Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Cousin Pernice Is Dead

What up in the kingdom, yo? This is your lovely fat cousin Pernice writing from beyond the grave. That's right, I'm dead. Deal with it. Pernice is a ghost. So what? I'm still your cousin, okay, so shut the shit. Just because I died this morning, that doesn't change our relationship. I like you and I know that you like me and we're cousins so we'll always be together till the end. And the end has come, because like I mentioned before, I'm not alive anymore.


The way I died was pretty typical for a fat fuck like me. Heart attack. Crushing pain in the chest and ribs. Dropped to the kitchen floor. My heart stopped. It'll happen to you one day, so keep that in mind, but not all the time, because that's a terrible way to live... I'm getting off track here.

There's something I need to tell you, that I only learned about after my death, from beyond your current sphere of existence....

In heaven, where I am right now because I was a pretty decent guy and that's all it takes... In heaven, girls' titties are off the motherfucking hook! Perfect bouncing boobies everywhere forever! Booty booty booty! Get up here, playa! Spend eternity with me and these babes and their bazongas, Boromir! Tight shorts and glorious asses spilled all over the floor like dog food, but instead of dog food, it's A-plus butts. Heaven is a giant sex party. I fucked Eleanor Roosevelt in the mouth, man! She was dressed up like a storm trooper. Heaven is fuckin' dope!

(Two down, one to go)

You should try to have a heart attack. And soon. Eat cheeseburgers, smoke cigarettes, and don't walk anywhere.
Dead Pernice


Monday, January 23, 2012

Orthodox Jews in Los Angeles: A Criticism

Last month I moved into a guest house located in the center of LA. There are a lot of Orthodox Jews that live in my neighborhood. They got the kosher markets and the synagogues and the Hebrew schools to teach the Jewish children about Judaism. Welcome to the wonderful world of traditional miserablism, kiddos. Ancestors be proud!

jew mom
"Your cousin Marty bought a boat! Wouldn't you like to be able to buy a boat of your own? He took his family to Israel last spring. What a good provider. Maybe he could get you a job? The investment firm he works at is why most people despise the Jewish people, but he makes good money...What's wrong with you? Don't you make that face!! If your father were alive to see you now, he'd be so ashamed.... What's for dessert? Cheesecake? Oh, that's too rich for me. Just a coffee. Decaf. And a danish. Let's eat and be uncomfortable and let the resentment sit like a loveless force-field between us until one of us gets diarrhea. Fine, I'LL get diarrhea. I ALWAYS get diarrhea... Stop laughing. Joy is a private matter. Keep it to yourself. "


Jews are miserable most of the time. And Charedim, a popular sect in LA, with their mandatory 1800's Polish outfits, don't stand a chance against the tidal wave of woe. Seeing a full blown Orthodox Jew walking around LA in July makes me laugh and then feel heartbroken because it's so ridiculous, and so easily remedied by a fucking tank top. When it's a blast furnace outside, why not be comfortable? Stop martyring yourself for sweat. Go ahead and live a little, Isaac.

Maybe they're ashamed of their bodies, so they cover up. Jews aren't known for possessing attractive physiques, but Mexicans are just as bloated and hairy, and they're cool with a t-shirt and shorts like sane people and don't feel guilty about it. It's hot and you're not that special, so stop walking around town like a sad viking with a good tailor.


Sunday, January 15, 2012

Bursting Out The Cocoon

I've decided to write for public consumption once more. It's part of my commitment to do at least one creative thing and one physical thing every day. I've been slacking for the past year. That's a no good. Must remedy. I'm gonna be writing on this blog more frequently, for better or for worse. At least I'll be busy doing something more expansive than what I do on Twitter, where my ideas often get boiled down to an inedible paste. Don't get me wrong, I like Twitter. But this blog has always been my weird baby, and I'm gonna swaddle it in a web of pulsating veins and ligaments until it grows strong again.


I've also been digging through my archives and posting photos I've taken over the last 5-6 years to my new FLICKR page. It's alternately interesting and onanistic.

The original reason for the Flickr initiative was the LA arsonist that struck over 50 times during the week between Christmas and New Year's Day. One attack occurred less than 2 miles from where I live. Me.

This made me really paranoid. Not for my life, but for the things I've created and captured. I've got all that shit backed up, but that's just in case my computers crash. A fire would destroy everything, including the back up drives. So, safely depositing my photos (and forthcoming videos) online has become an important task (a little less important since they caught that arson cocksucker). Yes, I'm being motivated by fire annihilation fantasies.

As a delightful side effect from looking through all my media, I've rekindled a latent passion that's been missing from my life for a while. Looking at old photos of myself makes me feel guilty for all the time I've wasted. I can't let young me down. Or Yung Midown, for that matter. He Chinese.


In other news, I miss my friends terribly. Especially now that I've been sifting through hundreds of photos of them. I'm not good at communicating how much you all mean to me, but know that I think about y'all all the time.

I'm not even that great at letting my parents know how much I love them. Probably because they'd never shut up about it. They're hungry for all the details about my life, and I've learned to give them limited access because they have no boundaries and ask a million follow up questions. Sure, parents are the envy of every orphan, but orphans don't understand the constant nagging involved with parentals. All they know is the nagging hunger in the pit of their malnourished stomachs. Lucky bastards.


Monday, January 9, 2012

Copernicus: All About Ol' Cus

Copernicus, astronomer circa 1512, was the youngest of 4 children, and lived in the Kingdom of Poland. Poland was a swamp back then. Crocodiles were plentiful, and much smaller than they are today, growing only as big as your arm. Copernicus spent his days catching and cooking crocs for sustenance and fun. Other animals didn't exist yet. A lot were created by this one guy in 1635. I think his name was Jason. Jason sucked dick, boy. Jason sucked all the dicks.


Copernicus admired the night sky and especially the stars, which he called "God sprinkles". He enrolled at the University of Krakow to study astrological medicine, which was considered to be a hot career field at the time. He was an inquisitive and dedicated student, often staying up all night reading books on how to manufacture cocaine. He had a dog that accompanied him. He called him Rolaids.

BACK STORY: Copernicus found Rolaids all fucked up under a willow tree one afternoon. The dog had gotten into a local farmer's apple silo and stuffed himself stupid. Rolaids was puking up apples. Dozens of apples, covered in translucent gooey gross. His dumb dog stomach rejected the sweet fruit-rocks. Rolaids could barely move, so Copernicus had no choice but to carry him home, where he was tended to by little nurse demons that shat blood in the chimney. Charming creatures.


Anyway, Copernicus lives in a casket now, and he's probably not getting up anytime soon. Once you die, you don't come back. It doesn't work that way. There's consciousness and then there is nothingness. Just oblivion. No more dreams forever.