Discussion Question For Tonight

Sometimes I get these thoughts in my head and they bounce around with no one to tell them too. So, I thought tonight, I'd put this one here.

My thought tonight was simply this: "If you could wish for anything you wanted and would have it instantly, but each wish would take a year or two (or five) off of your life, would you do it? And what would you wish for?"

Personally, I think I would wish for financial security for my family and friends, and me last. Then I would wish for my own private island. I think those would be worth shaving off a few years on this crummy planet. I'd be able to hole myself away from most of the world but my family and friends would still have money to visit when they wanted too. Can you imagine playing Sardines with a large group of people on a jungle island? (If you haven't ever played Sardines, then I pity your poor childhood).

Speaking of jungle islands, this is where I make an empty promise to post up another CYOF piece, isn't it? Well, I will get to it tomorrow. I've watched up all my Netflix movies already...

Michael Bolton Still Sucks

Check this video out:


Just thought I'd throw these up tonight since more people need to hear this stuff. Especially this video:



My views on life are pretty close to Hicks. What do you guys think? Is it all just a ride or do we really need to break our backs day in and day out so we can afford a lot of junk that we can't take with us when the ride stops moving? What are the things that really matter?

Kiddie TV Show

"Hello Kiddies and welcome back to channel 666's Children's afternoon matinée with me, your old pal Uncle Bob!"

(Uncle Bob is a shabbily dressed middle aged man with dimestore ghoul makeup poorly applied to his face. He sits at what looks like two card tables put together, covered with a black cloth. You have the sneaking suspicion that he's not wearing pants. The set looks like it's someone's basement.)

(Uncle Bob belches loudly and laughs) "If you're just joining us the movie you missed was Cannibal Ferox. Oh boy was that a corker! (He slams his hand on the table) Those Italians sure could make a great movie, I tell ya! What'd you think of it Pooty?"

(The camera swerves to the left side of the basement and we see another middle aged man wearing a filthy sweat stained clown costume, holding a bottle of Thunderbird. He takes a swig of it and coughs before looking blearly across the room)
"It was fucking awful." (He takes another swig and the camera switches back to Uncle Bob.)

"Oh, you're just mad because you caught your wife with your dog."

(Some undecipherable yelling comes from off camera, followed by more loud coughing)

"Well kids, it seems like Pooty the Clown isn't feeling well today but I'm as chipper as a fucking fiddle, ha HA! (Slams the table again) Before we get to the next movie lets read some fan mail! Ha ha ha ha HA!"
(He pulls a box out from under the table and digs out a letter)
(Reads) "Dear sick-fuck. I caught my little Andy watching The Driller Killer last week and after I smacked him good upside the head and chained him back up in his basement cage, I watched the rest of the movie myself. It was awful! How dare you show such junk on TV! To top it all off Andy brought a power drill to school yesterday and took a chunk out of his teacher's spine! It's all your fault! You should be shot! Eat shit and die!
Love,
Mary from Michigan

(Uncle Bob laughs and shoves the letter into his mouth. He chews it up and spits it into his hand, then throws it off camera. We cut to Pooty wiping it off his face.
He puts his head down and sobs.)

Camera switch back to Uncle Bob: "Awww, my mean trick made Pooty sad! (He puts on a thinking expression and then smiles) I know how to make him better! Lets all yell as loud as we can at the TV: 'LIGHTEN THE FUCK UP POOTY!' Remember to yell it as loud as you can! 1-2-3!"
(He pauses for a second with his hand to his ear.)
"I can't hear you! Scream louder!"
"Louder!"
"LOUDER!"
(Suddenly there's an ear-piercing shriek and Uncle Bob gets a worried expression on his face.)
"Uh-oh! You know what that means kids! It's..."
(A raggedy squirrel puppet pops up from under the table. It's missing one eye and we can clearly see a hand inside of it."
Puppet: "That's right fuckers! It's Billy Beaver!"
(He smacks Uncle Bob in the face)
Puppet: "Ha ha ha! You fat cock-knocker!"
(He knocks over the box of letters onto the floor)
"What are ya going to do huh? You can't do anything can you? I can do anything I want! Ha Ha! Hey Poot-stain, how's your wife? Oh thats right...she left you didn't she? Well at least everyone had a go at her before she took off, right Uncle Blob?"
(Pooty runs in from off camera)
"Why you stupid little..."
He starts strangling the puppet, which of course does nothing but make it laugh more.)
(Uncle Bob looks mad) "Pooty, get back to your corner, NOW!"
(Pooty shuffles back off camera. The camera switches and we see him take another swig of T-Bird before it switches back to Uncle Bob)
"And as for you, you poor excuse for a splooge sock, I know how to get rid of you!" (He looks at the camera) "And I think you kids at home do too! Remember to yell as loud as you can! 1-2-3! GO BACK TO HELL FUCKY BEAVER!"
(Bucky spasms around on the table)
"You haven't won yet Bob! I'm not leaving until I'm good and ready!"
"Quick kids, again! 1-2-3!"
(Bucky rolls around on the table and screams in pain)
"Alright, I'll go. But I'll get you back Bob! I'll knock up your daughter and then run out on her! Ha ha ha!"
(Uncle Bob looks sad)
"Too late, her cousin Elmer already did that..."
"Oh well, then...goodbye!"
(He zips back under the table)
"Well kids. It looks like we're running out of time for today, and I bet you're really going to like the next movie!"
Pooty: (From off camera) "Oh god, please let me die!"
Uncle Bob: It's a nice quiet family film called Salo: The 120 Days of Sodom. Sit your Grandma down for it, I'm sure she'll love it too! Ha HA! (Slams table again)
But first, a cartoon by Ricky Garduno called, Lil' Kimbo's First Day at School. Don't miss it or your parents will get eaten by wolves while you sleep tonight!"

And Now For Something Completely Completely Different...

It's Wednesday night and I am very tired, so for now please to enjoy Germans singing song about Russia:



If I owned a TV station I would play this video 24 hours a day till people broke into my office and forced me to take it off at gunpoint.

Yes, I will get writing up tomorrow. I even wrote it on a piece of paper which for some reason I think will force me to not look at stupid youtube videos for the little free time I have to use up. It will be the first thing I do when I get home tomorrow. After food. Peace and happy tidings to you all!

Story- Part One

This is a piece of a story that's going in my book. What do you guys think?

He lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply just once before putting it out in the ashtray on the table. Then the words tumbled out of him like puke from a light-weight drinker with a bad stomach.
"Yeah, I shot her. I'm not going to lie or sugar coat it. I put the gun against her head while she was sleeping and pulled the trigger and if you think I deserve to be punished then by all means, punish me. To tell you the truth I really wouldn't give a rat's ass if one of you fucking pigs came up and slit my throat right now. You could do it you know. Just put my body in a cell and claim it was suicide. But you're too fucking chicken shit to do it. Fucking cops. You think you're all a bunch of big men dontcha? Well fuck you! Fuck all of you!"
He stood up suddenly and belted the nearest officer across the face. The others immediately jumped him and tried to hold him down while he ranted and raved and kicked. For a skinny guy, he could sure take a beating though. With six fat cops on top of him he could almost stand up.
Sgt. Kawalchik sat and watched the fight, not moving from his place at the head of the table. In the dim light of the interrogation room the fat folds on his face cast weird shadows and made him look more than a little creepy, to me anyways. Me, the special guest at this crazy party.
When they had knocked the the life out of him they stood him up. One officer made the mistake of getting too close and the guy spit a wad of blood in his face. The result was quite comical with the fat slob pawing at his own face, trying to keep it out of his eyes. The convicted murder smiled and mumbled something under his breath. The officer, who apparently didn't think the gag was funny, belted him across the face, knocking him out cold. The Sgt. and I watched as he was dragged away, possibly to the hospital, but solitary confinement was a more likely choice.
The Sgt. turned to me with that blank look he always had. He'd make a great poker player, you could never tell what he was thinking.
"So Mitch," He said in that low gravely voice of his, "What do you think?"
I smiled. "I think the pope still shits in the woods."
The Sgt. frowned. "You think this is a fucking joke?"
I leaned back in my chair and crossed my hands behind my head. "Jeez Sarge, relax. He's just some psycho that killed his bitch wife thats all. He fucking admits it himself for crying out loud."
Sarge went back to staring at the grimy wall at the other end of the table. He sighed. "Yeah, but somethin' don't add up. There weren't any fingerprints on that gun for one thing..."
"Why the Hell are you so interested in this anyways? You could have him sent to the chair right now if you wanted too."
"That 'bitch' happened to be my daughter. Now she's dead and something don't add up right." Still no emotion from the guy. He was like a statue. A fat dumpy statue.
It felt like I'd been hit in the stomach with a shovel however. I lit a cigarette and shoved all my snarky comments down in my guts to dissolve in acid.
I was about to say something when the next witness was escorted in, probably saving me a good deal of grief caused by my big mouth...

Yee-haw!

Update: How the Hell did I not see that typo? I must need to get some sleep...

Update Update:
Here's John Candy punching out a drunk clown. Possibly one of the greatest things ever put on film:


Now I'll go to bed...

Say it ain't so Ricky!

Nooooooo!!!!

Is this the end of our (anti) hero?

Updates on Book!

I started writing a new story for it (which is going to need a lot of work, my kingdom for an editor!) and I finished Mean Joe, which is definitely going in there as well as a lot of poems I've posted here in the past. I doubt I'll have enough good stuff to publish, but it seems like lots of people pay good money on Lulu just to publish nine or ten page stories! The Internet is a crazy crazy thing...

I think the title, since it's going to be my work in it now, is going to be something like "Tales and Poems from The Dump." Or "Crap Stories by a Crappy Frustrated Author Who Reeks of Crap." Which one do you think would sell better?

Oh and way off topic...Katie Rice has new prints up! 30 dollars for a set of 4! Must...resist spending...more money...oh heck. I already bought all four....

Incredible Horror Movie Posters!

I probably shouldn't be thinking about cover art for this book since I don't have any other authors on board yet but the sell really is the most important part isn't it? Who wants to buy a book with a plain white cover? I was thinking I wanted something that looked like a poster for an old horror movie and started looking around the web for examples. I found these pages:

Part 1

Part 2

Now thats how you sell a movie! I know for a fact that Kingdom of the Spiders was a lame piece of junk, but look at the poster art! Ditto for Devil Girl from Mars and The Giant Claw.

Alright, this is just a quick post at lunch. Got to get back to work...

Just Some Stuffs...

This was John Peel's favorite song ever and I think it might be mine too:


"Wanna hold you, wanna hold you tight, get teenage kicks right through the night..." Brilliant.

So I've been thinking of another project to try and kick off, but this one would involve other people. I want to put together a short horror anthology using one of the small publisher's on the net. It would include some of my work as well as any amateur authors that would want to contribute that are having trouble getting published elsewhere. So if you know any writers of the weird and macabre that would want to contribute, tell them to send their inquiries to youngmancane_13@hotmail.com. I'm not quite sure how rights issues work but I would definitely be willing to pay for any work that gets used.
I'm also looking for an artist to do the cover (they would get paid for their trouble too) and a good title. I was thinking of something like:
"Dr. Blood's Tales of Madness and Mayhem" or
"Professor Eyepuss's Book of Festering Horror."
You know, something the kids would like.

I'm excited about this and wondering why I didn't think of it sooner. It's just too bad I don't know any other horror writers! (Or any other writers at all for that matter.)

Oh noes!

My Internet finally broke (I'm at the library at the moment) so updates will be sketchy for a bit till I can get it fixed.

And I just realized that I haven't updated CYOF in forever, I'll get on that hopefully tommorow.

Do like Mr. T says and "drink your drugs, stay in milk, and don't do school" till we meet again.

What is art?

That's the big question isn't it? how does one define art?

When Mike Diana was convicted of obscenity and ordered not to draw anymore (yes he really had a court order put on his head not to put a pencil on paper with the threat that his house could be searched anytime without a warrant) his work was deemed to not have any social merit at all and was banned. So is that how one defines art? By how much "social merit" it has? If it contributes nothing to society, it must be worthless then. (I guess all those outsider artists are out of luck.)

But see there's this guy named Thomas Kinkade. You may have seen some of his paintings adorning the walls of your grandmother's house or advertised in supermarket tabloids. Here's his website if you have a strong stomach:
Bleeeech!

I like to define art by the impact it has on not only the senses, but the mind. Diana's work my be crude but it's certainly not forgettable. It leaves a definite impression on the mind. Kinkade's work is also memorable, but it's memorable because of how mediocre it is. If middle aged women didn't want to jump his man snake and buy his blandness in droves, he wouldn't be remembered at all. But maybe it's a good thing he's successful. After all, Hitler was a frustrated landscape painter, just think what Kinkade could have become? Hmmmm, maybe if Hitler had been born in the 1970s, he'd have success selling crap to old ladies....

Off tangent, sorry. I was going to say something like, "well, if you define art by the impact it has, then couldn't you say that punching someone in the face is art?"
Well, you're not really creating something by doing that now are you? Can destruction be an art in itself? People often say things like "there's an art to cooking eggs" or "there's an art to knocking someone's teeth out with a lead pipe." I think they really mean a certain finesse though. Anyone can drop eggs in a pan and cook them but artless eggs would turn out sloppy and burnt wouldn't they? Anyone can hit someone in the mouth with a pipe, but to knock a whole front row full or even chip a back molar would take a certain amount of skill.

So...by this definition, for it to be art it not only has to have some sort of impact, good or bad, but it also has to have a certain amount of skill behind it. Just about anyone can scratch out stick figures on paper but few people can draw like Katie Rice or Roman Dirge (Name drop of my two favorite artists!).

I'm really just blathering but I've pondered on this for awhile with no clear cut answers. In my opinion, it's only not art if it's bland and created with no skill, but what of this "social merit" bullshit? What do you guys think?

The Day Billy Became a Productive Member of Society

Mrs. Oldcrotch was skullfucking Suzy Noname when she spotted Billy McCree drawing in his notebook. She pulled her huge pulsating cock out of Suzy's eye-socket with a pop and stomped over to his desk. She grabbed the notebook and slammed the picture against her huge bulging eyeballs, rubbing it up and down. Billy didn't protest. The last time he did he had gotten sent to the principals office and had to eat fermented sour-cream off the old man's hairy nut sack.
"What the Hell is this shit?" Oldcrotch screamed and ripped the notebook to shreds. "This is obscene! Horrible! You fucking stupid retarded monkey fuck stick! Your parents are going to hear about this, after I tie them to a tree and rape them with tire irons."
Then she shoved the paper into her mouth, chewed, and spit it in Billy's face. She pulled an ax out of the zero-space of her vagina and cleaved his head in two.
"I've had enough of your bullshit. Art has no place in the civilized world. We need worker drones to do work for the rich people. Don't you know that's what school is for? Did you think this was all a game?" She screamed as she ripped out pieces of brain. Then she took her gigantic cock and leaned it up against his face, pissing directly into his skull till it filled the cavity and flooded the tiles.
Out of the massive mounds of wax that clung to the inside of her ears she pulled a handful of advertisements, slogans, and false history and shoved them into the piss that now occupied Billy's head. They floated for a bit, then soaked up the vile liquid and expanded till they took up every bit of space.
Billy smiled. It was all so clear now. Creativity was for fags. Billy saw his future as a bright shining beacon of hope: he would get a factory job to support the companies that gave him fast food to eat and a shitty over-priced apartment to live in while his wife popped out kids to eat up the resources of an already over-populated world.
Mrs. Oldcrotch farted loudly and then went back to her skullfucking. Later she would vomit wonderful lies about Mexican immigrants and Native Americans and they would all eat of it happily. The world was a safe place to live.

America: the home of free speech? Bull-fucking shit: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Diana
Yeah, it pisses me off. It should piss you off too.