I’m not blogging.
I’m blobbing.
Blobbing up and down,
the sweaty sidewalk
of Internet Street.

I love them.
Dear Sharpie company
I would love to endorse your product.
Sometime I get Sharpie on my face
When I am drawing
Oh
Dear Sharpie
I can’t throw you out
Where did you come from
Some kind of super marker planet where everything is cool and awesome and permanent.
Sometimes Sharpies go around in a circle
Chanting
They tell me to draw things.
Terrible things
And funny things
And the best things.
If Sharpies were a food
They would be the best food.
Black Sharpies turn grey over time
It takes years for a Sharpie to die
Literally years
If I had to have some part of my body replaced with an inanimate object
It would be a Sharpie
Hopefully it would be one of my fingers and not my penis.

Rain.
What is it and why is it here?
Is it God’s poop?
Who gives a shit.

Rain.

What’s up with stuff?
Does it make you feel tough? Want to shove it in your muff?
Can you eat it? If it were a cookie? Hairy like a wookie?
Harry like Whodini? Where is it?
What’s up with stuff?

I’m on a writer’s strike.
The internet is TV.
I write on the computer and then I punch it.
Strike one for me. Pitching great TV.

Ted Demme is Ted.
Ted Demme isn’t Lemmy.
But He has a motörhead.
A motör-shaped head.

It’s the kind of place that makes
a bum, feel like a king
And it makes a king
feel like some nutty koo koo
super king.

heroin cow - he’s on drugs
I said do you want beef?
He said What What!!!
so I stabbed him in his butt
with his own syringe

So many smells

1. where do i begin
2. how many are there
3. what is it
4. furthermore
5. and then
6. more stuff
7. where the fuck are all these numbers coming from?

Does any body even care about this sport anymore? I mean come on! Really what’s up with the ballgame.

The bald game.

Rub two heads together.

Mike Tyson & The Game.

Whoever gets the most facial tattoos wins.