emptyhead (more commonly known as darth sardonic by himself) covering codeine's "cigarette machine" (this blog's namesake)

split lip and split tongue...

i am putting my foot down. i refuse, unless it is by my choice, to share my meals with my kids anymore. my youngest could've consumed 20 bowls of cereal, but when i sit down with cottage cheese and fruit, he desperately needs some. i could sit down with a plate full of crawling live bugs on top of rotted fish-flesh, and no. 2 will ask if he can have a bite, over and over and over again.

someone please explain to me how today's skate punks can wear jeans that fit tight everywhere but the ass. how does that work? the jeans look painted on, till they turn around, then you suddenly have this odd urge to show them where the bathroom is and pass them a can of oust on their way there. we did this in the 80's, except that our jeans fit tight everywhere, and we appeared to still have complete control of our colon.

when you are wrenched violently from your bed sooner than you wish by the sounds of your lovely children fighting and crying and wailing in the back yard, if you wish the noises to stop, do not, and i mean do not spray them with the hose. if you want them to quit fighting, it works perfectly. if you want quiet, it sorta has the opposite effect.

which brings me to my next question: how is it that my oldest can come in from outside fucking soaking to the skin damn near every fucking day, but i spray him just a little with the hose, and all he can talk about for the next twenty minutes is how i got his shirt wet?

apparently video games on disc taste good, and little-kid teeth marks cannot be buffed out or filled like scratches. when q gets back, i owe him, along with a new controller (well, at least one, probably two) a couple of games as well. i will also tell him to never leave a game console with us again, as we don't really deserve it.

today is no. 1's 6th birthday. he was born 6 years ago on labor day. today, it is again labor day. us yanks tend to have barbeques and such on this day. i will be doing some cleaning and battling with the kids and drinking too much coffee, most likely, and little else today. we will celebrate no. 1's birthday at chuck e. cheese's (shitty pizza, and more video and arcade games than a simple mind like mine can even comprehend) when his mom gets back.

in just TWO MORE DAYS!!!!!!!!

fuck yeah, felt good to say that.

darth sardonic

p.s. jamie's blog has disappeared. considering what she was going through, this makes me a bit nervous. if anyone has any info, it would be greatly appreciated. thank you.

Wanted to scream for them but had to stand in silence

my kids are currently watching the mst3k version of godzilla vs. megalon. they love it! which is great, cause as a kid i watched the rubbery dinosaur and his HO-scale-japan-destroying counterparts faithfully. when i got older, i watched mst3k faithfully, and would laugh extra-hard when they made fun of a movie i had seen on saturday's sci-fi theater. and when i stumbled out of bed this morning, my kids actually stopped the video games to ask me for the "mosser/wobot" movie.

friday night me, s, and t went to the l&m tavern. it is actually called the firehouse now (it burned down some years ago, and they rebuilt), but it will always be the l&m to us. my cold was still in play, though getting better, and we ordered up dinner and gin n tonics and laughed and did the kind of bantering that high-school mates with over 20 years of history behind us do.

brooke's eyes are real. they are ridiculously blue. and i have never wanted to just stare intently into her baby b's to figure it out, but while she was taking t's order, i managed to sherlock holmes, and there are no contacts.

as for her boobs, the jury is still out. t "brushed" them with his chest when they were trying to get past each other in a tight space between tables, and informed us they were "pretty firm". they are, also, (not that i really noticed, mind you, but i have been told...) err, umm, rather large for her frame. must do more research...

{we interrupt this program so that no. 2 can spend five minutes pleading and wheedling at no. 1 to get his binkie, when i know damn good and well that no. 2's binkie is probably in his bedroom. but no. 2 would rather spend all this time saying, "plaese (yes, the misspelling is intentional, that is how he says it, a cross between "please" and "place"), plaaaeeeese, plaaaaeeeeeeese, PLAAAAAEEEEEEEEESE." over and over like some fucking whiney-voiced oliver twist crack-addict begging his pimp not to hit him again. it goes without saying that when no. 2 does this, it drives me beyond crazy.

i tell him to go find his own. it is in his bedroom, right where he left it. he continues with the pleeding plaeses until i see red, jump up, pull him by his arm into the bedroom, stern voice on full alert the entire time, and find his binkie for him while he cries like i am hitting him in the head repeatedly with a baseball bat.

when he does this plaese wheedle thing, i am unable to concentrate. since this is a rather largish post covering several days of happenings, drastic measures were called for.

that is all. now back to your regularly-scheduled program.}

as the night wore on, karaoke ensued, and s, t, and i were forced to nearly shout to be heard, and this, combined with the already sandpapery condition caused me to sound like the love child of harvey fierstein and gilbert godfried as it goes through puberty.

saturday, i needed to clean. and clean. and clean. then shower. and nap. then people showed up for my little do. i received presents of tangueray (my friends know me oh, so well, o my beloved bemused non-existant readers), and happily drank and talked and basically had a rather toned-down little fiestita. i did not run around the back yard in my boxers. just wasn't the right mood. (and my new non-existant readers, which is damn near all of you, will have absolutely no idea what i am talking about. suffice to say, the right group of people + the right atmosphere x a drink or two = darth suggesting a boxer run, which is usually seconded by one or two of my more exhibitionistic friends, resulting in a few of my tipsy friends running around the backyard in their respective underwear.)

a&m showed up for a little while, though m looked completely strung-out. he reacted badly to the anaesthesia, resulting in vomiting, followed by reacting badly to the morphine, resulting in vomiting, and then reacted badly to the percocet, resulting in, yep, you guessed it, vomiting. as a result, he was taking tylenol and toughing through the pain, and gimping around pretty poorly. i will mention here, though, that m is a crazy fucking rugby player who took a knee to the eye and wanted them to send him back in with his eyebrow hanging open like a side of beef at the slaughterhouse.

a good time was had by all.

the next morning, i awoke with no voice. one nostril was completely plugged, not with boogers, but with swollen nasal tissue, and my throat was paved in freshly-laid hot tar and gravel. my cold in its death throes, putting up one last-ditch attempt at making me miserable.

and it worked.

i tidied from the party (my friends are not the kind to make a large mess and not help clean), and rested. the kids thought that daddy sans voice = not having to listen, until no. 1 was trying to outtalk me as i was softly lecturing him, and pissed me off, and i stripped my throat out outyelling him, causing him to cry, and resulting in both of them being a little easier to be around for the day, though i did have to repeat the "yelling-till-i-spit-up-blood" manoeuvre on no. 2 a little later on, resulting in him crying, followed by better behavior.

today, the majority of the cold is gone. i still have lingering snot and junk in my throat, and i sound a bit like dirty harry.

so you have to ask yourself, do you feel lucky, punk, huh? do ya?

darth sardonic

p.s. sparx, i am so pleased to be linked at all that you could link me under "boring twat what whines too much about his life despite how good he's got it" and it would make absolutely no difference whatsoever. dj kirby, i left a comment, but don't know if you have seen it, "some people are just small, hard peas" is a line from a codiene song, pea, and i guess you could use it as long as you gave proper credit, though i am not sure how that would work, copyright laws-wise.

some people are just small, hard peas

sometimes i think it's me...

we here at not even star-crossed, just unlucky strive to bring you the best in blogger technology at regular intervals. if you have found our service to be lacking, please press...

heh heh, saw on one of my pal's blogs (can't remember off-hand which, and can't be arsed (what a great turn-of-phrase that is--i think it was pixie's blog i saw that in, totally gonna steal that too) to find out just now) that they had me linked as "not even star-crossed, just unlucky" as opposed to "darth sardonic", and the paragraph above totally popped into my head like the recording you might get when you call your insurance, or internet provider support line.

for my birthday, i received a head-cold. sinus head-aches, dripping nose, dry lips, sandpaper throat. it has taken me the better part of a week to kick it. actually, truth be told, it is still lurking about sometimes. hope to drown it in alcohol tonight. they use alcohol in hospitals to kill germs, right?

mostly, that didn't stop me from doing what needed to be done (read: i fucking had to do shit despite the fact that i felt like a pile of warm dung), but left little energy for the side-projects. just started to get back into the swing of things yesterday. (now that i am in the swing of things, if i could just get someone to give me a push... man, english is fucked up!)

when i was feeling the gunkiest, the days were sunny. bright, cheery, pleasant. now that i am feeling better, it is overcast. oh, cause that makes perfect sense. ty, o mighty whatever thing you are that is running the show up there, he he.

(i posted once about possible past lives i may have had, and i mentioned that i must have been close to (and teased incessantly) someone of significant religious importance, say jesus, or buddha (though i think it would've been ultra keen to have been chilling with vishnu), because the powers that be (and i would capitalize that probably, if i bothered to capitalize anything in this tiny flake of dead skin caught in the world wide web) seem to occasionally poke fun at me in mostly harmless ways.)

i guess, for now, we will leave it at that, o my beloved non-existant readers, and no doubt after tomorrow i will have a (hopefully) clever post about drunken party shenanigans (lo and behold, i had always been spelling that word with too many n's, my irish forebears would kick my mostly-german ass) and sundry silliness for your reading pleasure.

until then.

darth sardonic

getting to know you...

it seems, as a result of some uncontrolled commenting i did on sparx's blog (yes, yes, i will get it added. if not here in the next few, then today for sure), new people are swinging by this small grain of sand on the beach that is the world wide web.

and since i have been doing this for some time, and got most of the "getting to know darth" stuff out of the way in the first year, i feel it might be time to do a recap for the new readers:

i am a huge bucket of conradictions (as if stating this in my "about me" isn't nearly enough.) i am alternately gloomy and joyful. i love life, despise it, hate it, embrace it, look forward to each day with anticipation, dread, and childlike glee. i piss and moan about my life on occasion, all the while completely cognizant of how good i have it.

i am a smartass. duh.

the title "not even star-crossed, just unlucky" is a line from the codiene song, cigarette machine. it is, in my opinion, one of the most clever lines in a song i have ever heard.

i play the bass, the guitar, the drums, and even a bit of keyboards, and make failed attempts to sing. i do it in that order, heh heh. i hope to soon have a music myspace to abuse at least as much as i abuse this blog.

i am a stay-home father for my(our) two children, both boys, that i call nos. 1 and 2 within the confines of this blog, for the sake of their privacy, such as it is, since i elaborate on embarrassing details of their potty-training, therapy, and whatever else.

both of my kids were born early, and as a result, are behind somewhat developmentally. no. 1 is a little delayed in speech, and no. 2 is behind in general. this does NOT mean they are dumb or slow in any kind of way, and i resent it enough to nearly come to blows when people i don't know insinuate that they are based on a quick observation at the park, pool, or in line at the supermarket.

i am: a dork. a punk. a motherfucker. a lazy bastard. a crackah (hahahahaha, or poor white trash that has clawed its way up from the depths, but it still comes out sometimes--you can take the boy out of the trailer, but not the trailer out of the boy.) a fiercely loyal friend who will drop you like hot dogshit if you fuck me over (life is too short to waste on people who don't treat you like you treat them.) a star wars fan (again, duh.) a son. a husband. a father. a pervert (shocking, i know, to discover that a stay-home dad, is still, after all is said and done, a male homo sapien.) a lover. a fighter. a filthy-mouthed intellectual who loves language in it's many and varied forms, from the most refined and educated, right down to the gutter. i do not give a shit what 99.9% of people think about me.

i believe everyone is right. i believe everyone is fucked-up. i believe that we have the god-given right to be both right and fucked-up at the same time, and to shout it loudly from the rooftops. i don't believe "shouting it loudly from the rooftops" means the same thing as "cram it down people's throats."

unfortunately, i also believe that this gives me the right to make fun of you and yours, just as you might do me were you so inclined.

i usually laugh at most of what i find someone has said derrogatorily about me. i am my biggest critic, i also have a sense of humor, which means i can laugh at the stupid shite i do. but, being a bucket of contadictions, i am also amazed to find out the idiotic things i do on a daily basis are being done by people all over the world.

i am a writer that completely embraces both "author intrusion" and "stream-of-conscious."

i am not sure if the periods are actually supposed to go inside either the parentheses or the quotations in most of what i have written in this post. i am also not worried about it; if i ever publish anything (which seems unlikely) most companies hire editors, and i am sure that guy will set me straight. in no uncertain terms, no doubt. and probably at top volume.

i am darth sardonic, welcome to my blog.

and if you don't like anything you have read here, there's the door and you can piss right off.

he jung

sometimes others just say it better:

Yeah, my girlfriend takes me home when I'm too drunk to drive/and she doesn't get all jealous when I hang out with the guys.../she laughs at my dumb jokes when no one does/she brings me mexican food from Sombrero's just because/And when I feel like giving up/like my world is falling down/I show up at 3 am/she's still up watching Vacation,/and I see her pretty face/it takes me away to a better place and/(I know that everything) everything's gonna be fine

blink 182, josie

when you think your chance is passing by/when you blow your moon away/I'll bleed like the reed/fall with your knife/it's here I'll be with you

peter murphy, fall with your knife

I won't stop following you/now help me pray for/the death of everything new/then we'll fly farther/cause you're my girl/and that's alright

deftones, rx queen

If only i had more time,/I'd take you where you wanted to go./Italy isn't the same without you here./If only I had one wish,/I'd want a million trillion lifetimes/that I could spend with you.../Fall in love with you again and again.

the ataris, looking back on today

there was nothing in the world that i ever wanted more/than to feel you deep in my heart/there was nothing in the world that i ever wanted more/than to never feel the breaking apart/all my pictures of you

the cure, pictures of you

a good friend is hard to find/but you'll have one if you open your eyes/a good friend is hard to find/i found you/will you be mine?

codiene, hard to find

and probably the most important of all time:

If you need a friend,/don't look to a stranger,/You know in the end,/I'll always be there.../I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say./I know they don't sound the way I planned them to be./And if I have to walk the world to make you fall for me,/I promise you, I promise you I will

when in rome, the promise

happy valentine's.

and yes, i am crying, but only cause i am a pansy.

and i know that i might've taken some songs out of context, chalk it up to creative license. also, it may appear like this was an easy way out, but if you knew how long it took to figure out which songs i wanted to use, then find the lyrics, etc etc, anyways, it's more about the feeling anyhow.

darth sardonic