Honor Student Bumper Sticker? Your Kung Fu Is Weak

So, my illegitimate son through marriage is turning six this weekend, which means that he'll be the age where I have to be violently competitive with other parents in defining exactly how much awesomer my spawn is than theirs. Because I am a master wordsmith who invents words all the time that people immediately put in the dictionary, this will be easier for me than for any other parent, ever, and so I plan to win every competition with a massive point spread.

Once I was emailing a picture of him to his grandparents (the ones that aren't my parents, because those ones are extinct) and I accidentally sent his picture to every modeling agency ever, who immediately messaged me back and said that not only would they love to have more pictures of him forever on every magazine on the planet, but that they would immediately send all their other child models to Ethiopia and force them to grow substandard rice on dirt farms unto the fourth generation while making Nikes. They also warned me not to eat any rice or wear sneakers, ever. 

It was kind of a weird coincidence that every single letter I got back pretty much said the same exact thing, but I'm used to strange coincidences ever since this miracle baby fell out of my wife's vagina, and then a shower of gold coins came out immediately afterwards. What a wonderful experience birth is, when you're checking the market value of gold as the OB/GYN discovers that your newborn son urinates twenty year old single-malt scotch and poops Cuban cigars. That part turned out to be pretty beneficial, because I sort of forgot to buy cigars, or that my wife was going to have a baby, or that I had a wife. The only reason I happened to be in the same hospital at all is because I happened to be in the next room getting a consult as to whether or not I needed to get a penis reduction (answer: not if you don't walk funny). Things just turn out that way sometimes.

Look At All This Blow

So, the coke fairy stopped by our house to leave us a bunch of crack, which we all put in our mouths so we would turn into superheroes. There was so much of it we ended up just vacuuming it up, then smoking it directly out of the vacuum cleaner bag.

As you can see, we have freshly-purchased Vietnamese sweatshop children trained as EMTs, whose jobs are to make sure that nobody's heart stops. And, failing that, they're supposed to make sure that nobody can identify the remains. They don't get clothes, because I think rice is like a million dollars to them.

Really, once enough people keel over, the children like to antique them. Which is a horrible waste. Our solution is to stack the corpses like cordwood, then wall off that room. It's dead to us now. We have to start entering the house through the window in the half-bathroom. Where we keep the emergency drugs. You know, in case the coke fairy skips a night or something.

Know Your Limits

Teleolurian Kordyne: then i drank too much
Teleolurian Kordyne: don't eat cheetos if you're going to be sick
Kerplunk: eww
Teleolurian Kordyne: so annoying
Teleolurian Kordyne: you get sick
Kerplunk: i feel sick today
Teleolurian Kordyne: but your body is like, "no, man. i can handle this."
Teleolurian Kordyne: and you're like, "shut the fuck up, body, you're full of shit"
Teleolurian Kordyne: then you have to think about drinking other peoples' spit so you get nauseous enough to finally throw up in the sink
Kerplunk: ewwww
Kerplunk: why didnt you just use a toilet
Kerplunk: are you like anti puking in toilets
Teleolurian Kordyne: no
Kerplunk: shoes, sinks....
Teleolurian Kordyne: okay, the shoe thing was because i was at some other dude's house
Teleolurian Kordyne: i've become like the master of getting sick since then
Teleolurian Kordyne: it's really just which plumbing is most convenient at the time
Kerplunk: lol
Kerplunk: the shoe thing is pretty damn funny though
Teleolurian Kordyne: NO MORE JAGERMEISTER BITCHES

Derek Kicks Ass

I don't think I've ever mentioned exactly how much ass Derek kicks, which is a shame, because if you could measure all that ass it would probably reach to the moon and back. It's not just choice ass either; we're talking true USDA Prime. I just got an email from Sevres, France, where they are considering a new metric measurement of ass, which they would name after Derek, except that's a really stupid name when you think about it.

When I first met Derek, I was in a tech support training class with him. He didn't really need the training, so while all the rest of us were paying attention he was building tiny, fully functional computers out of toothpicks. After work, I went over to his house and watched him wrestle a pack of timber wolves. The alpha male was pretty damn big, but Derek just wrapped his arms around its head and waited until his pacemaker made its brain explode. I'm seriously considering asking him to be my valentine this year.

I've met a lot of people who kick ass, but Derek has to be one of the best of them, because we once went to Asskin Robbins to buy 31 separate flavors of ass, all of which he kicked. Not just normal kicks, but like, Pele full-Brazilian kicks, with some ninja moves mixed in. Which is funny, because he can't play soccer worth a damn. Every time somebody challenges him to a soccer match, which is frequently, he just looks away and mumbles something about pudding. I swear that's what it sounds like, but he always says it too quietly for anybody to really understand.

In conclusion, if you have some ass lying around that has gone for a good long while without kicking, you should probably consider calling Derek over, because I'm pretty sure he'll fill all your asskicking needs, unless that ass is painted to look like a soccer ball, in which case it will probably be a draw.

Coyote And The Wendigo

A long, long time ago, the People lived upon the Earth. A fierce and powerful Wendigo guarded the canyon which was the only way out of the valley where the People lived. After a time, the sound of their misery reached the ears of Wakantanka.

"Go, Coyote," said Wakantanka. "I know you, that you are a trickster. Many powerful beasts walk upon the land, but none is so strong as to challenge Wendigo. Go forth and free the People from their misery."

So Coyote walked into the valley and spoke to the Wendigo. "Fearsome spirit," called Coyote. "I will seriously give you five bucks if you get out of here and leave the People alone."

The Wendigo gave pause. "Who has sent you, Coyote?" it wailed.

"Wakantanka," said Coyote. "Well, him and your mom."

"You so did not bring my mom into this," stormed the fierce Wendigo. "You are cruising for a bruising."

"So, ten bucks?" asked Coyote. "I could get you more, but I'd have to get it from your mother."

At this, Wendigo sucked in the air all about him with a mighty breath. He prepared to wail like a banshee, except that banshees are from Ireland or Italy or France or something and totally have nothing to do with this story.

"I see you learned something about sucking from her as well," goaded Coyote.

"TWENTY DOLLARS." wailed the Wendigo. "I'd kick your ass, but you are so totally not worth it."

"It just so happens I have twenty dollars in this Louis Vuitton wallet here," said Coyote, brandishing the wallet before him. "My tribal ID card is already in my medicine bag, so I guess you can have the wallet too. I don't need anything in there to get smokes."

"It is a nice wallet," thundered Wendigo.

Later, as Coyote went back to Wakantanka, Wakantanka ordered Coyote to tell him why he let Wendigo know about what was going on with Wendigo's mother.

"I did it because I thought it would totally rule ass," said Coyote.

"You're right," said Wakantanka. "It totally did rule ass."

It's A Small World After All

So there I am, drinking wine and making modest conversation with my neighbor Suzanne, when it comes up that she knows midget Elvis.

Let's take a couple of minutes to divulge why this is one of the oddest 'small world' scenarios that I have ever seen. First of all, there's Suzanne- a divorced woman who has never owned many things, whose childhood treasures are all still in her garage, who is afraid of being in public but will promptly begin swearing in French as soon as she's had a couple of bottles of Chablis. And then there's midget Elvis, who once jumped six strippers lying head-to-foot with a miniature Harley.

Apparently, in her younger days, she was cruising in her Vespa across the vast countryside of Provence, pretty much minding her own business and enjoying nature through the thin haze of Valium, when she saw a cloud of dust on the horizon. The cloud of dust turned out to be midget Elvis on his motorcycle, who had been discovered for his counterfeit visa and was currently hightailing it towards Monaco before he could be forced to pay his hefty brothel tab. Talk about surreal, right?

I know what you're thinking- there's got to be more than one midget Elvis in the world. And there probably are other midget Elvii around, but I seriously doubt any of them other than my very own midget Elvis would be found in the situation he found himself in on that sunny afternoon in France. Certainly, I doubt the world would allow for two midget Elvises brazen enough to stop his hellbound run for the border long enough to have a picnic lunch with a pretty woman on a Vespa.

These are the things of which one must take note, which make you wonder if it all falls into the massive machinery of some foregone divine plan. The hands of fate which bring us together and tear us apart, only to lovingly knit us together again. And when I politely excused myself after Suzanne began to show signs of intoxication, I mused to myself as I wandered back across the street to my house.

I'm gonna give him hell.

You Had To Be There. And I Was

Sixth Grade, Sunnycrest Elementary School
Jimmy Albright decides on a whim that he is the flyest superninja on the playground. While demonstrating his ninth-level black-belt half-crescent crane kick, he lands on the balls of his feet right in front of the swings. The smallest kid in class, Brian, freezes in stunned horror while the impetus of the swing brings his feet into direct contact with Jimmy's head. Nobody can stop laughing while the panicked recess teachers drag Jimmy into the med office.

The Summer Before Eighth Grade
Riding bikes through the desert, trying to do 'totally awesome' jumps off a pretty lame three-foot dirt ramp, I notice a gaggle of girls walking home from the convenience store far too late. Gritting my teeth and preparing for the sharp angle that I'll need in order not to run them over, my brakes pull the Hail Mary and stops me within- I swear- six inches. The entire party is showered in dust. I suffer a tiny scratch on my ankle. I apologize, mostly just to keep from laughing.

New Year's Eve, 1997
Trying to get across the Las Vegas Strip during Free Rides night, the bus driver stops a block away because the Strip is cordoned off in order to protect the drunken revelers. Right when I set foot in the middle of the Strip, it explodes into a riot- I managed to get there at exactly midnight. The new year begins and we continue down the street, surrounded by partygoers trying to foot it back to Paradise so they can get something more substantial than the watered-down plastic cups of cheap American beer. We come across our friend Grimace, drunken and lying down in the street in violation of his parole. The cops are already there, and despite his drunkenness, he looks like he's ready to deliver a sci-fi asskicking the likes of which the world has never seen. The policemen are unimpressed, and he's unceremoniously dumped into the car.

Fourth Of July, Mike's House
A mere novice at inebriation, I manage to drink a horrible amount of Jagermeister, then suffer the all-too-rapid ill effects. A moment of pragmatism leads me to vomit in my shoes in an attempt to keep from further soiling Mike's carpet. Fancy takes a picture. We still have it somewhere. Now I keep two pairs on hand.

Films I Am Going To Write Someday

• Two scientists create a shrinking time-loop by accident. Scenes get cut as the time-loop happens over and over, until eventually the last loopthrough is cut out bits of dialog that spell out a cry for help.
• A film that switches languages every ten minutes, going from beautiful and poetic to horrible and jangled. This is the progression of languages: Latin, Spanish, French, Russian, Italian, English, Portuguese, Ulster Scots, grunting noises, Welsh.
• A buddy film, where one of the buddies is a hot chick, and the other buddy is also a hot chick. I don't know what they will do, except that it will involve running through a sprinkler several times.
• A hallucinating, cross-eyed epileptic becomes the head sniper for the NYPD.
• A movie exactly like Watership Down, except all the rabbits are robots that speak Yiddish, and Fiver is a cannibal robot like Hannibal Lecter. Replace famous Silence of the Lambs "fava beans and chianti" scene with "tin cans and thirty-weight oil".
• A man and woman fall in love via an AOL chat room, and when they meet, they discover that they are actually two different personalities of the same person. Then, Dee Snyder shows up and kills the main character.
• A movie that starts off as Charlotte's Web but ends up as tasty, tasty bacon.

See Spot Run

Closing my eyes and inhaling sharply, the narcotic crystals levitated like witches, spiralling up the neatly-sawn drinking straw and directly into my cerebrum by means of the olfactory capillary express. Suddenly there was a thundering in my head; the profound notes of a jazz bass accompanied the clarion, trumpeting portal, the scrying pool opening unbidden in my mind. And through that strange window in my soul came a startling vision - a stereotypical verdant day, some small town neighborhood, a plump and tender young caucasian female.

Her legs went all the way up to the hem of a frilled pink skirt, the kind of thing you wear to the ice-cream social. Her eyes were diamonds, perhaps, had God seen fit to sculpt such precious stones from cloudstuff the color of dawn. And there she was, walking up the sidewalk; turning at the doorway; peering in under the heavy lettered name on the glass: Private Dick.

Behind this Jane trotted a ragamuffin canine, sun-bleached and mangy; as different from his owner as night and day. While her angelic features belied the majesty of her Creator, the beauty of nature and the fever dreams of men, this feral throwback seemed more apt to run with haunted packs and bay at the becratered moon. A strange team they made, beauty and the beast, Baskerville hound and blonde bombshell, Pygmalion and Galatea...

I'm sorry. I can't do this. I just can not keep spouting this tripe. Some ideas were made to be forgotten.