2 And A Half Men Isn't Funny

As you can see I have not been updating my blog. This is mostly due to the fact that I wanted to take it in a more creative direction rather than a general update on things, but I have done nothing creative since I left the hotel. That is unless you think that trying to change the Wikipedia article on Romulans from “Romulan’s eat sea food” to “Romulan’s eat doo doo” as a creative act. For any one who doubts Wikipedia on the fact that “any one can edit it” just give it a shot. See how many seconds it takes before they revert your changes.

Any way the reason I haven’t been all that creative is 1) job worried and 2) most chiefly my recent acquisition of the PS2. So to get it out of the way I am fine. I am potentially going in for a job interview to cold call for phone services. I have done this before and I say firmly that I would rather leap in front of speeding vehicles for a living than do this, but no one is paying me to do that. I might be able to get a job as a verifier at my friends job so we’ll see. I would rather do that for less money than be screamed at for a week before getting fired. Other than that I have applied at places like Target and Sears as a desperate act to get away from phone work, but telemarketing seems to be the only thing hiring.

So I have not been up to much. I have only been able to leave the house sporadically thanks to the constant heavy rain. Though today we took out my niece, went to a few thrift stores, and managed to avoid going to the beach. I got a copy of Eldridge Cleaver’s “Soul On Ice” for 50 cents. No that is not about ice skating you S.O.B.s. I think that rather than constantly reading things that reinforce my belief system I will try challenging it instead. Maybe I’ll even do a review on this blog. Aside from that I got glass number 3 in the Burger King Star Trek glass collection. Only Uhura is left.

Well on to dulling my senses with PS2. Sorry for the short hand and bad grammer. I’ll get back to regularly updating when things change a bit.

Hell House

I am home. I eneded up staying an extra night in the hotel due to the fact that my comic books entered the apartment for approximatly 13 seconds which apparently gives mold enough time to take over the world. This is bullshit. The mold Nazi's just wanted to get paid. Regardless I go tomorrow to try and sell my comic book collection.

I have to say I miss the hotel. It felt more like home than my new apartment which is odd. The new place is only slightly different than the other. Wood flooring in one section instead of tile, everything is more or less new, but the real kicker is the fact that everything is backwards. It's all on a different end than before. Makes it hard to get my barings.

As for an accounting of what I lost I can say I didn't lose much. What pisses me off is that they threw out the slips for my Ultra Man box sets, my Silverado special edition, and my Firefly. Most of my shit made it so why those things? Either way my mantra for my new apartment is less is more. Less shit. Less clutter. I even took half my dvd collection (kept the essentials of course) and traded it all in for a Playstation 2, and a game. Now I have some extra cheap entertainment.

Still I don't have a tv so I'm hoping my comic books can help me with that. I'm just using my partents dastardly tiny thing when they aren't using. Dreadfully inconvenient. Well some more unpacking and setting up to do, but tomorrow I am sleeping in!

*Edit*

Forgot the best part. I get the internet installed. I'm online 15 minutes, checking my myspace, and a virus pops up and takes over my computer. A real nasty one. Took me 5 hours to figure out how to beat it. Welcome home!

This Day That Shall Forever Live In Infamy

Tomorrow we move to our new apartment. The dream has come to end. It was a nice ride. I could have stayed on longer, but alas it is not to be. I shall think fondly upon my time in this place. A memory that will last me through the dark days ahead. If only the sun would explode and wipe out all life in this galaxy. I have no idea how that would benefit me, but I need to put some words up in this thing to pad it out.

I have to say I was disappointed to find out that Burger King was not offering a McCoy collectible lass. They only had Nero any ways. Hang thy head children of the light. Hang thy heads.

Alien Nation

I am helping to produce Alien Nation hosted by John Nation which is a very underground conspiracy theory type podcast/call in show. I'll post a link when I can.

I Now Know What Love Is

I have seen Star Trek... twice. My recommendation; see Star Trek Twice. See it in the biggest loudest theater you can. I love you J.J. Abrams!

More creative bloggery coming up for you niggas. Maybe tonight.

The Mold Chronicals Part Four: Tapering On The Edge Of A Monsterous Nothing

Breath and light. I have measured in each in turn. This is a desert of thoughts and ideas. If broken glass falls into the dirt does that give meaning to what it reflects? Is the image hollow? No, this is her promise, a stream of words like a ribbon flowing through the stale, flat air. I hear her call to me from her cadaverous husk. It leans upon my mind with a sharp and stinging reminder of her falsehoods and venom. It is from unending suffering, this stabbing, this burning that I learned these principles. A code for which I guide my black ship through and through.


1) Everything must be self assembled. This keeps the unwilling, the unwashed, and the uncreative away from her skirt. She demands your hands, your bones, and fingers. The very sinew that binds each muscle. She demands your life and feeds upon you. Each in turn.

2) Her cloak is many colors. She will pull you into her steam and glory, envelopes you like the glowing visage of a flying whale his arrogant prick hobbling cranial wolf doctor! Who holds the canopy in the art of criticism. Ard the lack?!?!


3) All things are assertive? Let us not be fools in the face of her ethereal canoe. So Bronson karate chop! Gold in the reality like melded fools. I see her eyes and they are covetous. They linger upon the essence of being. Who has awoken this constitution. The cold nation at the edges of Walter.


I will scream at you! I will find you and scream into your face. You will know the fear and emptiness of receiving a face-screaming so vicious that you will crawl back into your mother’s womb and make pancakes all day!

The Mold Chronicals Part Three: Unaltered Latitudes In The Child Like Smile Of The Unabridged Nothing

"Titanium Dioxide; the unsung hero in the history of paint"
-The History of Paint From The History Channel

The Mold Chronicals Part Two: Reaching Into The Outer Rim Of The Consciouse Embrace. The Unholy Alligator!

“This is the ping pong room. As you can see they’re playing some ping pong”

- A 13 year old kid on MTV Teen Cribs

Dear William Pitt,

I realize that you have been dead for a very long time, but seeing as we are related I thought that it would still be inconsiderate not to write you. As you can probably see from your iron fortress in hell that I am living in a hotel. I must admit I am beginning to like the idea of it more and more. I feel like I am no longer anchored to society. This has freed me creatively though my sense of humor seems to be regressing a bit. I think that when I become famous from my demon space noise music I will live in a hotel under the assumed name Claude Fartmatress.

Any who… after moving what little I could from my apartment I lounged around a bit and then went to Ikea. I have never been to Ikea before, but I’ve heard a lot about it. I remember watching news stories about people camping outside of it when it first opened.

So as I walked in I was handed a map, a catalogue, and a tiny pencil. I admit that the place was amazing. It was like the Noah’s Ark of furniture. In fact I felt like I was in some kind of crazy post modern furniture museum. The prices were reasonable, and they even serve baby back ribs on Wednesdays! Fuck yeah! I then went to the cafeteria and ate what I thought was a buffalo chicken wrap, but realized too late that it was a vegetable wrap. If God wanted us to be vegetarians why, my dear William, did he make them taste boiled crotch stuffed in a luminescent buffalo turd?

After that I purchased beer, and watched Miss Marple. When it was over I built a blanket fortress, but there was only one chair in the room so it looked like shit. I then crawled under it, and spend a half hour eating pretzels out of a shoe.

Oh you know the funny thing about Ikea that I forgot to mention? They have these thick plastic sheets screwed into the mouth of each toilet so you can’t piss in them. I wonder if they planned for that originally or if it became a necessity at some point.

Did you know?

“Let's say you are washing your hands in the men's room at the local airport when a government official
walks in and enters a booth. It's early in the morning and the airport isn't crowded. You are the only other
person in the wash room. It's a perfect chance to take out the man who just signed an order forcing the
confiscation of five thousand family dwellings and the relocation of the owners in holding camps. Can you do it?”

Neither did I! Black people?

Yours Sincerely,

James Tiberius 97


Pros so far: Towels smell like caramel, Ikeas is the shit and their food is pretty cheap and good, I farted, and I have a guitar now.

Cons so far: I don’t know what Courtney said to Lashana, but I am not a nice guy, E channel, and every other channel.

The Mold Chronicals Part One: Interspacial Relations To The Alternative Pathological Link

As many of you now know I am homeless; forced from my place of dwelling by a silent agent of mother nature’s contempt. All but a few of my possessions have been taken from me by this tyrant, and it has sent me on a Trail of Tears as real and potent as the one undertaken by the Choctaw in 1831. I am a man without a place to call my own. An empty vessel made of broken dreams and shattered promises that floats in an ocean of the tears of a thousand sobbing orphans sent darkly into the sun in a rocket ship made of sorrow and unborn wolverine cubs.


(place a quote by a poet in here to look smart)

I do not know for how long I will be exiled. They say 10 days, but that is but a drop in the bucket of time. So to pass this time I shall chronicle my misadventures in this place called “hotel”, and allow you a view into the world which I know inhabit. Ladies and gentlemen this is The Mold Chronicles!

Day One: Night


After cataloging my various worth-while possessions I packed a suit case filled with essentials , and headed out to my new home. It is much larger than my actual room with a fold out couch/bed, cable TV, shower, fridge, coffee maker, desk, soap, towels, wastebaskets, curtains, floor, ceiling, door knobs, hair dryer, air, and air conditioning. Technically I now have more than I did previously.

I then set up my computer, unpacked a few things , and set down to surf the net. Unfortunately the wired connection no longer works so I have to wait for the opportunity to use one of my parent’s lap tops. I then settle in and see what’s on TV.

Ah television. I have not watched you in so long. What are you up to my friend? What news of the world do you bring? Cattle mutilations and alien abduction on the History Channel? What the…. That has nothing to do with history! At this point I watch two episodes of King of The Hill, and decide that I have had enough TV. I crack open a beer and engage in simulated space combat for a couple of hours, then take some pictures.


At this point it is late. I must be up early tomorrow in order to grab a few things before the anti-mold patrol shows up so I do the sensible thing and keep drinking while watching TV. More cow mutilations. E has z grade celebrities making snarky comments about shit no one cares about, and Nick at Night no longer exists.

After a few flips I settle on a replay of Obama’s 100th day address. As I watch I begin to notice that he says “um” between every sentence. In fact the more he speaks the more he “ums”.

“Well I um believe in um in um bridging the gaps um”


The odd thing is that the more he does it the more the reporters do it until I am buried in an avalanche of unconfident speech. It’s as if he was trying to hypnotize them. As the speech ends I take one last swig of the juice and it’s lights out.

I am awoken the next morning at 9 a.m. My hopes of bacon and eggs are dashed as the “continental” breakfast that was promised consists of yogurt and an oatmeal package. Oh well off to home one last time. When I get there the manager of the complex assures us that all paper based items will be tossed no matter what. I decide I shall take my comic books to the hotel after all. Maybe I will try to sell them later.

End Chapter One

The Pros so far: Spacious room, easy climate control, I can poop on the floor and some else will clean up after me, cable TV, and a nice desk.

Cons so far: My shower makes an angry whistle until I adjust the head at some random angle, cable TV, no internet, and possibly haunted. I have not checked on that last one yet.

Tonight I shall wander around a bit, and get my bearings. I’ll report more then.