bit. Anyway, who cares. At least I'm not 27. I got a whole
year before I reach my prime. 27 is the prime year for baseball players,
so I got a whole year to fuck around, then, then, I really need to kick
it into overdrive. Also, 27 is only the prime year over all. 29-31
is the prime year for power. So, I don't need to be hittin no homeruns for
another few years. It's all gonna work itself out. In one notebook I
have from 2008, where I would write weird crap while I was high, I wrote
something like, "The impending oil shortage/environmental crisis is like the
steroid era in baseball. When the oil's gone, there will be less homeruns,
but the hits will keep on coming." And every time I go through that
notebook, I just gotta smirk, like, "What the Hell was I smoking?"
Marijuana. I was smoking marijuana. And sometimes salvia. I
imagine Salvia saying to it's prospective users, "I'll solve ya' problems!"
Because I like puns and personification. They make me happy.
Salvia is a totally useless drug. It lasts like twenty
seconds and isn't particularly pleasurable or anything. It's just like,
woah, this is weird, for literally fifteen seconds, and then you
forget about it. I remember, when I bought salvia from a Chinese shop on
St. Marks, he went out of his way to say, "Don't smoke this in the streets,
because you'll get disoriented and get run over," or something. So I was
like, okay, sounds reasonable. And then what did I do? Smoked it on
the street. Because I'm an idiot. You know who smokes salvia?
People who have no connections. Now I remember. Can't score any
weed, gotta smoke something, go to the salvia store. Anyway. How
long have I been talking about salvia. Maybe spike some weed with a little
salvia, fine. Smoking straight salvia? No point. No point!
Anyway, we're now into the fourth paragraph. I love it when that happens!
There'll be less homeruns, because you can't drive around, gotta use bikes.
More singles. It'll slow down everything, but not necessarily in a
devastating way. Makes sense. Anyway. I also wrote down
dialogue for, "Homeless Wife." "I don't know how you do it, man."
"Do what?" Have a homeless wife. It's all coming together.
Anyway. That's a surefire way to write something. Write about
something you've already written. No fuss. Anyway. It's
Monday, still, right? Good. I don't want it to be
Tuesday. How do you like them apples. I was thinking about bringing
an apple to my teacher on the first day of class. That's... funny?
Nope. Nope. Not at all. Not even a joke. It's nothing.
It. Is. Nothing.
The good news is, it's the last paragraph. Picasso
should have just given his love an apple. I cut off this apple for you.
This apple wasn't attached to you, was it? ...No.
Oh well. That's how that goes. Twenty six. Rounds up to
thirty! Twenty five rounds up to thirty, too, I guess. In the
abstract. What else be happening. It's Monday. We've covered
that. It's the afternoon. That much was implied. It's the
fifth paragraph. Yes, indeed. Now that you've got the logistics,
what else is there? I've shared all the pertinent information. Even
if we did nails, just do it on the thumbs, or something. We don't need
twenty of these suckers. Don't need crazysheet entries, neither, but we
got those, don't we? Oh, boy, do we. Yes, indeed. I'm the only
one, out of seven billion people, who writes crazysheet. That's kind of
nonsense. You'd think at least a hundred or two others would be up to this
kinda nonsense. I bet there's scores of other people, with blogs just like
this, in style and substance, ranting and raving to nobody. There's gotta
be. We should form a group. A union. If only we could find
each other. Anyway, see ya later.
December 6, 2014
What Words You Be Sayin?
Hi friends. It's your friend, me. Mr.
Friendly McFriender the second. I don't wanna go by Junior, that's
why. Man, that guy gets testy right off the bat, for no good
reason. That guy is me. Under a fake moniker. It's symbolic.
Symbolizes I don't know my name. Anyway, hello. I had the second to
last class of the semester. You know what that means! Break out the
ticker tape, it's time to use the word, "Penultimate." Celebrate good
times, oh yeah! Whoever came up with the word penultimate really knocked
it out of the park. Right after he thought of it, he must have known,
"Yup, people are gonna like this." That's how I feel, about things, and
stuff. What else is going on. I had been eating like an asshole all
week, after Thanksgiving. Well, sort of. I started eating pretty
much non-stop, all day, but I ate pretty much no actual meals. So, in the
end, about the same amount of calories. Hopefully I can go back to normal
now. Two regular sized meals, one mini-meal, and a snack or two. I
run a tight ship, those be the rules. There's only so many small dinner
rolls and Fiber One cookies the human body can tolerate. The good news is
I had I dream I was skinny, and eating French Toast. It was a double
whammy. I'm confident in my body image, and I'm eatin' some
sweetness! I also died in the dream. That wasn't so great.
And, it was implied, in the rules of the dreamverse, that after death, there's
nothing. So, as I was dying, I was like, "Oh, shit, a couple more seconds
to go, gotta make em c---... ugh..." That's how that goes.
I don't like using the word, "Count," it's too much like a
certain C word that's insensitive. And I don't like to read insenstivity,
so why would I want to propensitate it? Stupidity, on the other hand, is
aces. You're reading stupiditity, all you think is, "I'm smarter than
that guy!" And I like making people feel good about themselves.
It's pretty much what I'm all about, in the end. Although, sometimes when
you read stupidity, you try to make sense of it, and, in failing, you think
you're the one who's stupid. I can't apologize enough for that.
Anyway, what else is going on. It's raining today. That means water
is falling out of the sky, in droplet form. I don't understand why rain
isn't just one big drop every fifteen seconds. Like, a drop that envelopes
the entire neighborhood, then nothing, then another one. Sort of like a
drip from a leaky faucet. I was busy drawing boxes in my notebook the day
we covered that in middle school science. I do remember rainbows, though.
Roy G. Biv. That's really not that great an anagram, when you think about
it. Roy, great. Rookie of the year, we get it. G. Biv?
Totally meaningless. I mean, there are some good anagrams out there, if we
just took the time to look for them. Roy G Biv is just a clunker.
Hey, my name is Roy G. Biv. So
sorry to offend you, Mr. Biv! Oh, and Indigo? Violet?
Those ain't main colors. You can't fool me. I'm not buying it!
VROY GBI would be better. It's like the viceroy of GBI. Makes sense
to me. And GBI is like IBM. Anyway, yeah. Haha, IBM.
It's funny because it's fecal humor. Who doesn't, am I right?
That's an alternate tag to that joke. I started watching The Human
Centipede, and twenty minutes through, when they start to get to the horror
scenes, I was just like, "Nope!" Turned that shit off. I mean, I can
tolerate a lot of crap, but there's no reason to watch that. Ever.
It is an astute commentary on the bureaucracy of corporate America, sure.
And Two girls, One Cup is about the welfare system. Bangbus is about
public transportation. I took a bus today! Yeah! I was sitting
down on the bus, just the other moment, and there was a leak, and water was
leaking onto me. So, I had to go sit in the aisle seat, instead of the
window seat, like a fool. What kind of asshole sits in the aisle instead
of the window when both are available? I mean, when there's not a leak.
Who are these people? When you're on a bus, basically, the goal is to sit
in as isolated seat as possible. Stay away from the middle. That's
just common sense. Sittin' in the aisle seat? Made me look like an
amateur. And that's respect from bus-riders that I'll never get
back. I don't think I ever took a bus until I was in college. I
started taking the subway in high school, but no bus. In college, I
started taking the bus to and from the 7 Train. I remember I once was
coming home from NYU, in the days of my sickness, and was paranoid I was being
followed, so I walked all the way home from Flushing, rather than take the bus.
Looking back, I'm kinda surprised I figured out my way home. I'm really
not that good at directions. Maybe the adrenaline from having my life in
danger fueled my adaptively. My main memory is walking by Utopia Parkway,
and thinking, "There's a Fountains of Wayne song called this." Sorta a
bright spot in a gloomy day.
I don't know why, if people were following me, why they
couldn't follow me on foot. They probably hate walking as much as the next
guy. The good memories of taking the 7 Train, though, were going to work,
still half-high, and listening to the Modest Mouse live album and Arcade Fire's
Neon Bible. I was doing the math recently, and while it seemed like I was
at my job for like two years, I think it was actually like half a year.
Maybe a year. But, oh, the memories that were made. Doing the mail.
Flirting with the female student interns. That's probably what did me in.
I mean, they said it was just general conversation and tomfoolery, but my hunch
is that I was making people uncomfortable. Which is so unlike me, before
that time, and after. But that was right in the sweet spot of me open to
flirting with girls without proper standing. And, I don't know.
Flirting? Just talking to them. Friendidly. And maybe some
pointing to my dick and mouthing, "Suck It!" But certainly no further than
that. Look, I did the mail, what more do you want? Good luck
finding another guy who can figure out how to take pages from one box and put
them into another box. And putting flyers into a Fed Ex box.
That was my true calling! And I pissed it away. Doin' some data
entry on Excel. I was truly competent. Now my job is just going
to all my doctors appointments. It pays the bills. Pretty much.
I get a nice check from Social Security every month, for being mentally ill,
don't mean to brag. Yes I do. I'm a money making machine!
And all I got to do is be mentally disabled from being able to have a real job.
Money In The Bank! Thanks, Obama. Really, thanks!
You're a big help. That's how I feel about things. I'm pretty sure
my new neighbors smoke pot. I smell it all the time. Thanks,
Obama. It's not his fault, why would I say that. I'm just
holding out for the time they ring the bell, and ask, Does anyone here get
high? Then I'm in like Gunga Din.
Last paragraph time. I sure wrote four paragraphs
already. I'm the man! One would imagine. Back in my day, the
main gross-out porn was The Giver and The Receiver. That's right, I'm
talking Goatse. Now, it seems they turned The Giver into a movie. I
never saw it. And I believe they based The Receiver on an
Air Bud sequel. I never saw it. One would imagine. What else
is going on. I wrote an entry today. That'll happen from time to
time. I hope stuff happens after you die. It's like, you remember
the penultimate moment of your life, and then, you're like, oh shit, so
this is going on now. It could happen. That's what you gotta
be hoping for, at least. No one lives forever, unless you're Oasis.
That's how I feel. See ya.
December 1, 2014
Oh Yeah, I Remember That Title
Helllo and welcome! To another grand,
wonderous, beautiful, outstanding, amazing, gorgeous, wonderful, astounding,
wonderful month of crazysheet. First decree of the month-- change the
spelling of, "Wondrous!" Except for in that instance. We need the
original spelling there-- for clarity! Second degree-- check out these
new colors! Ain't that grand. Anyway, what else is going on.
It was just Thanksgiving. Why didn't I wait to see Birdman for
Thanksgiving. Because my life does not always synchronize with the
outside world 100% befittingly, that's why. Pretty sure birdman was
about Sesame Street. They got a six foot bird guy on there, don't
they? Larry bird. Anyway, what else is going on. It was just
Thanksgiving. Remember, from before? I hope you all enjoyed
yourself. I know I enjoyed myself. There was food, family, and fun.
The three F's. I aspire to fortune, fame, and Fuddruckers. The other
three F's. Ferguson, Ferguson, Ferguson. Those are the three F's of
quality late night talk show. That's how that goes. Anyway, what's
the good word. I was thinking about doing a music open mic tonight-- but
didn't! On account of having to stay up way past my bedtime.
Eight O' Clock? What am I, Nevergoestosleep Man? No. I'm
Alwaysgoestosleep Man. It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.
Dreams are precious. And I'm made of nothin' but dreams!
That makes me the most valuable man in the world. Suck It, Chaucer!
He's not really in the world, anymore. I mean, his mostly-decomposed
corpse is, probably, unless they shot it into space. Which they may have.
NASA is mostly known for doing egregious things like that, that's their rap.
National Institution of Samoan Actors. Anyway.
Sushi Aficionados. Sumerian Artifacts. Salmon
Accidents. What else is going on. I did see the Hunger Games the day
or two after Thanksgiving. That's sort of related. Eating, hunger.
Games. Giving. I saw a commercial for The Giver on T.V. That's
a common word. Now my life has direction and purpose. Because I know
now last week was all about Giving. This week? All about... what?
I don't know yet. My guess? Mondayitude. So far, this workweek
has been nothin' but Monday! No reason to expect that to let up any time
soon. Anyway, I suppose it's time to move on. Two more classes of my
Fall semester. Then, that's a fuckin' nine credits knocked out of
the park for the year. And you know what happens when I achieve all the
credits, right? I graduate. And you know what that means, right?
If you do, please tell me. I'm havin' a Hell of a time trying to figure it
out. My guess? Get reincarnated into Kindergarten, and go through it
all again. Nah, I gotta continue moving forward. Forward,
Forward, Forward. It's like location, location, location. The
location of the forward is the beginning of the book. Beginning,
beginning, beginning. Mondayitude. It's all coming together.
I'm an idiot. Seriously, though, what am I gonna do when I graduate.
So many choices. There's get whatever crap job I can...
Something else, one would imagine. I wonder what crap job I'm gonna be
relegated do. Magician's assistant, that's my bet. Celebrity taste
taster. If I'm a, "Celebrity," anything, I'd want to be their astrologer.
That way, I can say I'm an, "Astrologer To The Stars!" And that would look spic
and span on a business card.
Oh man, that would be epic. Why?
Because I misread, "Spic," as, "Epic." That's good, at least it's no
longer offensive to any people. I heard Juan Leguizamo's new one man
show is called, "Spictacular!" I apologize in advance. Well, not
really in advance. Kind of the opposite. I apologize in retrospect.
John Leguizamo was Luigi. Luigi is the best character in Mario Kart.
John Leguizamo is the best character in Mario Kart. Think of the epicness
of that. Luigi really makes a name for himself in the Marioverse.
Hey, I'm like Mario, but I wear a green hat! Totally different
character. I remember I had a friend who called mushrooms, "Marios."
Cause they're into mushrooms, and stuff. They eat a mushroom, and grow
100%. I ate a mushroom, and all it did was destroy my sense of space,
time, and mind. Didn't do any growing, as far as I can remember. I
had another friend, who did mushrooms with us, whose last name was Kong.
Donkey Kong! You'd think taking, "Marios," would be his mortal enemy.
And you'd think... anyway, what else is going on. Let's get off that
crippity crap. I never really thought about his name, before, my friend.
But now that I think about it, that would explain why he was always throwing
barrels at people. Anyway, what else is happening. Mondays, am I
right? It's like, c'mon. Am I right. Anyway. I
love stuffing. I can't get enough of this stuff! It's like bread
times bread equals bread squared. How do I move on to a new topic.
Do I just say, Hey, New Topic Time!? Hey, new topic time. It
was warm outside today. In the middle of the day, I went out, didn't wear
a jacket. Not a winter jacket, not a leather jacket, not even a sweatshirt
jacket. De nada. That's Spanish for I was wearing of
nothing. I speak Spanish now. That's convenient. They
should really call convenience stores convenient stores. They're
not selling convenience, they are convenient. They're
selling knick-knacks and paddy-wacks. Give a dog a bone, Jack. I was
listening to the top 1,043 classic rock songs count down over the Thanksgiving
weekend. But I slept Sunday night, as they were at the very top.
However, I had a dream I was singing Stairway To Heaven in a bath, right around
when they woulda been playing it at number one, so I guess the jokes on them.
Number One Dreama around. Then I dreamt the sun was a green pepper.
So, I guess the jokes on the solar system.
I shouldn't be sharing my valuable dream-piphanies with
strangers. I need to keep Stairway and Green Peppers to myself. Once
I start puttin' them together, I'm gonna have quite the... anyway. Monday.
When I woke up from that dream, I was like, Oh, now I get it. Sun is
green pepper. Makes sense. Next! I gotta stop using the
exercise room at the same time as my Dad. I like using the elliptical only
half the time now, and half treadmill. And he be usin' up that treadmill,
boy! I could always push him off the machine and say, move over, sucka,
but, I don't know, I kinda like the guy. My movie theater has a T.V. in
the lobby, and it's always showing day time talk shows. This infuriates
me. When I go to see a movie, I want to imagine I'm in a totally different
world. Being reminded there's regular T.V. takes me out of the experience
of seeing the movie. You just lost yourself a customer.
Theoretically. If I had any scruples, that is. Also, what's
Scruples. Is that like Monday. Anyway. I remember, one
band name that a girl once recommended to me, was, "Reverberation." How
did I get to that thought? I'll walk you through it. FIRST: I
thought of saying, "One Would Imagine." SECOND: I thought of John
Lennon's, "Imagine." THIRD: I thought of the shirt I made for myself that
says, "All You Need Is Love." FOURTH: I thought of a time I was wearing
that shirt. FIFTH: I thought of the time I was wearing that shirt and
talking to this girl. SIXTH: I thought of the quotation in question.
So, I guess that's how that goes. If I was making that shirt now, I'd
probably make it say, "All You Need Is Shirt." Or something irreverent
like that. I'm a wild and quirky guy! That's my modern take on,
"Wild 'n Crazy" guy. My mom is always telling me, "Oh, Saturday Night Live
was so great in my day!" but I'm 70% sure she's a lying bastard. Like, I'm
not saying I wouldn't have liked it at the time, or whether it holds up now or
not, I'm just saying, she probably just latches onto it because she feels
culturally she's expected to. You know, Steve Martin, and the guy who
died. Steve Martin was never a cast member. And if you can't
name the other guy, you probably didn't like him that much. I don't
know if my Mom is always telling me that. She says it once every
few months. That's still pretty common.
Anyway, it's time for a new paragraph. My main
association with Saturday Night Live is that I was once watching it while high,
and when it was over, I was checking the guide, and there was some infomercial
about Red Bull or something. So now, I always think of Red Bull when I
think about Saturday Night Live. It's weird the things that get imprinted
onto our minds. I don't think Red Bull had infomercials. In
my confused state, I interpreted that there was an infomercial about Red Bull,,
that's all I know. Oh, also around the same time, in fact, possibly at
exactly the same time, after watching Saturday Night Live, I watched twenty
minutes of The Flintstones Movie on an On Demand Channel. So, those two
things. I'm gonna be tellin' that to my kids in forty years. Oh
man, I used to love Saturday Night Live. You know, you watch some Saturday
Night Live on Red Bull, after the Flintstones, oooh boy. Because I'm
an idiot. A brain dead idiot. Moron, some might say. Oasis.
Anyway, Monday, what's up. I wonder if Weezer's, "Say It Ain't So," ever
got into a fight with Oasis's, "Some Might Say." With Elliott Smith's,
"Say Yes," getting in on the action. And The Beatles, "She Said, She
Said," watching from the sidelines. Probably. I was just
watching Oz on HBO On Demand. There's a character nameded Said.
That's how that goes. Anyway.
Last paragraph time. This was a hoot. Hey,
it's a different background and font color! Wanna hear some inside
knowledge? I was even thinking about changing the font. I
know, I know. Keep it under your hat. I've never worn a
sombrero. Seems like something worth giving a shot, one day. My main
association with sombrero is a Simpsons episode where Homer is wearing a
sombrero made out of nacho, and eating it. I believe the main story of the
episode was him being friends with Flanders, but there's a good 30-40% chance
I'm wrong. Definitely something to do with Flanders, though. Oh,
when I was a kid, the Simpsons were all about hats made out of food, not like
the shit they do now... When
I listen to Tenacious D, I always think about walking home from getting a beer
on December 1st, 2014... Cause that's what I just did.
Anyway. Time to close it up. One more
paragraph, though. One would imagine. Ahh, the white hurts my
eyes. My precious, precious eyes! Anyway. This sure was an
entry. I'm fairly certain of that. How will it end, though?
Probably with words. Yep. One would imagine I would close it up with
some comedy. Ayyyyy. Wait, I'm not Fonzie. There was a good
half a second where I thought I was The Fonz. Not really. But
you could imagine what it'd be like if I did, right? Yeah. Anyway,
I've tortured you long enough. See ya later.