WHOLE FOODS GETS A GOOD RAP

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the Record will break. i will, too.





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SSS: CIRCLES, CIRCLES

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click above for #3 of 4



you want the truth, right?

or what's left of it.

i'm too exhausted to care what others think anymore, about me or this meaningless life. the time, space, spacetime, and energy wasted on whether or not i'm good enough for love has weakened my body to the point where i can't make love properly anymore.

an incident at The Store yesterday highlights my many problems with the world and myself. i'm strolling along the frozen-food section, minding my own business, i rarely speak in public, do everything in my power to avoid being noticed, the anxiety has become my permanent hat. hehe, yeah, and i want to become an actor, do i? long way to travel.

suddenly, like a blogspot lurker who suddenly takes control of your entire blog and becomes a commenting vise on every post, a dude with a snarky smile and a menacing iphone with that microphone icon recording every one of my few words strolls up alongside me and asks if i could answer a few questions. you have got to be kidding me! i mean, seriously? buddy, this is the wrong time, and i am definitely the wrong man. do you know who i am? i am the famous blogger the late phoenix. do you realize you've sauntered up unknowingly to the guy who taught internet trolls how to be trolls, who is anonymous and Anonymous for a reason? i don't do this for publicity, if i did, i'd be Tom Cruise...well, okay, Johnny Depp, someone i can indie-cred respect.

why did i get targeted? i'm a soft target i know, i'm vulnerable, it's just me trying to make my way in this world, through the damn aisle grasping for my ridged french fries, wanting to make my entrance and exit out of this nightmare of scary people all over the place talking about food, expensive drink, and their lives which will forever be better than mine 'cause they don't contend with my demons. i wanted to imprint my tiny presence at The Store that afternoon like a magician who wears a mask and never signs his work, quiet as an atheist mouse.

maybe if i had other/human protection, a mom or a girlfriend clutching my arm, people would leave me alone. but no, the loner is ripe for ridicule and an unwanted spotlight. actor, ha! miles away. okay, i thought, well, maybe this is a good thing, i've painfully avoided controversy and human interaction explicitly for this reason, the mealworms of nerves in my stomach from decades ago are starting to bubble up as this guy won't let it go and is determined to talk to me like i'm any other joe on the street. does he not see my pain and discomfort? no of course not, i hide it well, have had to from my folks and "friends" all these years, he doesn't know me, i don't want him to ever know the real me, i'm an actor. time to confront, whether i want to or not.

"so can you answer a few somethings?"

"um," i stuttered, the first time in ten years i've talked to a non-family-member, a stranger, first time i've literally been FORCED to talk to a strange man, some nondescript dude on the street, i have to speak to move on with my life, "will this take long?"...okay, still have a somewhat listenable voice, cadence is still okay after all these cobwebs, the youtube vids i did recently really broke the ice, "i need to...", i stopped there, but man, i really wanted to just get my fries.

"what do you think makes for a great treasure-hunter?"

"oh, treasure-hunter!" i retorted. yeah, this isn't a useless, ridiculous question or anything. sure, i felt for the dude, his stupid boss at the newspaper saw his worth, a rookie wet behind the ears, the boss is laughing and snickering to his face as he sends him on this idiotic assignment to stalk members of a food establishment and ask them about treasure-something, this article will definitely reach the next-to-back page, if it was on the back page it would be seen, but the next-to-last page, that's where your little report on the left-hand inside corner of the page on the attitudes of this community on whatever it is---scuba-divers' rights, the hidden gold near the sea where we live, environmental concerns, or perhaps just speed freaks looking for a thrill after the bath salts wear off---shall land.

i didn't think, if i would have thought, i would have sunk into the ground on the spot. i assumed my blogging persona, the take-no-prisoners, don't-give-a-fuck-about-anyone-and-anything person i wear when i type furiously and stream-of-conscience, without a conscience, letting my extensive vocabulary fly as i describe the creative things in my brain, always clever, lying my ass off like any good actor does, always doble-entendre, filled with the loads of sex and lust i wish i could indulge in in real life IRL, snarky, rude, telling it like it is, i fucking hate that term "telling it like it is", that's the fakest thing you can do...and always inscrutably weird and nonsensical.

"well, you know, i know treasure-hunters, i was once a treasure-hunter myself, but my wife left me when she caught me licking that piece of silver instead of the dime-piece she thought she was..."

dude cracked a very creepy smile, and that disturbing mic icon on his iphone, it wasn't just capturing my voice, it was capturing my essence for when God had to decide Heaven or Hell for me later.

"what are the traits of the best treasure-hunters?"

seriously, what the hell was this for? "a good treasure-hunter must be..." i was thinking hard for the cleverest responses. man, this is like me trying to come up with youtube ideas and on the first take, i'm jabbering away about...something...nothing...and always have to take a second take, that first take is always a jumbled mess even by my standards..."a good treasure-hunter must never give up, must persevere through the bad times, must be a monetary genius when he cashes in later, must have a James-Bondesque eye for the ladies or it gets boring, and must love his family when he goes broke and gets his leg torn off from a shark's jaws and must live with Mom the rest of his life."

was he liking this? was the recording red light on? when will this torture be over? is this the end...of me? is he gone yet? by the way, after this was over, he strangely disappeared from out the store, nobody seemed to recognize that he was there, no one remembered him, he was out of sight, he literally vanished into thin air, did he talk to anyone else about this? no, just fucking me and gone. "um, can i get your name?"

"i use an alias, i like to remain unknown, i have this blog, see..."

"oh, you're a blogger, is that your profession?"

"yes, that's my "profession"."

"what have you had to persevere through in your life?"

oh, now i get it. this wasn't about treasure-hunters at all, that was just the gateway question. this guy was actually auditioning me for a cult. "i'm really depressed, i don't want to get into the long ugly history of it, but i don't know if i'll make it."

"what's the one thing that will get you out of this hole?"

"a loving girlfriend, a good woman..."

stone-faced, non-responsive from him...story of my (love) life.

"can i get your name?"

"just use my blog alias."

"but it's not a real name."

"okay, use...Matt Smith...y'know, The Doctor?"

he laughs...but you can tell he's no sci-fi geek, he really has no clue what i just said.

"can i get a pic of you?" suddenly a bulky old-school camera unknown heretofore pops out from behind his back, he grasps it with his bulky man-hands and menacingly tries to take a shot of me before i can say no, he's trying to capture my soul...

FUCK NO! i thought. can't he see that i'm a wallflower, i shun the spotlight though i want to be famous? can't he see my contradictions? "no, bro, no bro, i just don't want my picture taken. i like to remain anonymous."

"oh, well, then, bye." he walks off. total waste of time, misspent energy, and nerves...story of my life, i'm racing around in circles, deepening my overall paranoia of other humans, wondering about ulterior motives, all i fucking wanted was my god-damn ridged fries in peace.

CLICK HERE AND WE CAN ALL CALM DOWN A BIT.

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TMIT: THERE'S SOMETHING IN MY FRIDGE...

there's something in my fridge.......regret......and carrot sticks and my blow-up doll. what!? i have to keep the thing from melting somehow.

sex and food go together like.......well, food and sex, living and breathing.

pic 8 down from the top up above there reminds me of my new friend...

what is in my fridge:

1. anything alcoholic? beer, wine, champagne?: wine coolers, fucking strawberry and hard as hell. real men drink wine coolers. actually, i don't like bitter drinks, i have enough bitter inside me as it is, i need to balance the universe by consuming sweet liquids.

2. any guilty pleasures? anything chocolate? ice cream?: i don't consider any food and drink a guilty pleasure, it's necessary for this human to live. i mean, what's the point of going on if i can't have my Trix cereal and my shedload of cans of Monster Energy? i can't live in a world where i am denied the chance to be fruitalicious and speedballed like a motherfucker.

3. any really old bottles of condiments?: funny you should ask that, i have tons and tons of ketchup packets old and recently-old from In-N-Out Burger, Burger King, and McDonalds. i always get these packets included in my bags when i eat out, i don't ask for ketchup explicitly, it seems to be implied. don't get me wrong, i'm grateful for the sauce, but i always use my home ketchup instead, so i'm left with this large-ass plastic bag that now contains 800,000 ketchup packets and 1 relish.

4. frozen pizza? any other frozen quick dinners?: pizza, nom nom nom. i prefer hot, but i'll take cold, much like my sex habits. my favorite topping on pizza is pizza. i never got the extra cheese thing, are they ripping you off if you ask for normal cheese? i'm a bachelor, i have to eat frozen dinners, though sometimes i treat myself to a little cotton candy i make homemade in my backyard shed, secret ingredient, shhhh! don't tell anyone: moonshine. whether i'm chomping down on yellow ice---that's the macaroni-and-cheese gourmet meal, brown ice---that's the filet mignon, black ice---that's the roadkill special, some sort of, like, i dunno, meatloaf or something, i'm happy to be alive............i'm so fucking lonely, i need a wife to feed me properly.........

5. anything actually rotten or moldy?: my pride, my self-worth. as far as food, no, i'm surprisingly clean and well-kept in my kitchen mostly because i don't have a lot of food and drink to start with, so nothing lasts long enough to mold, except for that damn ketchup. i'm so fucking poor, i drink grape juice and pretend it's wine, i pretend i'm rich by making it rain Monopoly money in my den, i think eating hard salami makes me hard.

6. what do you have in your fridge that the rest of us probably don't?: well, the blow-up doll. okay, everyone has that, but does your blow-up doll speak to you in dulcet tones like mine does?

bonus: in Philip Roth's Portnoy's Complaint, the main character Alexander Portnoy masturbates using a liver steak and cored-out apple. have you ever masturbated with food?: damn, i missed that one English lecture in college, i was too busy trying to get my credits verified at the student center. dude helping me said he would only comply with my demands if i did a "Portnoy's Not Complaining Anymore" on his body. now i know what he meant.

bonus bonus: we're curious, how many phallic-shaped foods are in your refrigerator?: one, my penis-shaped bottle of cottage cheese. don't ask. okay, ask. well, the cottage cheese looks like...i tear a small hole into the bottletop with scissors, and...yeah...

i ate all the pickles and the carrots and the sweet potatoes and the celery. however, there are still the two radishes in the top drawer that look like my balls.

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ACTING 101

i had an acting coach at Cal who would instruct us that there was bad acting, but never bad motivations for acting. in other words, every actor before he speaks and motions has in his mind the motivation for what he is about to do and say, that motivation could never be too big, too over-the-top...so, the actor REALLY REALLY REALLY hates his mother as he's about to rant against her on stage, he wants SO MUCH to explain to her how she's ruined his life, all of that chaos and commotion is bubbling up in his head, there is no such thing as too much rage, too much feeling, that motivation cannot be limited, it spreads as far as one's imagination allows.

now whether or not that frenzy in the actor's mind will translate into what he actually says, the volume at which he spews his logic on stage, the hand-wringing and deliberate throwing-up of the hands he does as he talks to his poor mother, is another matter. many times what is actually witnessed on stage by the audience is not what the actor was intending, what the actor saw play out in his mind from all of that brain activity beforehand.

FOLKS, PLEASE CLICK HERE AT THIS LINK

my getaway question to you before the weekend: are these two fine ladies just bad actors or what? what's the backstory here? it seems that maybe they were just doing this for a Colonial Penn paycheck, or...? i mean, not to get racist, the black woman is an okay thespian, but the white woman seems to be, i dunno, like she's monotone and robotic and yet she carries with her an air that she's doing a damn-good acting job here, it's misplaced arrogance. she's emotionless about death, but she wants us to feel for her; she might be a clone. also, when was the last time you just strolled along the park, walking to and fro among the trees at the local park casually talking to your friend about ill-gotten gains, secret Swiss money, just walking and talking? nobody else seems to live in this city, they're just whiling away the day...must be nice, wish i had such freedom to move about.

sure, Mom's dead, but at least there's still the money...

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SSS: BLACK, THIN, RECTANGULAR PORTAL OUT INTO THE WORLD

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click above for #2 of 4




it's so lonely here, so very lonely...but my IPAD MINI saves the boredom. it's a tool, a doorway, a bridge out into the greater world from my cramped four walls. with a touch of a button i see the vistas of Saudi Arabia, the never-before-seen trailer for the new Zelda video game, real-life news pop-cultured into easy-to-remember snarky headlines, and imaginary news, all fanfictions hot off the presses.

it can be my salvation, but it also gets me into trouble. i never type the right thing, i offend without knowing it, sarcasm does not translate well on youtube, trying to be funny can get you canned. there is only so much typing to do, eventually you need to break the allowed-stalker-mode and meet in real life, you must touch and go out for lunch at an airport cafe, talk face to face, let her see your expressions, not your emoticons, the finger you wag as you debate her, not the finger you type with.

without such warmth, humans die, plants die, the interest dies, the world dies.

i am scared, frightened of the future, i see no way through and definitely no way out. i've had doom feelings creep inside me all my life, but the feelings now are new and disturbing, strange in a drug-high way, absurd and depressing and terrifying, they are born of infinite ennui, i see the next 30 years, but they might as well be next week, it's all the same non-motion and directionlessness. if only i could...someone...something...get me out of this rut...take me on vacation...let me see the new, new animals, new insights, new sights, new sites, no more websites, more Earth sites.

there's a sense of "not long now". whatever will happen will happen soon. sure, i can continue pushing the various buttons on my ipad mini, my portal, my escape, stories will be read and written, pictures naughty and otherwise will be seen, i will smile and guffaw again, it's not like i allow myself to be permanently down, if something is funny or sexy, i react to it spontaneously, i haven't lost my humanity completely.

but i need to be involved in a Grand Project, a career, something artistic that will occupy my time forever, that won't allow myself any more free time to fall back once again into that desperate existential rut of which there is no rope to escape with, only a pit of unanswerable questions.

why did i allow myself to dream? it was never gonna happen with her, it never will with anyone. was i destined to be a loner? if so, i suppose i can casually fall back comfortably into the pillows of my destiny. but then, why am i so uncomfortable all the time, so antsy? i need someone, i can't go at it alone, i need someone in my corner to attack the bad times with, otherwise i avoid the bad times, avoid the good times, too, avoid all times and All Time, never try, just sit back and watch others do. those that don't do, teach. i'd rather be a real actor than a troll basement critic who makes a living slamming the real actors because of his unfulfilled dreams of becoming an actor himself, i hate those guys, it's like, just admit you're jealous and get back to auditioning again, yes, you're close to Hollywood going the TMZ route but you're not really a part of the Hollywood scene you really want to be an influence in.

ipad mini, you entertain me, you save me, you get me into trouble, you curse my life, flesh friends from wisp friends, a whole future from one youtube comment, a path from reading an article online from a secret link at the right corner of the page.

MY OLD HEART IS FOR SALE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

check the ESPN tennis scores, Nadal's knees seem to be okay now, Federer's once-unassailable record is now in jeopardy, lifetime goals and dreams and marks are ready to fall, things seemingly clad in iron and steel are about to crumble shockingly and rewrite the rules of permanent records and permanent life attitudes.

not long now...things are about to happen...things are changing...i remain the same.



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TMIT: NO LAUGHING MATTER

my favorite comedians up above there



1. have you ever laughed during sex? do tell: one time at band camp, a fit of laughter of pure joy and ecstasy raced from out my mouth because i just couldn't believe this was happening to me, finally...my partner my teddy bear felt the same way, too...

2. how important is a sense of humor to you? vital, you can be a babe, but if you can't laugh at yourself, the internets, and the greater world around you, if you can't see that IT'S JUST A RIDE---thank you, Bill Hicks---if you can't see the inherent flaw in humanity, the ridiculousness of this planet, the futile pursuit of meaning, the untold burden of existence, we just won't connect and get along. you cannot be serious anymore (John McEnroe), you cannot be serious in this life, you can only be serious on the internet, because the internet is serious business.

3. did you ever think something was funny but your lover did not? you probably think i'm gonna say ex-lover because we couldn't agree on this laugh, but actually, i found that i was made of sterner stuff than all that, i didn't just run away as usual at the first sign of conflict, i stayed through the trouble and we worked on our relationship. the joke was about cats, she thought they were cute and cuddly, all i could see was the death of them every time i masturbated.

4. are pranks funny? have you ever fallen victim to a prank? do tell: pranks are only funny if they're not done to you. this one time we finally got Ashton Kutcher back for all of the bad Punk'd tv he tortured us with for all those years. i sent him a bill for my bleeding eyes...actually, i can't divulge any more, it's a legal thing.

i've had a prank played upon my person, and it's no fun. this is how it went down: my mom entered my room one day, broke down the deadbolt with her foot and exclaimed:

mom: son, you're never gonna make a woman happy. no woman is ever gonna want to be with you. you're a loser, you have no job, no future, no career goals, your art will not work out, and you smell, and you're a bad lover from what i've heard.

me: .......................(awkward silence)

five minutes of staring at each other, then Moms goes:

mom: got ya! i fucking got ya! you got Punk'd, son, and i mean SON both ways! *knee-slapping with laughter* hhhhhhahhhhahahahahahahahahahahahahheheheheheheh

me, *sticking out my tongue*: mom, mom, WASSSSSSSUUUUUUUUPPPPPPPP????!!!!!

mom, *sticking out her tongue*: WASSSSSSSSSSUUUUUUUUUUUUPPPPP?????!!!!!

5. what is your favorite type of humor: i've been depressed ever since i was born, i was a sad baby, this is no laughing matter. you'd probably surmise from my goth upbringing that i've shared with you before at this blog that i would enjoy dark comedy the most, black humor, gallows stuff...and you would be correct. when a clown sprays his water flower all over my face at the circus, i don't chuckle or get mad, i take the clown by the shoulder, grip his hand, the hand he used to spray all that obnoxious water on my face, clench his hand in a tight vise and say to him earnestly, "friend, thank you for the water, i was parched." see, i'm a humanitarian, i know what the deal is when it comes to life on Earth, i understand the struggle people in the world go through, i know hunger and thirst, i get it, i'm a brother to man, i take the time to see what's really important, i take time out for courtesy.

bonus: tell us a funny/embarrassing moment you experienced with a lover: my imaginary lover laughed at me for having an imaginary lover...

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WELL, WE CAN'T LEAVE BJORK MONTH WITHOUT THIS...300 POSTS...

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SSS: MY FRIENDS NOW

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click the pic above to light the way for the new series, #1 of 4



after a tumultuous life, i've settled down with a few good ones, internet wisps though they are. i can't disparage the number of good real friends i have, i must acquiesce to fate which has deemed it possible for a tired man as myself to have any human interaction at all. there are always regrets, always regrets, you always want more, "we want more" as that girl from the AT&T commercial intones, wish things would have progressed differently with some, but you can't fight the next day, the tide, the fierce power of the wave that is already turning the page, not caring that you don't want to.

there is that babe with the ridiculously-huge tits, when she commented, i felt my depression throw away its weights for a second, i was light and airy like a cupcake puff, i had no problems except which anime to watch next to infuse my pop-culture knowledge deeper so i could have a better chat with her the next time. i wonder what happened to her, i'd need to join twitter now, fuck that, too much trouble, think she's a baker or something, no doubt filling men's mouths and minds with savory deliciousness, thoughts of flaky crust and those heavenly breasts. i am just a guy after all, nothing special, am but a down man.

these friends now are all that i know, all i've ever known, it's like no one existed before. i had a staunch best-friend-for-life in elementary school, but i've forgotten his name, it all runs together, it cruelly blurs together, it never comes out as crystal-clear memories. he was a beautiful person, Italian boy with hair dark as raven, smart and kind, back when these qualities were measured and appreciated, before the youtube destruction of all that is holy in human beings, the moral relativism, the intense permanent irony inbred into all online comments.

these are the people that keep me afloat, years and years of damage have rendered me a flaccid weak balloon man, each quip and email observation of theirs blows a little air back into me.

I'M NEVER ALONE, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

i don't ask anymore what the future holds for me, i don't envision different folks in my life, a different setting, a Hollywood pool party perhaps, or dank monastic stone, i've had my affair with the Tarot Card Lady and the sex was not good. i wrap my cyber arms around my friends now and don't think.




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TMIT: NOTCH, NATCH

1. have you or do you keep track of all the number of fine women you've been with? yo, i count the honeys with my pinkies, ya feel me? i put the number in my hed right between the meaning of life and my Pac Man high scores.

2. to get specific, how many people have you a) slept with? b) kissed in a romantic way? c) given oral to? d) received oral from? e) etc.

a) not counting me, 37...thousand
b) i kissed my boss in a non-romantic way, purely to get ahead in the workforce, he was a guy but i enjoyed it, does that count? i was trying to break my own personal glass ceiling made of Flintstones stone.
c) i gave oral to my hanging plant...no, that's just the code word we have with each other for watering...with water, not pee...come on, man, i'm not like that!
d) Mickey Mouse...it was an especially hot day in the Magic Kingdom...we were bored...talking 'bout the strip club The Magic Kingdom...Mickey can be a girl's name...

3. what is the most amount of people you've been with at one time: twosome, threesome, foursome? if you're just boring and are with your one true love, just her, in a bed of silk satin and a Snoopy plush, here's a trick: call it a TWOSOME, that somehow makes it seem more and naughtier...

4. have you ever entertained multiple partners at numerous times in the day, a babe for breaky, a woman of the night for afternoon delight, and a real woman for din-din? of course, that's three hots and a cot right there. Cot is the name of my fourth, she's a swell gal i cruise around with late at night, i go all Tokyo Drift with my souped-up light-blue car with the fins tryin' to impress her, tryin' to make her my steady, using only my lips i grab a cig from the cig carton that's rolled into my left white t-shirt short sleeve. yeah, so y'know, at 2AM there's not much open, Chipotle gives me the bleeding South Park runs so we always settle for Taco Bell for fourth meal...nothin' like chomping down on some bottom-of-the-pile stale churro chips coated with hard sugar in a greasy bag, so hard to bite down on that my permanent gold tooth pops out, that's hardcore, man, that's some gangsta shit.

bonus: describe your most exhilarating multiple-person encounter, either an experience you really went through or one you aspire to enjoy: this is what i want to happen someday: all of the TMITers at my McMansion Tuesday night---of course it's gotta be Tuesday, right?! wink wink---for an orgy, but it has to be between the hours of 9PM and 9:15PM, that's my only free time, i'm watching my DVRed soaps the other times. it's okay, i can cum quickly, so it'll still be rad.

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2013 PREAKNESS GAME, ANYONE CAN PLAY!!!

with a convoluted name like InfieldFest, it has to be good. you all know the deal, folks, oh these blog games will be the death of me. the Preakness is tomorrow: predict the winner of this most rowdy of races, the Alcohol Jewel in the Triple Crown, the Jelly Jewel, as in you're jelly that you're not at the party, the Frat Race, the Preakness. the winner of this blog game is obviously the one who correctly predicts the actual winner tomorrow.

CLICK HERE FOR THE CONTENDERS LIST. CHOOSE YOUR HORSE FROM AMONGST THOSE ON THE LIST. COOL, HUH?

play by typing your guess in the comments, use my entry down below there as a guide. simple, right? and fun.

because i have so rudely activated comment-moderation at my blog---btw if i didn't, this place would be constantly bombarded with spam---there is the possibility that two of you will choose the same horse. it's okay, i promise, nuclear winter came last week, it's time to come together and be happy, the Election is over, time to stop wasting your life on politics messageboards and taste the sunshine. the prize can be equally divided amongst all winners like King Solomon and cutting the baby in half. the prize is...yep...yep...you guessed it...3 comments from my racked, tired, imaginative though curious, human yet alien brain, from my fingers to your blog...if that sounded dirty, it was supposed to.

good luck and i do appreciate all that do play, i really do, it's no fun if no one plays. i'll see you sometime after the race tomorrow---or maybe Sunday or i don't know next week at the latest, my May schedule is insane---for the results. i love you my babies, i love each and every one of you. kegger!

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