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  • Very quickly:


    - Europe was great. Snapped a lot of photos to post. Unfortuantely, will only be able do so in about a month.


    - Back in Houston for a week to finish up some business. It's time to pack and throw stuff away. Unfortunately for my parents, I am moving back home.


    - Shooting a documentary next week that will air on an internet tv channel later this year. Unfortunately for the tv channel people, it's about 72 hours in the life of a promiscuous cactus.


    - Unfortunately for you guys, I am still alive.


    - Funniest moment in Brussels: Seeing a Japanese tour group led by a Japanese cross dresser. Funnier when Kinky comments that s/he has a nice purse.




  • More pictures later. Just a quick update because I'm cranky and pissed off.



    Shoot was almost disaterous. The kaboom turned out to be a kabang. Kinda like how this entry could be interesting, except it'll turn out short and boring. Kinda like Asian guys.

    My test went well today, too. Had to drive almost six hours round trip from Houston to Austin. Will post images later this week.

    I'm off to post. If you don't know what that means, it means I will be stuck in a room yelling at an editor. Heh, this job has some fringe benefits.



    Other fringe benefits collected on Sunday's shoot:

    - Yelled at a Police Officer and told him what to do.
    - Yelled at a ________ Army General's son all day and made him cry.
    - Yelled at various people.
    - Yelled at an 'executive' for fucking up my shot.

    You should gather that I do a lot of yelling on my shoots. It's fun and all, but weird. It's a habit that has just recently developed in Houston. I don't really like to yell because it affects the way people work.

    But you know how I bitch and moan about 'business men' who want to show that they are superior, rich, have a big dick, etc. even though they don't? Well, that's the type of people these clients are. We agreed to do a no budget shoot at their request, but all day they wanted me to shoot like Michael Bay.

    C'mon, these guys can't even afford film. They probably can't even afford their car notes. I found out all of these guys are living on daddy's money. Fags.

    Anyway, they claimed to have access to explosives and they needed something to explode in this project. I asked for a M1000 since all we needed to blow up was a wagon. They told me they'd get something that'd blow bigger. Fine.

    I shoulda got the M1000 after the first of three times they postponed the shoot because they couldn't get the explosives in, but I figured it was because it was some potent shit. Well it wasn't. Shit was so weak that the caution tape even stated that it was fit for indoor use. FUCK!!!!

    When the time for the 'money shot'(that's what these dorks referred to the explosion) came, they couldn't even detonate the fucker. They complained about it being a dud, to which I replied:

    DID YOU FUCKS CHECK THE BATTERIES ON THE IGNITER?

    It needs batteries?

    WHAT THE FUCK?????? Assholes.

    Before I pop a 9 volt in there, they try to convince me to hook up the igniter to the Humvee's battery. Huh?



    Pop. That's the sound I get. A puff of smoke dissipates in the air. I've blown bigger smoke rings while smoking than the sorry cloud we got from the 'awesome explosive'.

    Meanwhile, the guys high five each other really awkwardly(they're eastern european). Me and my guys shake our heads in dismay. I'm never getting excited over anything anyone describes to me again.



    Thanks to my crew. Efforts were great and the footage so far looks good despite cloud issues. The 'explosion' is a joke, but everything else looks great.

    High five!






  • This picture has no significance whatsoever.






    I'm burning the midnight oil, cigarettes, shit, piss, hair, and whatever combustible I can find to stay awake. All of my projects have an artificial deadline of March 25, the day I leave for home.


    Not only do I have to finish my projects, but I also have to set up my new projects in San Francisco. I also have to pack my shit and take a licensing test in Austin on Monday. Actually it's an AIDS test. I failed last time, but I've been studying real hard so maybe I'll pass.






    I'm kidding you fucks.






    Right now, I look horrid. I look like I've been sitting in crashing planes all day. My hair is puffy, my eyes are burning, my skin is probably oily, my dick is limp, and my socks aren't matching. See, there's tired and then there is horrid. Right now I'm horrid.






    Sunday is the big explosion shoot that has been re-scheduled. Whoops, I shouldn't say big explosion because the city of Houston won't clear us for it. It's going to be a small explosion, meaning I'll have to get physically closer to it, meaning I hope I get some sleep on Saturday night.


    It's one thing to have a limp dick, but it'd be a shame if it blew off or even just got scalded badly.






    Some of you have asked me what it is exactly that I do for a living. It's hard to describe and much more difficult to explain than my attraction to slapping people. Let's just say I do a lot of things, but the funniest thing I do is own a pet store. Who would've thought, you know.


    Another thing I do is slap people. I don't do it for a living because no one is willing to pay me for it.






    My posts are sucking bad. I know. Lemme get through this shit and I promise you I'll get better after I get back home to San Francisco. If you don't see an improvement, I will let you slap me as hard as possible.*


    * I get to slap you back, though. And don't wear rings or hold rocks and shit.









  • Overall, this is going to be a very crazy month. I try not to keep track, but I only have twenty-one more days to go before I leave for my mini-Euro vacation. You know how people say vacations 'couldn't have come at a better time'? Well, a better time for my vacation is right now.



    Some of these American Idol singers stink worse than durian. There's this one guy with long hair and an ass where his chin should be. He really sucks. He sucks more than the whores of Amsterdam combined.

    But I hope he wins. Because if he cut his hair, he'd look like Gary Sinise. And Gary Sinise fans just haven't seen enough of Gary Sinise lately. Plastering ass-chin everywhere would make them happy.

    Too bad it'll never happen. Ass-chin will lose and Gary Sinise fans, just like Gary Sinise, will scowl and scowl and scowl.



    American Idol is critiqued by Journey's former bassist, a former Laker girl who was handed a microphone one day, and a from the mailroom to boardroom exec.



    I don't mean to shit on anyone's beliefs, so don't take this the wrong way. Why do winners of contests and elections sometimes thank God first and foremost? If I'm not mistaken, Christians do this the most. I went to a Catholic school (explains why I'm so fucked up) and I think I have a relatively good grasp about being thankful to God and the such.

    But is this what s/he really meant? Thank me at the Oscars, Presidential elections, VMA's, etc.? To me, at least half of the people who thank God in public do so because that's what they were taught. I don't think they mean that shit, which means they would be using the Lord's name in vain if I am correct.

    What kind of fucking language am I using today? If?

    I'm always correct.



    Joe Pesci's Oscar acceptance speech is pretty good.

    Joe Pesci: Thank you.



    One day, I will be at the Oscars. Onstage and everything. I'll be waxing the floor after everyone leaves, but I'll be sure to thank God because I wouldn't want to go to hell for not being thankful. It's not like I can repent later in life.

    Sorry, I just don't get it anymore.



    The person that brought all this on me (and indirectly to you) has been trying to convince me that I should be a Christian and such because it can bring structure to my life. Religion can definitely help a lot of people in this world, but I'm not one of them.

    When this person comes by tomorrow and tries to convince me again, I will choose one of the following:

    A) Slap 'em in the face
    B) Politely decline
    C) 'Go fuck yourself.'
    D) 'Do you believe in me?' I'll ask. 'Yes? Good. Because I'm God, and you can go to hell.'
    E) 'Hallelujah, I'm cured.'













  • EDIT:


    - Don't know what the fuck is going on with the picture thing. You're not missing much. Just me and my girl being disgusting. I want to show that I am just as cool as teeny bopper xanga members.


    - There is so much to do and so little time. A cliche, I know, but if it's good enough for the Joker it's good enough for me.


    - Does anybody know if those compressed packing bags actually work? My girl wants to do some shopping, which means she'll probably go nuts on shoes and stuff that I can't pronounce. Which is odd. Because if we were to go to China, she'd only want brands that we pronounce everyday. If I wanted to save money, perhaps this would be a better route.






    Crazy busy right now. No sleep. Will let you know what's going on tomorrow.









  • Lately I've been typing out letters, words, sentences, and paragraphs that make absolutely no sense. The delete key has been my best friend and you know that's a bad thing. Writers with an over-reliance on the delete key always realize one thing. That thing is blockage and sometimes it sucks worse than constipation.

    You know what's worse than that, though? I haven't shat in like two days. I'm bracing myself for some toilet time tonight.



    My premonition is that my creative juices will overflow right when I let these pieces of shit out of my ass.



    Otherwise, life is pretty good. The house got a deep cleaning this weekend and everything is spotless. A crew made up of a half dozen Mexican girls came in at 8am yesterday and scrubbed the shit out of this place. The water in the toilet is so clean right now that I'd be willing to bet five dollars it could cure that new super HIV strain in New York.



    I'm going to have to cut this entry short. Time to take a shit. Maybe I'll get some writing done tonight.



    Guess what I'll be singing on my toilet.







  • Oh. They serve beer.




    There is no 'off' position to my genius switch. Perhaps the greatest invention the world will ever see resides in my publically educated brain. Wouldn't it be great if you could eat spicy foods without the terror of asshole burn? What if we could eat buffalo wings without feeling like we suffered through anal sex with the devil? Isn't that worth fighting for? Isn't that worth dying for?


    Anti-ass stinging poo poo pills can protect us from the spicy foods we eat.




    Lately I've been wondering why we describe 'it' as horny. Such an odd concept for me to grasp. I mean, I know there is no correlation to the words horny and horn. Just wondering what Englishman in history coined the term because he had an erect penis and wanted to rub it on some lady.




    I watched Garden State last night. Not my cup of tea. The movie only illicited a couple of chuckles from me. Only things I admired about the movie were the performances of Natalie Portman, Ian Holm, and especially Peter Sarsgaard. I'd say Method Man's thrity seconds were good, but then I'd sound like a Wu-Tang groupie after a hotel room encounter.


    It's funny, though, my opinions. I couldn't make a better movie.




    So I'm trying to get Pat to co-author a script for a short film. Problem is he is a lazy sack of shit, just like any other white person. Bigger problem is I'm an even lazier sack of shit.


    We're trading emails and haven't come up with a very good idea yet. I guess that makes us struggling writers, a category of man that is usually considered sexy in a mysterious way. Except Pat and I are anything but sexy. He smells bad and I want to create an anti poo poo stinging pill.






  • Nothing to focus on lately.



    Damn, it's been busy lately. So busy that I haven't been able to loathe Texas. I'm starting to realize my days here are numbered to the tune of forty days. Some people can do amazing things with forty days. Jesus said no to the devil, Catholics can fast, and Josh Hartnett can go without sex. Me, I'm not that amazing. I can only count backwards.

    One thing I will miss about Texas is time spent during unthinkable hours smoking cigarettes and scheming for money. It's been a tough eighteen months here and I don't think I'll ever want to come back to Houston for an extended period of time. All I can say is I received a Haas School of Business education and got paid for it.

    You Berkeley people are suckers.



    In forty two days I will be on a plane flying towards London with my girl. After a few days in the City we'll take the Chunnel to Paris, or maybe even Brussels and Amsterdam. A week later and she'll fly home to go back to work while I meet my parents in the south of France for another week.

    That trip is still far off, but Kinky is flying in tomorrow to make the time move a little bit faster. It's supposed to rain all weekend. We'll probably be forced to stay in all day and night. You know what that means.

    Bust out the poker cards because we're playing Crazy 8s, baby!



    I heard personal health insurance requires a full physical that includes a colonoscopy. Insurance companies are sick and twisted.

    I also heard that if your dick gets bent during sex, doctors have you come in once or twice a week to shove a metal rod up your dick. Doctors are worse.

    There's no moral to this story. I'm just informing you because I am tired and ready for bed.



    Those 8s are crazy!




  • My intuition says that this is a popular song with the strippers.



    To posess diarrhea, drink three glasses of soy milk and chase with three glasses of orange juice.



    The sky opened up and Houston is raining cats and dogs. It can mean only one thing. Houston drivers just got worse. A fifteen minute commute extended an hour this evening. Just what I need on Chinese New Year's.



    Traffic in Houston is always bad. I don't think it's just because of an overflow of cars, though. Drivers' IQ's in Houston are dismal. Too many of these motherfuckers inadvertantly cut each other off. Using turn signals wouldn't help in most of these cases because no one looks behind them. And when Houstonians do use turn signals, usually it's the wrong way. As in they signal left and go right.

    Houstonians also do not know how to use stop signs. Most of the time, people here are afraid to take their right of way. It seems to stem from an inablitity to recognize a right of way. Cars on the right of an intersection get the right of way, meaning if no one is on the right corner of you, you should step on the accelerator.



    The local government doesn't help much. There was an initiative that allowed wreckers to pick up a car within five minutes of an accident or breakdown. I'm sure the average time it takes for most people to change a flat tire takes more than five minutes. So you can imagine the hawks wreckers have become on the freeway and the congestion they cause.

    Who was the idiot who thought this up?



    Ironically, I saw five stalled cars today. Seems to me all of these people ran out of gas. That should tell you how low the driving IQ is in Houston.

    How the fuck do you run out of gas in Texas?



    Dinner was at my uncle's house and I don't think I have ever felt more lonely. I miss my family and friends back in California. It's harder for me to make friends here in Houston because I work a lot. But the bigger reason is much sadder. People in Houston are different than me.

    Like, they're a lot dumber than me and I don't think they are worth my time. I'm not saying Houstonians aren't good people, because they are very decent. But they are so naive, self-centered, immature, and incapable of driving.



    By the way, I need to get this off of my chest. The rice rockets here look like crap. When I was at Import Showoff, a car with a faux carbon fiber hood that didn't match the rest of the car won a trophy. It had the worst sound system since the advent of AM radio and very little engine and aesthetic work. Basically it was an award winning green Civic with a faux carbon fiber hood.

    What's with this town?



    I guess I'm venting because there are so many liars in this city. Look, I know there are liars everywhere, but there seems to be more liars who lie about inconsenquential stuff than in L.A. That's just fucking sad.

    For example, upon hearing that I live in Royal Oaks (which is a nice, not grand, community), a potential business partner told me he lived in neighboring Shadow Lake. The houses in Shadow Lake are larger and less expensive, and he kept bragging about how he gets so much more space than me.

    Later, I learned he doesn't even live there. Why the fuck did he need to lie about THAT? I think he should have told me that he lives in one of those multi-million dollar estates in Memorial, the Bel-Air of Houston. Shadow fucking Lake? The Corona of Houston.

    Right now, I'm hoping he's drinking three glasses of soy milk following rat poison. Stupid fuck.





  • I wear gay t-shirts because your girlfriend wants to lay me.



    I was having a conversation with SueTalksTooMuch(during oral sex) over AIM today and realized I should apologize to many people I have encountered, threatened, insulted, and scarred. Before I do that, I would like to thank the person who taught me to write 'blank, blank, blank, and blank' rather than 'blank, blank, and blank' because four is more artistic than the utilitarian three.

    Combining four things together instead of three is just one of my many bad habits. While I will not divulge into my heroin problem, I will apologize to the following four people...*

    *I am using an ellipsis because it is more omninous even though this entry calls for anticipation.



    I was pretending to relax in a pool in Taiwan during the summer I was twelve years old although I was in fact peeing in the pool. While I relieved my bladder a boy much younger than me blocked my view of a pretty girl. I asked him to move, but the little bastard didn't.

    My immaturity at the time embarasses me now that I am a mature adult. I flicked off the little bugger. His response, however, was an action that a good many of you may think is cute. He flicked me off! A smile overcame my face. As I got out of the pool I considered shaking this young boy's hand. The moxie on this kid was something to encourage.

    Alas, he proved to be a little punk. He then flicked me off with ever single finger he had. It was painfully obvious that he did not understand that showing me his other fingers made him look like a dumb ass. And if you think he is cute, well, you probably think fucking a tortoise is comfortable. (It's not.)

    Nevertheless, it is I who should be most embarassed.

    I apologize for not beating the living shit out of him and tearing out his fingers so that I can shove them up his dick hole. Now, I'm older and wiser and know that if I ever encounter another dumb kid like that he's losing every finger except for his two longest ones. Moxie, it's something that needs to be encouraged.



    I was on my high school's Speech and Debate Team. Don't worry, I'll pause here until you stop laughing.

    Done? Good. Because this is a good time to tell you that if your girlfriend was on a Bay Area high school's Speech and Debate Team, then chances are I stole her virginity. Additionally, if your name is Peter or Cypherningya, you're just a substitute and a poor attempt to relive her past.

    Anyway, on the bus home from a tournament, a kid sitting towards the back of the bus was annoying me. I was up front trying to sleep while this kid made unusually high pitched noises to pretend he was a little girl. Initially, I politely yelled across the bus and asked him to 'shut the fuck up.' He didn't and I was unable to sleep at all.

    When we got to our coach's house, I decided to confront him. I told him 'I'm going to kick your faggot ass.' When he asked why I think I started to reach out to choke him but a friend stopped me. So I responded with 'Because you act like a silly little bitch you fucking faggot' or something to that effect. I went on to threaten him some more and to call him 'faggot'.

    I apologize for calling him a faggot because faggots would be upset if I lumped him into their group and also because I did not mean to insinuate that I was going to kick his ass because he was a faggot. I am older and wiser now and realize that I do not discriminate. I will kick anybody's ass regardless of sexual orientation, race, gender, level of mental handicap, etc.



    I got pissed at my dorm mate in college because he tried to intimidate my girlfriend. After yelling at him, he calmly explained that he was upset that I had not asked if it was okay if she spent the night in our room. Even then, I could see the validity of his point, showing my lack of intelligience during my days of higher learning. I hate to admit this, but I calmed down.

    He went on and said 'I thought we were friends.' I responded with 'We're roommates.' Judging by the look on his face, I hurt his feelings a little bit. What a wuss.

    Looking back as an older and wiser person now, I don't think I should apologize for anything. But, I do have to thank him for helping me to learn that I cannot live with roommates(although house/apartment mates are fine) and that some guys are emotional.



    For this last one, I am just going to apologize for real. I once shot an acquaintance below the eye from point blank range with a bb gun. Dude, I am sorry for laughing in your face right when I did it, but that shit was funny as hell. At least you could still see.

    It's funny even now because the last time I saw him he seemed a little blinder. I didn't check, but his palms might be hairier.