Friday, August 11, 2006

Read Post Below this...

I would just like to tell the Oregonlive blazers forum A-hole's that think America sucks and don't allow free speech to lick the spot between xxxxxxxxxx i editted out that section of where they can lick, i need find inner peace, not release gaseous inner anger (plus it smells like pizza, i had that for lunch)...
Please read below this, i just needed to vent

PS I WILL BE OUT OF TOWN FOR A WEEK, I'LL CHECK IN BEFORE I LEAVE TOMMOROW... I JUST GOT WIND OF A MIGRATORY POD OF WALRUS HEADING DOWN THE BERING STRAIT. DESTINY CALLS, I WILL BE BACK ON 8/19..

SO BOOKMARK THIS PAGE!!!! DON'T FORGET ME!!!!

Clarification...


It was brought to my knowledge, by a hairy little critter named Dan, whose bad teeth which were littered with pieces of mince pie and tea stained plaque distracted much of my attention, that my stories were inconsistent. A declaration like this must be analyzed. Did I mix up my story? I stated that my family died. I later said my Mom criticized my novel. Now, if he had done the research, it would have been extremely clear to him that the err, oh wretched little isle rat, was his.
In the issue of "Worldwide Muscle and Pain" magazine, the short piece entitled, "Eskimo Warrior Prince: Octagon's Next Face Crusher?" exposayed (i can't figure out how to do that vaginal accent line over the E) my life. It discussed the leaving of my parents house at a young age, far younger than what was typical in my walrus hunting tribe. At the ripe age of 7, i was sent to become a man. This ritual consisted of finding a rare albino walrus, breaking off its tusks, and feeding it peanut butter on a spoon (you scrape the peanut butter on the roof of its mouth, they can't get it off with their tongues... hillarity ensues). I then came back to the village with the tusks. For my wife, the custom was to sneak into another man's igloo during the night and stab him with both tusks, and you then take his wife (due to the incredibly small population of women, there were only 3 back then, but we applied and recieved a batch of 15 mail-orders from siberia, so the woman population is back at a reasonable level). MY PARENTS DIDNT LIVE WITH ME... I built my own igloo, and at the age of 7 and 1/2, began creating my young. the first of which was born on my eigth birthday, no joke... we would share power rangers and stuff for birthday presents, he would get blue ranger, i would red, and we would have them fight... awesome. My parents frequented Reno for investment purposes, and just happened to be on such a trip when my family was killed by those goddamn oil people. story over, dan loses, i win....
Picture above is from "Worldwide Muscle and Pain" magazine... I am not in the picture because i was only 7, and preferred to fight naked... it would have been childporn if they showed me, so they couldnt...

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Mystery of Gnome Gulley, Chapter 3

well, i'm writing a novel that should hit the shelves of a walgreens near you. the book is entitled Mystery of Gnome Gulley, and i am really proud of it. although its been refered to as a grandioso waste of human life by my own mother, who never supported me, ever, i can't wait to prove her wrong. sure i lived in a station wagon for 3 years and still do. sure i sold my wife's wedding ring after the oil company incident (see under head of the page, up above dummy) for a bj in a back alley by a dude who told me he was Tom Selleck's brother. i've made mistakes, i live up to them, but now i have a feather factory truck parked under the ledge i'm standing on and i have something to fall on... so i am working, i am getting stuff done, and i need to get going, the barista just noticed that i took a coffee off of the counter that wasn't mine, so i'll check in on free wifi from another starbucks in a while...

My First Blog...


and it feels like GREAT! I have overcome many obstacles, entire armies... But now my heart is heavy, I must ignore my impulses. I would love to cheetah punch my television everytime I see a family on it. But just because I lost mine when OilCon seized my tribal land and decided to drill into mother earth's cold, hard, tundra-y flesh so some exec can drive their H2 Hummers (mine is an H3, so I get better gas mileage) and use vaseline or whatever else they make out of the black blood of satan doesn't mean I can resort to violence. Like an eagle perched far above the land, i must watch the horizon. I can't attack, but I can surely drop an occasional doo doo on a passerbyer. And this "doo doo" that I am dropping is meant to keep people listening, make them aware of the fact that even though I am far from better, I can overcome. And so can you... I will guide you, like Mama pig bringing her young to her nipples for a late lunch, and inspire you, like a three legged dog, lifting his only hind leg to take a wiz... Magic isn't for magicians, it's for miracle workers.

Go Blazers! The pic i have added to this post is one my son made for me, the day before he was tossed into a vat of oil and became hummer exhaust...