meet me under the wheels of that giant truck

my contemporaries are dropping off like flies.
i don't know why, but for some reason the sight of skyscrapers and cranes getting battered by wind and snow is very appealing to me.
and for some reason, every time i walk past these buildings i have to convince myself that someday soon, i'll own these buildings.
it's probably the same reason that when the little man lights up, telling us to 'walk', it's always a race and i always have to win.
everytime my eyes catch sight of a shiny red fire alarm all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
pull it pull it pull it pull it now.
applications are in.
now we wait.

noise applications

i got this idea the other day when a very big truck playing very loud rock music almost ran me over. it was the song they were playing and the fact that they had it cranked.
first off let me say i'm not a fan of the movie Braveheart, or any movie of that ilk for that matter. scowl if you like, but i just can't relate to a bunch of goons or gladiators or whatever running around half nekkid having "epic adventures" hundreds of years ago. maybe i just have a poor imagination. but this song got the old brain-mill working.
i originally planned this for Braveheart but it will work on any of those billion dollar Oscar-grubbling masterpieces.
fast forward Braveheart to the start of one of the huge battle scenes.
pause it. turn the volume off.
get your stereo or computer or whatever and cue up the song 'Thunderstruck' by AC/DC. now let them play.
how awesome is that?
i've seen that battle a dozen times and yawned throughout, but now i can't take my eyes off the screen. it's the music.
i'm sure Mel had good intentions with his sweeping, epic, orchestral score, but this is intense.
"wehh! weehhh! but i won an Oscar! wehh!"
eat it Mel.
the DC and i just out-epic'd your blue ass.

my son the cyclops

if i were ever to bear a child, and this child was "differently abled" because he was born with one large eye in the middle of his head as opposed to two normal sized, evenly spaced eyes, i think i would be happier. my mythic one-eyed offspring. sure i'd have to keep him under close watch for the first few years; making sure he doesn't fall or tumble and scrape that giant cornea of his; but his school years would be where my love would really shine.
wouldn't he get teased a lot? you may ask.
no. he would not. because unlike most parents of "differently abled" children, who repeat to their child over and over again 'you're just like everyone else!', i'd constantly remind him, 'son, you're better than everyone else. a higher being.'
and when the other kids did make fun of his bulbous, glassy eye, he'd always have the best responses.
fuck off.
this eye can see through time.
i can see what's in your stomach right now.
i can see right through your poorly made clothes.
this eye can release laser beams.
my contact lens is worth more than your parents house.
my dad owns better records than your dad.
and, inevitably, through equal doses of fear and respect, he would rule the schoolyard with a mighty iron fist.
my son, the cyclops.

profanity now!

fan-fucking-tastic!
in-fucking-credible!
extra-fucking-curricular!
instan-fucking-taneous!
unac-fucking-ceptable!
cardio-fucking-vascular!
insu-fucking-bordinate!
pro-fucking-gressive conservative!
kanga-fucking-roos!
dia-fucking-rehha!
rice-fucking-krispies!
and so forth!

i'll be your highest five

at least once a week i recieve random finger damage.
i'll look at my hand for no particular reason and see blood; a hangnail, a scraped off knuckle, a small slice to the inner-webbing, etc.
how can this be prevented? i'm obviously not aware when i'm recieving these wounds, so what steps can i take to protect myself?
mittens would work, but make the manipulation of small or complicated objects awkward and fumbly.
and rubber gloves make my hands feel skanky.
i could apply an army of Band-Aids each morning but we all know i'm far too lazy to take on that kind of responsibility. i suppose i could put them on once and leave them for a few days, but they would get pretty vile while performing my daily hand tasks.
maybe i could track down a matching set of Power Gloves.
they're so bad.

time/space

"but what are your motives? i'm not going to let just anyone fly this Time Machine. i need to know if your intentions are noble."

"i don't know. is travelling backward through time to 1964 to try and hook up with Julie Andrews, get her liquored and hopefully rail her from behind noble?"

"here's the keys."

apple raisin ham steaks

if you could have dinner with any human being, living or dead, real or fictional, man or beast, who would it be and where would you eat?
that's easy.
Tim the Enchanter.
where would we eat?
somewhere classy, with very high ceilings so he could randomly explode things without killing us both.
and preferably, we'd get a bucket of wings to start, so when finished he could gaze down on his plate and exclaim, "look at the bones!"

the cat who cried blood

so i'm walking home from Kathryn's this morning (afternoon) and the weather is just perfect.
the sun! the warmth! the laughing children!
and i'm feeling it. i can't even walk normal; i'm doing my jaunty, beatnik-full-of-bourbon-on-a-Sunday-morning walk.
smiling my Colgate smile.
snapping my fingers.
greeting all who dare walk past me.
then i see a cat on someones' stoop.
i extended my arm, to pet this cat as i passed, when i noticed it had bright red tears of blood rolling out of it's eyes.
i stopped for a moment.
i asked "why?" and i said, "i'm sorry." ...and i meant it.
but i had to keep walking.
the last thing i need is cat AIDS.

epiphany

dude, i'm listening to 'Love Gun' by Kiss.
i totally just got what that song's about.
those guys were fucking brilliant.
that does it, man.
i'm going back to college.