Wednesday, May 31, 2006


a while back i was driving somewhere during the day on a week day. i noticed a cluster of three young men to one side, and had an immediate gut reaction to run them over. you see, it's not that i assumed that they were skinheads cause their heads were shaved. the blue pants tucked into combat boots, with the white wife beaters and red braces were what caused me to flash back to my teen years when we would've lured these kids to an ill-fated (for them at least) brawl of like 10-to-1. these were redneck neo-nazis, if ever i have seen them.

and once the insane urge to beat them passed, i felt sad. i would've thought that we might've long moved past that, but apparently not. this was followed by a new emotion for me, when it comes to skinheads; compassion. cause, oh beloved reader, i looked around, and these three skinheads found themselves deeply ensconced in the kind of neighborhood where anyone white is a minority, and while it might not have been gangland, i didn't doubt there were some bangers around who would've just as soon shot these ignorant motherfuckers as look at them.

so in a matter of seconds, i had gone from wanting to run these bastards over to wanting to pull over and warn them to move to friendlier territory.

a sure sign i am getting old.

in a not-necessarily related story, a friend of mine recently said "the sooner we're all mutts, the better." and i agree one hundred percent. i am doing my part, and the more i see mixed couples with mixed kids, the more i think this was always the way it was supposed to be. children of mixed heritage are so beautiful. on the other hand, we have prince charles.

in yet another not-necessarily related story (the threads tying these bits together is so faint and convoluted as to almost not exist at all, but then, what would writing be without stream of concious, yeah?), i love indian food. east indian, in this case, though i am sure that i would love native american indian food as well, but i digress. there is this great indian place not too far from me where they have a lunch buffet. i love any culture that loves their food. now, let me quantify that. like i'm not a big fan of french food, for the most part, though french love their food, but french love their food to be petite, and fussy. i love italian. lots of it, and as messy and noisy as possible. i loved argentina cause if you didn't eat like five plates of steaks and fries, they asked if you were sick. i love indian food, cause it all ends up in a mish mash on your plate. lots of it, and they aint even trying to keep it pretty. aloo gobi on my tandoori chicken. ladles full of other stuff over saffron rice. and then they hand you bread to scoop it all up with. flavor perversions galore (ty c for that phrase). if you're one of those people that doesn't like the food on your plate touching each other, give it a miss. but if you like interesting combinations and wolfing it all down, oh boy, it's heaven. and if you really wanna do it right, you eat it with your hands! yeah, an opportunity to throw back to childhood.

man, i love indian food.

east asian food too. cause they bring it to you family-style and everyone is essentially eating off the same plate, and you get to try lots of different stuff in one meal. damn.

safe to say i pretty much like all food, as long as it's not boring old meat and potatoes.

oh, and the title? i used to love looking through national geographic (and not for the reason you might currently be thinking, my buddy's dad had a stash of magazines that we could raid for that) at pictures of mummies and bones from pompei and things of that nature. and i remember seeing, at a very early age, a picture of a skull with a window cut into the forehead. this completely tripped me out. yeah, a little skate-punk throw back there. cause what the scientists figured was that if you came to your local brujo complaining of a headache, they were sure you had a demon knocking about, and would hold you down and punch a hole in your skull with a sharp stone to let that guy out. some people actually survived this procedure. imagine the talk around the well a few weeks after you've recouped: "fuck, unga just aint been the same." "yeah, i liked him better before they released his demon." "no shit, he was actually fun." "now he just shambles around and drools and pisses on hisself. i aint inviting him to play dung checkers anymore." shaking heads as they walk away.

but this somehow fascinated the fuck out of me, and still does. and i think had i been alive back then, the first time i said, "you know what would be fun? being trampled by angry mastadons." they'da had me on my back. and i am a bit of a slow learner and glutton for punishment, so no doubt i would've had windows into my gray matter that would've rivaled most million-dollar beach houses.

and this lovely process? yep, you guessed it, trepanning. now go home and scare your parents, kids.

darth sardonic

Monday, May 29, 2006

moving, illness, and sleep-deprivation

so to play a little catch-up on this front:

we got the last of the stuff moved over from our old house today. now all that is left as far as the old house is concerned is the cleaners, i have to do yardwork, and the walk-through.

there is still a colossal amount of stuff to be unpacked and put away here at the new house. a huge amount. we'll get at it slowly but surely.

the yard at the new house is nearing tropical rainforest proportions. our landlord had a baby (well, not him actually, his wife i am guessing, or i would imagine there would've been more publicity in the local papers at least) around the same time we came to look at the house, so he just hasn't had a chance to take care of it. which means i will need to book a week to get it done. day one, machete. day two, weed eat. day three, weed eat again. day four, rake. day five, mow. day six, mow again. day seven, swedish massage from a blonde massuese named nikki, and soaking up sun with umbrella drink in hand. heh heh.

no. 2 has been ill. like puking, pooping miserable all the time and wanting only to be held sick, for three days. coming soon, wife and roomie in same state, whee!

all this has translated into little or no sleep for your humble narrator, who has still been trying to get stuff put away and things done, and still been on the schedule at work on a regular basis. all work and no play makes darth one obnoxious and hard-to-be-around motherfucker. but as i get more and more sleep as no. 2 shakes off his flu, i become a little more tolerable.

i might be tempted to say buzz here except it gives me cookie monster eyes. and if you're scratching your head, well, you're not alone at least.

darth sardonic

Friday, May 26, 2006


so we're getting ourselves settled in our new house, and now we have an actual room dedicated to practicing.

we have yet to soundproof the "party room", as we've dubbed it, and the music gets a little loud outside the house, so we thought it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves to the neighbors.

turns out our neighbors on one side play the guitar and bass, and the neighbors on the other have a christian band. so not much to worry about there. and we were standing on one of my neighbors' porch when the rest of the band was practicing, and the noise wasn't at a level that i would've even considered to be an annoyance.

so that night we practiced, full band, loud, for like three hours. god, it was nice. there's room for me to jump around, we can all move freely, and i don't have to be standing directly in front of my amp to hear my bass.

the next day, at four in the afternoon, p is downstairs plucking a little on his guitar, not even that loud, and without distortion, and we get a knock at the door.

it's some loudmouthed motherfucker who lives like four houses down the street. he happened to be in the street outside our house when he heard p playing. so he's going on and on to my wife about how the landlord shouldn't have told us we could do whatever we want, and the homeowner's association won't allow us, how proud he was that he and some others pressured the last renters to move, and how he works for a living, and at the end of the day all he wants to do is come home and have some peace and quiet.

for fucking fuck's sake, man! so my wife asks him if we bothered him the other night when we were practicing? he gives her a blank look, and then asks what time we were practicing. round 5 to about 8, 8:30. now he has nothing to say, cause he has just ranted and raved for twenty minutes about how the loud music is going to be unacceptable when in fact we had been louder for longer the night before, and because he was in his house, he didn't even know.

and we all work for a living. (apparently he thinks we're the rolling stones and all we do is sit around having orgies and doing drugs and playing music, dipshit) and when i come home from a bad day at work, i want to whale the fuck out of my bass as loudly as possible.

and no one can tell me what i can and can't do in the privacy of my own home. there are some noise ordinances in place, and we are following them to the letter. and we're not trying to piss anybody off. it would be different if we were purposefully trying to annoy people on the street. as a matter of fact, one of our neighbors was home sick the day of p's solo stuff that caused such an uproar, and she didn't hear anything.

so we gave the guy our number, told him to call us if we were bothering him again.

then last night we had another practice. i had the phone right by me. we beat bloody hell out of our instruments, including a ten-minute, insanely noisy slap bass solo.

and nothing. no angry neighbors, no cops, no calls.

but i've got a feeling that this particular busybody is going to be trouble. well, i got one thing to say to him: we're not leaving, and if you try to rout us out, the cops will be visiting you for harassment.

have a nice day!

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 24, 2006


if you've been hanging around this cyberspace popsicle-stand long enough, you already know that my titles have jack-shit to do with my posts. you would also know that i quite frequently drop random tidbits that i don't bother to explain, just for the sake of keeping you guessing and wondering, and hence...

i'm not going to bother explaining the chinchilla thing. heh heh.

the other night i delivered to the smelly guy. there is this middle-aged disabled guy that lives in these nasty apartments in my area. i damn near have an epileptic siezure every time his address comes up, because i know what is in store for me.

i get to his door, knock, take my last untainted breath for the next hour, and hold it.

he opens the door and immediately i am engulfed in a cloud i can almost see, and despite my best efforts, can most assuredly taste. i have to fight watery eyes, a coughing fit, and the urge to stand back four feet from the door.

this guy is like pigpen, if pigpen was satan's brother, and resided in the inner circle of hell. he's large, like a 71 buick is large. he owns only two articles of clothing, a red t-shirt that was once a tent, and a pair of faded black sweat bottoms. he owns neither a comb, nor a toothbrush, and if he even owns a shower, he's using it to water plants or something. he has rheumy eyes, scraggly hair, and he insists on talking for five or ten minutes while i fight the rising nausea.

when i can bolt, out of an attempted respect, i wait until i am in the stairwell to cough and gag and retch. when i hit the outside air, i gulp down mouths full of the breeze like a drowning man, in an attempt to clear the residual stank out of my nostrils.

darth sardonic

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

being stared down by a chinchilla is not as much fun as you would think

more on that later hahahahahaha!

darth sardonic

Sunday, May 21, 2006

imagine, if you will, something witty here...

ok, so if i had remembered that our internet was going to be down before our move, i would most assuredly have not left you with such a depressed and unclear post for so many days.

but, as luck sometimes would have it, i posted whilst in a grumpy mood, and then the internet was down before i could reassure you concerned non-existant readers that all was well in sardonic land.

and yes, we have moved again. bigger house, bigger yard, and same amount of rent. yay!

but i have been doing heavy lifting and running back and forth all day, so i am gonna leave off for now, and get back with you, my droogies, at a later date.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

a life of near-misses

maybe i am the only one who feels this way, but sometimes i feel like i have strayed here from some other plane. i feel like i don't belong. like none of this makes any sense whatsoever, and i'm just fumbling around trying to find meaning in something that is as random as tv static.

and life slips into a routine that appears important and all-encompassing at the time, but if i were to step away from it for a moment, little if any of it really seems to matter.

and i step back further, and suddenly, everyone else around me has the same hangdog, shambling expression that i feel my face carries. we're all strayed here from parts unknown, attempting to make ourselves feel important as we gaze out on a vast ocean of stars, bouncing like tiny pinballs from thing to thing that we have convinced ourselves matter, are important. a whole planet of people willing to wage wars over disagreements, over a difference of opinion.

and i feel like my whole life has been walking into a store, having finally saved up the money to buy something i really wanted, only to find that someone bought it ten minutes before i walked into the store. and i can rage and cry and piss and moan, and shake my fist at the sky, but ultimately, no one gives a fuck.

and we're all waiting for our ships to come in. what if there is no ship? what if you cannot expect any more than what you have right now? maybe we should just quit looking. maybe we should accept the lot we've been given, and quit fighting against every thing we don't like. maybe we should quit hoping for more.

darth sardonic

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

full-time employ

funny how seemingly unrelated things in life end up being interconnected. that delivery to the firehouse caused me to not only think about, but actually miss my days at travis afb as a surgery assistant, and just a few days ago, a civilian job came open at mcchord afb's dental clinic.

for awhile now, the idea has been in me and my wife's head that i should seek full-time work during the day and arrange with one of our friends or my mom to watch the boys while i bring home the bacon.

so i have put in my resume. and i should be a shoo-in for the job (or shoe-in, whichever). and i really want it, cause i loved dental assisting, i just didn't like the air force anymore when i got out. so this would be the best of both worlds: my only uniform being whatever i decide to wear to work, facial hair and earrings perfectly acceptable, and getting to do the job i loved at a pace i enjoy. plus the money would go a long way for defraying the cost of tattoos and better musical equipment. hahaha, i crack myself up.

but every silver lining has a dark cloud, o my droogies, and here it is:

i will no longer be a stay-home dad.

and i know that seems like a silly little thing, and i know i have complained a hell of alot about it, in this forum especially, but here's the rub:

for every day that i think my brain is going to explode and i am going to snap, there are at least three where no. 1 wakes up and says to me, "hi, i'm no. 1, how are yoooo?" and smiles the smirk he received via genetic fed-ex from me, and looks at me with those giant brown eyes. where no. 2 laughs uproariously at everything i say, his head cocked back, mouth wide.

those days will still be there, and probably more precious and tempered by an opportunity to be away from them for a few and commune with adults. but i'm going to miss the spontaneous moments when we suddenly all unanimously decide it's a good time to draw, or play in the water, or dad is actually in a mood to wrestle.

anyways, as seems to happen with this blog quite a bit, something i meant to mention sort of in passing has evolved into an epiphany-level moment.

so, if you, o beloved nonexistant reader, are in the mood to be a cheerleader and a positive force, lend me whatever good vibes you've got that i land this job, and still maintain my stay-home dad attitude.

thanks, as always, for sticking with me through it.

darth sardonic

Sunday, May 14, 2006

mother's day

just wanted to post and wish all the mothers out there a happy mother's day. i hope someone is showing you their appreciation on this day especially, but every day would be even better.

i want to take a moment and talk a bit about my own mother. i've easily got the coolest mom ever. what other woman can blithely say "cock" at the dinner table? my mom has made some tough decisions in her life that were for my own good, and then agonized over them for years until i got old enough to understand and assure her that what she did was for the best of all involved. she did her best to raise me to be open-minded and nonjudgemental, and except for a fair amount of acerbic wit launched at individuals or groups that seem particularly heinous to me, i like to think she succeeded. and though she aggravates me sometimes, i love my mom dearly, and am thankful every day that she is my mom.

and i want to take another moment to talk about my wife, and the mother of my children. how fucking lucky am i, eh? boy, i can't even begin to convey, and any attempts will be accompanied by waterworks, so let me see if i can sum up with a single snapshot if you will that i hope might do this whole thing justice:

it is a hospital room, painted in the requisite stark-white. tubes hang from the ceiling, wires trail across the floor, a myriad of machines blink and buzz and beep along the walls. in the center of the room is an incubator bed. this contraption looks like a plastic baking pan with a giant heating lamp fixed above it. some kind of oversized prep table from a restaurant in hell. in the middle of the bed, tangled and loosely wrapped in soft blankets, is a tiny baby. this baby should not be this small. the wires and tubes running from his body make him look smaller. he is still, unmoving, unresponsive. (lest you, the beloved non-existant reader, find yourselves overly concerned that this snapshot is going to a bad place, i will throw in here that the baby in the incubator is currently driving a hot wheels across my knee cap) beside the incubator stands a couple. they stare at the baby, eyes red and puffy and their faces wet. and now, my droogies, i want to zoom in on something. the couple, who are standing and staring at possibly the hardest thing they have ever faced in their entire lives have their arms around each other. i want to add a little insert to this snapshot: there will be a full minute where this little, but oh so tough baby, will be dead. the machines will scream and wail and flash angry red. the nurses will rush and bob and weave in a battle with death. his spirit will float nearby, telling them, "c'mon, i aint fucking ready yet. come on." in that room, not far away, stoic and powerful, will be the very woman who carried that baby within her for 6 and a half months, who fed that life, who coaxed it into being. when the spirit reenters the body, she will leave the room. she will have a smoke. she will cry. she will call the man and cry on the phone to him. but for that minute, she will have been a fortress, an army, a pillar.

here's to all those women everywhere, who nurture those lives. who carry them. who make sacrifices so varied and infinite to offer a better existance to those lives. who suffer all kinds of pains and emotions and hormonal inbalances with the ache to feel that life pressed against their skin, to commune with god.

i'm going to break one of my rules here, i am going to use people's names (i can't figure out how to do it justice otherwise, it just looks like i am doing the alphabet): here's to sharona, and courtney, kim, and kalli, penny, april, kelli, to angie, janan, chanin, tami, andrea, kanitta, and probably a million others that i am forgetting but will remember as soon as i post this.

happy mother's day.

darth sardonic

Friday, May 12, 2006

dilithium crystals

both my kids are in preschool. no. 1 is the kind of kid that is everybody's buddy. all the kids in his class tell him bye when i come to pick him up. he will be well-liked and popular, and generates the kind of charisma that attracts people. hopefully, he will be like my high school pal terry, who had that, and chose to use it making the nerds, geeks, and the cast-offs feel welcome.

no. 2, well... there have been at least three seperate occasions where numerous of the young nenas in his class have asked me: "where no. 2?" no. 2 is going to be a ladies man. maybe it's the mohawk, i don't know. but he's three. can't wait till the girls get old enough to have an inkling of an idea about love, attraction, lust, whatever. buying shackles as we speak. disconnecting the phone. preparing a special room in the basement. anyways, hopefully he will learn how to treat a lady properly, and with respect, and not abuse his powers.

thought i had a bunch of other random stuff to toss down here. i had a buddy used to say, "you know what happened to thought? thought thought he crapped his pants and didn't." i used to say, "what the fuck is that sposed to mean?" and he would say, "exactly."


darth sardonic

Thursday, May 11, 2006

there are days

there are days when there just isn't enough coffee.
there are days when i feel empty inside.
there are days when i stop and smell the roses.
there are days when i think that even the people close to me don't really get me.
there are days when i don't feel very wry, or sardonic, or even funny.
there are days when i don't even feel in the slightest bit interesting.
there are days when i love everyone and everything.
there are days when i hate everyone and everything.
there are days when no. 2 doesn't cry and whine all day (not too many, but there are).
there are days when i wonder what the fuck this is all about.
there are days when it all makes complete sense.
there are days when the weather matches my mood.
there are days when spontaneous combustion would seem like fun (i'd prefer a crowded bank line)
there are days when i think, i need to fucking get over it and suck it up, quit my fucking bellyaching, get up off my ass, and actually do something to improve my mood.

like post.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

isn't lolo hawaiian for baboso?

if you've been passing by this cyber-rest stop on a fairly regular basis, and feel like you might be included when i say the phrase "non-existant reader", then you know that i have these moments on a regular basis (usually in conjunction with a fair amount of sleep-deprivation), where i seem to tap into the universe's mainline and i feel a connection to everything around me.

well, it's one of those days, and were god or allah or vishnu themselves to pop down and ask me what superpower i would want, in this very instant, i want the ability to heal.

yes, to heal. (cue the fucking tears that always seem to come along with the way i feel today, my droogs and patient friends) the ability to heal wounds of all kinds. i want to fix everything today. i wish i had the ability to run out and grant the homeless guy a job. the ability to repair cars with a wave of my hand. the ability to make the cast-off and forgotten of the world feel loved. to heal knees (i would start with my own). the ability to throw out demons and illnesses. the ability to make worries and cares disappear. the ability wipe away racial tensions, third-world debt, and war.

all typed out there, it appears as if i have one hell of a christ complex, o beloved and surely tired non-existant reader. undoubtedly, you are sitting there rubbing your forehead, thinking, "this fucking darth, god, he wears me out sometimes with this shit."

but it's not that i want to be a hero, it's just that i seem to feel other's pain more keenly on days like today. and while i might dream of being able to run willy nilly through the streets fixing everyone's problems, i realize that a) this is impossible, and b) it wouldn't really fix anything, because being able to wave my hand and fix cars would put mechanics out of a job, which i would then have to recreate, and healing other's hurts would make the doctors find some other form of self-expression. and honestly, who's to say that the homeless guy isn't really better off right where he is, for his own and others' good?

so, i'll calm the fuck down, and sit back, and sip my coffee, and try to do what i always do, lend what help i can in my everyday life. and i fantasize that this little corner of cyberspace will engender similar feelings in others, and in some small and nearly ineffectual way i will make a change in others' lives. i also fantasize that some big publishing guru stumbles across this site and takes a shine to my dumb ramblings and sets me up with a sweet writing contract. but, hey...

turns out, lolo is hawaiian for crazy. and so there ya go.

darth sardonic

Monday, May 08, 2006


two things: first, i am extremely exhausted. more on that later. second, this post will contain sexual themes and frank discussions that some readers may find offensive. not personal details of my own escapades mind you (and i know you are all out there saying "phewww" and wiping nervous sweat from your foreheads), but just a reenactment of a conversation we had at the dinner table recently.

the other weekend our friend m was up for a visit, and we were sitting around the table eating dinner. now, we have all long agreed we should have a sign up on the wall near the dinner table as a disclaimer, because we talk about whatever, and i mean whatever strikes us.

this time around, it was masturbation. or, more accurately--well, you'll see for yourself.

somehow or other in the course of the discussion, it came up that i give good massages, and i mentioned that yes, i gave good massages to my wife, but rarely got them back. she looked at me with that look, and said, "i give good bj's."

i nodded, and said, "but if i could only bend myself double..."

laughter ensued, and then a question: "wouldn't that make you kind of gay if you were going to suck your own dick?"

"no, cause jacking off doesn't make me gay, and it's my own damn penis."

i asked one of the ladies present if she would lick herself were she that dexterous. she replied of course, and i asked her if that would make her feel, in any way, gay. she said no, it wouldn't.

the gay or not gay discussion continued for a bit, and it was generally agreed that if one could bend oneself double and pleasure oneself orally, that it would in no way make one gay.

then i said, "now, if i stuck my finger in my butt while doing it..."

ah, the discussions we have at the dinner table.

but this, in my semicatatonic state, moves straight from a lively and mostly humorous conversation to a much more serious thought. last night i watched the movie brokeback mountain.

and i could probably go on and on about the nuances of whatever and the probability of the other thing, but here's the rub, my beloved nonexistant readers: why the fuck can't we just leave bloody-well enough alone?!?

i don't mean you and me personally, o beloved and surely aggravated nonexistant readers, i mean us, the world, the race of fucking humans that blights the otherwise beautiful surface of this tiny insignificant speck of dust in the cosmic stream.

why are we hell-bent on hating each other and destroying each other? two guys want to have sex? good for them. they fall in love? fucking lucky bastards. it in no way affects my life.

the first, and last, time i used the n-word, i was five. i thought it was the same as saying idiot. i had no fucking clue it referred to a specific race of people. and i was baffled when i found out. why would anyone call an african american anything but that or black? or how bout just "buddy"?

now it's muslims and christians. hey, you're both right, leave each other the fuck alone. why my fucking friends have to die in some fucking holy war they don't even agree with while that son of a bitch sits in the whitehouse coloring in a batman coloring book and thinking he is ushering in the second-coming of christ is beyond my ability to grasp.

when i worked at travis afb, in omfs, i came in early one morning to start setting up, and found two doctors feverishly working on stitching up and removing broken teeth from a master sergeant. his wife was sitting in our break room, wrapped up in a blanket and looking dazed.

a few neanderthals jumped this guy while he was out on a date with his wife, cause they thought he was gay. those doctors had been working on him since two in the morning. they thought he was gay while he walked along holding hands with his wife. his fucking wife!!

and so what if he was? so fucking what!! who gives a shit. again, it in no way affects our lives.

but as a race, we are hardwired to hate that which is not like ourselves. and i don't get that.

cause in the end, o my droogs and only friends, we're all alike. we're all human.

so i'm gonna go wash my face, and if the rest of you, my beloved nonexistant readers, could give each other hugs and try and be nice to those that you casually come in contact with today, even if it is only for today, that might help alot with my present state of mind.

and i am tired because my youngest is sick, and has been up alot two nights in a row, and i with him. i thought it was just allergies until the fever kicked in. yeah, they are holding my father-of-the-year award pending a review of the circumstances. boy, i hate it when my kids are sick. i hate it even more when i thought it was "nothing" and then discover that it was really something. that might have alot to do with the mood of this post as well.

thanks for sticking it out with me though, and be good to each other.

darth sardonic

Saturday, May 06, 2006

a quick word about kill cupid

if you haven't recently checked out what rick and kill cupid have been up to, then click on the link and check out the band's myspace (god i hate myspace, but hey, it seems to do some good). he's got empeethrees and clips of the band playing (and yes, eventually i will have some up here of ours i spose), and they sound amazing.

and rick, not sure if you get the time still to pop by this hellhole bit of the world wide web, but if you do, i want one of the t-shirts and any other stuff you can drop my way. i will do a one-for-one trade with anti-zen crap, when we have some.

darth sardonic

Friday, May 05, 2006

i don't care where -- just far away

whoever invented vertical blinds should be arrested in the middle of the night, bagged in a pillowcase, and drug out into the street in full view of his family and neighbors. my kids have a knack for destroying things, and vertical blinds are just too easy a target. grrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

i recently saw an online plug or review for the latest mission: impossible installment. the title was "mission: impossible iii, does it deliver the goods?" i think the more import question is: do we care?

why is it that when they make a sequel to a horror movie, it is never two hours' worth of therapy sessions as the main character struggles to return to normal after all the horrible experiences they have suffered? i know i have put this one forth before, but i mean, c'mon. really. are we just figuring that they get over it cause the sun comes out the next morning or what? take a look at real people that have dealt with extremely traumatic experiences. but apparently, if you manage to outrun the slasher/demon/evil spirit or whatever, and conquer it, you recoup easily. it is just in your nature.

feliz cinco de mayo to those as da un bledo. i, for my part, plan on getting out of work as early as possible and doing a few tequila shots before i am completely exhausted and sack out. there used to be a time when i would've tried to get together all my friends, have mexican food, coronas or jose cuervo, and really throw it down. especially if it fell on a friday like it does this year. but let's face it, o my long-suffering droogs and only friends, this little malchickiwick is just getting too old, and is too tired all the time to be throwing shindiggities like he used to. last time i did tequila shots to any extent, i sliced the fuck out of my thumb cutting a lemon wedge, sat in front of the computer crying for no reason, and ended up in the bathroom with my head in the toilet bawling and calling myself pathetic and telling my wife she should leave me. but, in all fairness, i started that evening out on vodka tonics, and when the smirnoff ran out, switched to tequila. and, before the whole rig hit the skids and tailspinned into the above-mentioned stupidity, i was having a great time playing the fuck out of the drums while p played the guitar and laughing and acting silly. i think it was the cut thumb thing that made it go tits-up. who knows?

and because i really hate, and i mean fucking hate ending on a downer, try this some time: my wife and i like to play a game. she tells me a celebrity that is on her "list", and i tell her what's wrong with them physically. for example: tom cruise, of the aforementioned mission: nobody cares. my wife thinks he's pretty hot. short, big nose, huge teeth. brad pitt, squinty eyes, huge teeth (there seems to be a requirement to be famous and sexy, you must have huge teeth) and a penchant for skipping showers. i don't limit it to hers either, lets pick a few of mine: nicole kidman, (this is almost just too easy), skinny, pale as fuck, huge teeth. angelina jolie, (and i know a bunch of you out there are currently saying, "wait a fucking minute, don't you dare go there!" but turn off your libidos for a moment and lets look at her, shall we?) the whole reason we find angelina jolie hot is cause she is a genetic mutation. huge boobs, huge eyes, huge lips, huge teeth. the girl is just not right. but what is not right about her is soooooooooo nice. someone pass me a towel, i've got a puddle of drool forming all around me. better make it a few towels. better make it a wetvac.

the word you're searching for is "deftones", hahahahaha.

darth sardonic

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

i'm here

i sit here, bound by futility, too far away to be of any help. i would bridge the gap of distance were i able, just to help in this moment.

technology becomes my enemy, thwarts attempts to make contact.

helpless i sit, waiting, hoping, trying to send any positive energy i can like a bolt of flame.

in the end, the only thing i can do is sit here, close my eyes, and whisper almost silent with an intensity that i pray sends my message to it's detination:

"i'm here."

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

the saga of the demon lady continues

so if anyone had taken my bet that the demon lady would quit after the whole sauce/pants fiasco, i would be out money right now.

and since i am a big one for credit-where-credit-is-due, this means she's got some incredible balls. cause let's face it, o beloved and ofttimes abused non-existant reader, the job of delivery driver is not the kind that conjures to the mind the word "career" (though i, myself have already been doing it for over a year, and don't see signs of leaving for greener pastures, so what does that say about me? but i digress.), and one could quite easily leave this job and find one smiling and being cute and folding shirts and doing one's best kathy lee gifford at some clothing store in the mall.

so after losing it completely in such a big way, and over something so trivial, and knowing your the topic of conversation around the water cooler for days afterwards, and the butt of everyone's jokes, to walk back in the store at all is a pretty ballsy move.

ballsy or fucking certifiable, only time will tell.

darth sardonic

Monday, May 01, 2006


call me ishmael.

or not, what the fuck do i care? however, we're not talking a white whale this time around, but an avatar dressed in a bright yellow shirt, khaki pants, and orange and blue ball cap. wait a fucking second, this bastard works at the same place as me!!! unfortunately, being unable to properly dress one's self does not preclude an ability to play decent poker, so this particular computer-generated motherfucker has become the bane of everyone's existance. we are going to lash ourselves to this crazy bastard and ride him down into the depths while the ship falls to pieces around us.

and can i say that playing poker and stuff online has become the monopoly of the 21st century. you play on the computer with money that doesn't exist. boardwalk? shit, yeah, i'll buy that, i've got enough orange paper here. raise on a pair of 8's, why not? the computer says i'm flush.

hey, don't they call big spenders at the casinos whales?

yes, i know, the word you're looking for is:


darth sardonic