hrmmmm

berryman

mr bones doesn’t
call
the cell
phone
anymore
and it has been eighteen days
since an email crossed the hot
mail pathways…

the lack of contact
persists…

so
mr bones dances…
a merengue…a polka dot
rhythm
and i don’t dare correct him…
because as soon as mr bones is made aware,

i will have to accept the destiny dealt me

washington avenue overlooks
a tribute to gravity
offramp offererings

tuesdays

no longer a retreat from the weekend…


mr bones sends for pizza
a false address given

lies down for a nap…
wonders
where the thirty minutes have gone…

dreams of merengues

Salad days. It wasn't that long ago was it? Those days when a pint and a plate of bbq seemed to cure all ailments. I shot this pic on my way back home. Dugan's Deli was the common hangout for most Iowa State grad students while I was there. Like Floyd's Place it is also closed for business. The new owners of Dugan's were at least thoughtful enough not to paint over the mural on the back of the building. This is the back door. Many nights of listening to Total Passover, talking shop and absorbing all that there was to learn. Squish Klown was semi-born here as well. At Anthony's suggestion, what was merely a youthful nightmare turned into a philosophy for life.

The simple dedication of the critic philosopher....sadly, toward the end, Bahktin used his written works as cigarette papers. K vs. C. The idea of the carnival. Dostoevsky and Rabelais. A bad pun over beers in Seattle. Tonight, I miss the debates with Failure whilst her husband watches from the BBQ'ed sidelines. Cheers.

I got nuthin' today. Matter of fact, I had nothing yesterday. Let's just say that the klown is angry. Darn tootin' angry....gotta go see a therapist to rid me of the anger angry. Bosses screwing me out of a bonus angry. The kind of anger that Lewis Black wishes he could muster in the wee hours of the nite angry. When the day is done and the scotch is drunk, though...who really cares? Anyhow, this guy could be baby sitting for you right now. 

Meet the Parents 3: Get Fokked.

The shape of things to come? 2008...hurry the fuck up! 

It was 1986 or '87 and I was introducing a friend to the kind of music that I liked. We stood right there in front of the stacks for the whole Soul Asylum show held at the UMD campus. Neither one of us could hear for three days. What a pleasant buzz. Thanks Karl.

Separated at Birth 

And she gets pissed when I leave the cap off on the toothpaste! 

It ain't no family tradition, I can tell you that

Somebody asked me once, “Hey, why do you drink so much?”

Because pot isn’t legal.

The day you are able to plant a Budweiser Bush in your Backyard is the day that the government will step in and take that right away. Marijuana continues to be shat upon by the powers that be simply because it is not as controllable. So what if you can grow carrots in your backyard? Potatoes, tomatoes, corn, squash? There is no heirloom vegetable lobbyist group preventing you, and the tax revenue generated by bag of mini-carrots is miniscule when compared to that of a twelve pack of Red, White and Blue.

Beer is American. Pot, by the way, became ostracized primarily because Mexicans used it. Reports ran rampant (still in love with that alliteration) that Mexicans went wild after indulging in the bud.

Yeah….went wild. Hell, I can barely get up to change games in the Xbox after a bong hit or four.
I guess the point today has been: Klowns are for marijuana and porn.

This man has range! One of my new (old favorites).

Okay. Okay. I heard you.  

What the Blog is going on?

This kills me. I am just surfing, see what everyone else is doing. Next blog. Click. Next blog. Click. It’s fun. It kills time. And it beats mopping.

At first, I was merely intrigued by the number of blogs dedicated to Jessica Simpson. Then perplexed. Then downright outraged. So I clicked on one of them just to see what was being said about this vapid vixen (alliteration* is so much cooler than puns). Anyway, much to my chagrin, I was treated with a cornucopia of porn links!

Now, found porn is one of the coolest things ever. I still look in sock drawers whenever I visit someone’s house on the off chance that I might get a glance at Candy Loving or Barbi Benton au naturale.

At least, I thought, this website isn’t actually about Jessica Simpson.

Back to what really kills me. Throughout this hour or so of surfing there was a googleplex of these Jessica Simpson psuedoblogs. There were no other stars mentioned, named or linked to blowjobs in any other way. What is so puzzling is that Ms. Simpson would merit such a glorious honor and that porndom would hold her in such high regard.

If anyone has Jenna Jameson’s home number, please send it to me. I would like to solicit her thoughts on the matter.


And by the way, it is really annoying when you remove that next blog button. Or worse, when you put an ad over it so that I can’t navigate past your review of Lords of Dogtown. (“Best Movie ever!”) puhleeeeeeeeze.

*not to be confused with assonance which is simply annoying

Okay. Lesson learned. Do not put dinner on the stove and then start surfing the internet for porn. 

She should have gone with abducted by aliens. That way, it could have been classified as a parental kidnapping. Seriously, look at those eyes. Does the women ever blink? The only other people I have seen with that empty headed stare are all correspondents on the PTL club. 

Excentric?  

Some people are actually afraid of, or even HATE, clowns. Go figure. Spiders, I can see, sort of. Heights, water, confined spaces, obviously. Hell, I even understand the fear of the number 13 (if you look at it sideways, it looks like a penis and scrotum a la Picasso --take that Freud!). But clowns? Who doesn't love a good clown? Abby here, Dr. Ducky Doolittle (aka Knockers the Clown) will actually come and sit on your birthday cake with her naked tushy. C'mon!

It sticks to things. 

Because of the clowns, dammit! For whatever reason, this is the only cereal that my paternal grandparents ever kept in the house for us to eat in the morning. Non-Sunday mornings, that is. On Sunday mornings we would have one of two choices: Oatmeal or Silver Dollar Pancakes. No matter which, the meal was prepared by my grandfather. At the time, odd as it seems, all meals--important ones, that is, were prepared by the males in the family. Oatmeal was never boring at Grandpa John's house. Real butter, real cream, real honey, real love. He never served the gruel-like mush of Spanky and Alfalfa mythos.

"Don't drink the milk..."
"Why?...."

"Because it's spoilt...."

One of our favorite "Our Gang" episodes.....Not too much unlike the Electric Company's plumber who never gets the job done due to an ugly mishap with a talking avian.

Silver dollar pancakes prepared in an electric skillet. My GOD! One might as well called it deepfried batter. I never thought of it then, but my grandfather put at least a quarter inch of oil in the electric skillet before ever even thinking about adding a teaspoon of buttermilk batter. Like any true pancake afficianado, we watched for broken bubbles vs. whole ones to determine the flipping point. He never burned a set. Amazing as that is, I cannot claim the same. Pass the Mrs. Buttersworth...cheers to you ol' JP.

Why, OH why, does it always come back to cereal? 

Midnight snack. Marinara sauce and really good Italian bread, when it struck me....Peter Graves is really cool. To hell with Mission Impossible. His voice over work and appearance in Airplane! alone makes him a wonderful thespian. And he's from Minnesota too....(that's for Chris).

It's about time I put a klown image in this here thingy.

Did I mention that I was one of THOSE geeks.

speaking of...ah, to hell with it. 

At least I didn't waste my money on duct tape and plastic sheets.

4:20

and everyone but me. Never should have left California. Or college for that matter.
hightimes.com home

Go to Hell Rush Limbaugh. Go to Hell Bill O'Reilly. Go to Hell Larry King.

Holy crap. I can't believe this guy is still around. Freshman year. Bong Hits and Ed Anger. That's when life was at its greatest.

Weekly World News

Heard way too many times this week

and simply had to know. Now you know too.

Questions & Answers: At sixes and sevens

Just thinking of Bill Hicks today. Easily, he was the funniest man I ever heard while he was alive. He made me feel less crazy. It isn't his birthday today, or the anniversary of his death. I just needed a laugh and the Flying Saucer Tour CD was close at hand. Thank God.

I was always a Tully's man anyhow. 

Five minutes of pain

Either way, I feel nauseous. How and why some people become famous is way beyond the scope of my comprehension. Worse when there is a whole family of them. Yet, like a car wreck, I am drawn in....

Collected every last loving one of them. Then Mom threw them away, of course.