Ambucan't and the Acronym Fuckpit.

Recently, I've become a snake.

Bitten by the weresnake, I will become the viper.

My children, when we visit the vast peaks of failure and 20th century pseudo-boredom, we shall become one with the megasnake.

A thing of such powerful beauty and dreamsicles, that your eyes will burn out and your skin will become like diamonds.

Seek and you shall find viperdom.




Trying to find a balance between giving up and failing is totally impossible.



SEEK MY WIZDUMB, YOU RANCID BLANKS(insert funny joke here).




It is my hope to never hope, it just leads to terrible, horrible things.



Can't we all just get a Hong?



Captain Pertinacious! I only knew thee in death.



I'm I good consumer. I eat, I drink, I shit, I stop thinking whenever difficult things present themselves.



Santa never said he was a good person. He said he was a GREAT person.

I'm made of land starfish, bitches.


I recently got bitten by a Lycanthrope starfish. Every waning gibbous I change. I grow and mutate, and horrible things happen to my appendages. I consume food by vomiting my stomach out and digesting things live, then sucking in the slurry of meat and bone. It is a terrible life, though I'm driven to these things by pure animal mania. I have but one mouth and I must digest.



I made a heat teepee to warm up old eggs with hash browns. It's my own trail of tears. Also tasty.



I wish I had a no-legged dog. I would use an RC car wired to his brain for movement. In the future, I could use him as a hover-board.

What was once a detriment has turned him into a horrible Velociraptor. I love this thing so much. I also fear it more than my own death. Having an army of those would be better that the fucking ark from Indian(a) Jones. As much as I want to say YAY for this dog, the innate fear from his raptor-like movement makes me want him to fall.

I wrote this blog two nights in a row. I also noticed that I wrote TWO different were-somethings.
Shows how much content I have.

Urania Magazine Holds Brain Secrets

Found this site with a huge collection of Italian science fiction magazine covers. The ones that caught my eye are from a magazine called Urania. Here's a few of the covers that I've translated so far...

Arby's 30th, and King Super Choke

Shit. Now I gotta write again. It's amazing how just 4 days off has damaged my momentum. Although that 4 day span has been filled with airplane shenanigans, sobbing relatives, bagels, migraines, more dental work, couch moving, casket moving, elder hand holding, putting a positive spin on what passes for my life, xanax, Excedrin, and swinging from an emotions rope into a funeral pond.


My life is a circus



I really want to get back to the breezy existence I was unconsciously enjoying before this Sunday. It'll take some time, but I'll get back up on my feet and provide for my family. No more tenement living for us. No sir! Back to work. Consider me clocked in.




I lost my cool at Target today. Every time, man. Anyone who's been to the one on Western and Elston knows what I'm talking about. There's about a 35-minute limit at Target before my mood and pallor congeal into a thick paste. I call it "The Terrible".

Speaking of "The Terrible", Arby's is celebrating the 30th anniversary of their Beef and Cheddar Sandwich up in Canada. It's about fucking time! August 18th has been circled on my calender since I bought a crayon in March. I've been cruising the Arby's message boards in anticipation and found these coupons. Slice!




An excerpt from King Super Choke's diary, dated August 18th:

I got up really early yesterday, put on my cleanest pair of sweatpants, draped an American flag over my torso, and headed to my local Arby's. The manager, who also happens to be my brother in law, fired up the fluorescent beef as soon as he saw my van pull up. I could smell my thighs rubbing together, and it made my mouth water. I kicked open the front door to the happy meat palace, and my jaw dropped because there was someone already in line. This son of a bitch was trying to snake me out of my Beef and Cheddar! Face mouth shove grease drip grunt slime slap lips bruff!




I stored my anger deep in the pockets of my now ruined sweatpants, queued up behind Señor Ruins Everything, and bought 18 of those sloppy babies. And an iced tea. After an hour or so, I'd wolfed down all but one sandwich, and decided to take her home with me. I set her down on the kitchen table, and just stared in awe. The pale labia meat, orange goo, and wet bun, all working in perfect harmony, mesmerized my eyes and satisfied my soul.



Then I had a massive heart attack and died. At least I died doing what I love...clutching my chest in searing pain.

Trust in Fake Zeus

While Unkie Monty was holding it down like a bag of tarantulas underwater, I been doin' this:
(cue the "Where I been photo montage")



























(via Dark Roasted Blend)



(via Hugo Arcier)






Post with words included, coming tomorrow.

I've Consumed My Storebought Goods And Plan On Purchasing More. When Will I Be A Good Citizen?

These are all real referrals. I swear to god.

Google search for:
"Picture of rodney king beating"
"gi douche"
"douche movies"
"laird hamilton kiteboard"
"uri korn"
"why are my daughter's feet so big" I swear to anyone this is real.
"Mark Hogancamp on this american life"
"Douche Names"
"devil goat figure"

Thats only 5 pages. Imagine TEN.

Internet super stardom here I COME!

MOTHER FUCKING INTERNET!


More Last Meals

Stan Getz:


Every Charlie Brown comic ever.
Beef Gravy in a cup.
A copy of "Endtroducing" by DJ Shadow.

Lisa "Left Eye" Lopez:


Sass.
A Bedazzler.
A single tear farmed from Macaulay Culkin.

Sauron:


Pure Hate.
Cotton Candy after being stolen from a family and dipped in water while they watch.
Mashed Potatoes, or as he calls them "Troll Dicks".


I know I posted about 3 seconds ago. However I'm just sitting here and thinking. This is bad. So I'm writing to quell that. I know what you're thinking, "That's what beer is for!". This is untrue. We've all been in that situation. Your friend gets drunk then gets Honest. For every frat boy that "WOOOOOS" at a camera, there is an equal amount who go home sobbing like a child, talking about how much his dad hates him.

On a weird note, I tried to find a sweet image to keep your attention. My search for "my dad hates me" only yielded one result: Suicide Girls. Weird.

The sound of one million envelopes opening. A wet rustling even, a tree outlet mall.

So recently, as we saw my good friend and fellow humanity crime committee(r?). Lost his Granddad. So I've decided to actually try to make a bit of effort to make this post suck less.

Not exactly sure how or what to do about it. I'm in charge right now. I'm supposed to make up for The Kid not posting.

In his stead, I will mimic his jokes.

Papa Christmas meets his salad maker. I knew him well. Weevil, my Bollest.


What the hell.

I like music that makes me wonder if I'm going insane. Where the artist actually uses the entire stereofield with faint hints of sound or samples. You have to wonder after a while if what you're hearing is what you think it is. That sounds kind of stupid. However due to the fact that I don't ever plan these out, I need to use as much space as possible.

I fucking love NASAs pic a day. Seriously. I mean, I can get fresh daily blurbs of space! It's one of the few things I use to forget everything.



So I was supposed to post yesterday and today. I stopped after while then came back. I didn't really have any ideas and still don't. After The Kid's post, I kind of went into writer shock. I never knew his Grandpappy, nor will I. However, I've read Thomas Lynch. So when I think about death, I think more about the aftershock more than I do the quake. A Death is only valuable if there's someone to mourn, right?

I know you think that's awful callous, but think about how many people died while you read that. Are you mourning? Unless it's massive tragedy, or someone close, the world is blissfully unaware, save for those impacted directly by the Departed. I'm going to go back to my ranting and raving after this because I don't know where I'm going at all. Mostly thinking out Internet.

Imagine his joy.


I can't stress how much this represents my life.



Why exactly is every girl costume sexualized? I mean, I get it. Sure, awesome, but do we really need sexy Ghostbusters?

Where's my sexy Predator costume?


During one of those moments, I cry at my own curiosity.


Shhhhh. Listen close and you'll hear the keys of tens of nerds, pissed that they bothered to read this blog and that I covered her boobs. Well, I'm sorry, but this is a clean blog.

On that note:

THANKS JAPAN.


This is why he will always win.


On a more intellectual note. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH


This is two things. First off, it's an amazingly surreal French film from 70s. Second, it's been re-scored by modern weird artists such as Venetian Snares, Kid 606, Squarepusher, Autechre and a host of others.

It's essentially another "How can humans be so cruel when we are just animals ourselves!" kind of movie. Despite this simplification, the plot is rather cool, and the imagery and sound alone are totally worth the watch.


After writing all that, I became tired. So I did what any red-blooded American nerd on a rope would do. Got a Red Bull and a 40. While perusing the lonely(snack) aisle, I thought about Last Meals.

WATCH OR YOUR LIFE!


I thought about this because here I am a free man. I could eat any manner of wondrous foods. I have money and I love food. So why do I get lean cuisines? Why does the stupid card that gives me discounts know my existence all too well? Consider that for a second. All those stupid cards we use to save money track our purchases. For marketing. What about your list? I know my last.fm says I have amazing taste in music, or that I spend too much of my time obsessing over what are ostensibly molecules disturbing the air around me.

Back to my questions.


So I chose the Red Bull and 40. I did. I could have made a fine salad. Why bother? I'm coming home to sit on my computer and write and write. In hopes someone will laugh. NOT AT THIS POST YOU WON'T.

So. I know what I buy. You know what you buy. Not what we buy when we're with friends. The lonely aisle gazing lost people. The time you said "Fuck it" and bought Hot Pockets and pint of whiskey. How about when you bought a whole watermelon. I know it's still in your fridge. Even on those nights you treat yourself to Prego and pasta. Someone is watching you eat.

Famous last meals.

Napoleon:


Shish Kabob.
Finger Sandwiches.
Deep Fried Goldfish.
Issue of Maxim.

Audrey Tatou:


A Whole Puppy.
Carbourateur.
37 copies of The Labyrinth.
Haggis made with Ice Cube's blood.

Anne Rice:


Money.

-Uncle Monty's Baseball Soup

Is This What You Want?

Here ya go, ya lousy scoundrels.
You can all go to hell!
Love,
Kid Douche


I thought I'd leave on a lighter note than my previous post. Be back Thursday with maybe a clearer perspective... oh, who am I kidding?