I could tell you about my weekend, but then I'd have to kill you.

--

Did I ever mention that I adore talking to rednecks? It's one of the guilty pleasures I indulge while living in Texas. Most people I know would be suprised to what you can learn from a redneck. The secret is you need to know what to listen to and what not to.

For example, listening to a story about snape hunting has got to be one of the most hilarious things anyone on earth can hear. Typed words don't do snape hunting justice, so your life will remain dull, humorless, and ultimately lifeless just like mine. Oh wait, you guys probably have xanga meetings and make lots of sex.

Of course there are certain things you do not want to pay attention to when conversing with a redneck. You know that inbreeding thing everyone makes fun of them about? Well, there's a Joe Bob I know who keeps telling me about a singular certain girl. She just got married and he paid for the wedding. First, he told me she was his niece, so I was truly heartwarmed that a niece could have such a generous uncle.

This weekend, she was introduced to me as his daughter. I was really shocked and had this flashback to the scene in Chinatown. You know, the scene where Jack Nicholson bitch slaps Faye Dunaway for being a dirty dirty dirty person and sleeping with him after being a dirty dirty dirty person. You get the picture?

--

One of the coolest things about my job is I get to meet some interesting people with crazy businesses. I have a potential client who deals with grenades, coil rope, robots, and other inventions geared towards use for the armed forces. All products are made one hundred percent in the U.S. to insure other countries will not have them even though most of this industry's products are based on Israeli designs.

The crazy part about talking to him is he will start to mention a new project he is working on and abruptly stop, smile, and say, "Damn, I just remembered. I could tell ya, but then I'd have to kill ya." I know it's just a cheesy line from Top Gun, but I'm sure he gets a plethora punani from it. If I had a vagina I'd be pregnant right now.

Anyway, I mentioned to him 'that shotgun thing' I shot video footage for and he is really interested. I figure if I am already milking his money for collateral, I can make more money by having him sell off a stupid --I mean-- very essential product.

--

I watched a video Mr. Bombs Away gave me and I couldn't stop cracking up. It was clearly amatuer night in every way. The video's production is crummy, which is to be expected. What I didn't expect was to spend my Saturday night watching a bunch of grown up retards running around the woods and throwing grenades at each other. They were hollering insults and having a grand old time.

To be perfectly honest, it looked like LARPing.*

*If you don't know what LARPing is, look up LARP on google. It's worksafe and hilarious. At least to me it is.

--

Have you ever passed out for fifteen consecutive hours? It's a weird feeling, no?

Because you have to pee and you're thristy as hell. While urinating in the toilet, you end up drinking a bottle of water that was left on the nightstand. If you were a monkey you'd just pee in your mouth, but you're not a monkey. You're an inefficient human being unwilling to pee in your mouth.

--

I'm really looking forward to today because it brings me closer to Thanksgiving at home in San Francisco. Still trying to decide whether or not I should go to the Niner game. Maybe they'll win. Who am I kidding? Them winning is as likely as you peeing in your own mouth.

--

If any of you know what pee tastes like, please don't tell me. I'd rather talk to a redneck.

That being said, I would like to know what people think pee tastes like. Personally, I believe you are what you drink. Don't know about you, but my piss has a distinct odor after I drink coffee, alcohol, blood, whatever. So I figure if you drink too much grapefruit juice, your piss has got to be bitter as fuck.

I eat a lot of pineapples. If pineapples do anything for piss like they do for the love sauce then something tells me you're going to love the way I taste.

And while we're talking about culinary delights, the McRib is back and yummier than ever.

--

You know what I like more than the McRib and talking about the delectable flavors of urine? Playing X-box on a screen larger than ten inches, that's what. Ten inches is not big enough. Trust me, I know. It's my penile length and I've heard plenty of complaints. But I eat enough pineapples to compensate.

Come by my place to eat pineapples and play X-box.

--

tehgimp needs a testicle transplant. Seriously.

Came across a dilemma while I weighed the pros and cons of adopting the Monster last night. Obviously the pros are his gaining discipline, a better chance to realize his potential, and a much more positive environment. There are a bunch of cons. Probably the biggest one is that person glaring at me when I look in the shaving mirror.

I'm not ready for a kid, and even if I were I work long hours. This is not something my parents would support and I really don't want them to help. At least not in the beginning because if the Monster took a swing at my dad I'd have to drag his little ass up to Wu Dan mountain and show him what I do to people who take swings at my dad. They're like cigarettes and salmon. I smoke 'em, bitch.

The kid would say, "Ni zai zhang suh muh?" I'd slap him with Gallagher's mallet.

--

I'm not worried about him going after my mom. She's an expert at psychological warfare and will have anyone crying in seconds. It's trained me to neither cry nor feel affected by insults.

--

Check this out, though. The cons can be fixed. I'm moving out of Houston in a few months for two reasons. First being I absolutely hate it here. Second, I might run the San Francisco office or open another one in Los Angeles. I haven't decided, so nothing is firm tofu yet. I could always cash out and live comfortably for eighteen months to two years in San Francisco, trying my hand at writing screenplays and short stories while taking out my frustrations on the Monster.

It's a big risk and I can't justify it by saying I'm young and have nothing to lose because in this case I would have a Monster. Everyone knows that is a big responsibility.

I don't know what to do. I'll make up my mind after New Year's.

--

A cousin of mine told me about this place in Vancouver called Swedish Touch. It's a strip bar and, uh, 'pleasure house'. You know, where they touch you in your special place and then you touch them using your special place? Anyway, my eyes went all caucasian when he told me the stories about that place. It sounds too crazy to be true. And I'm not a big fan of crazy, especially if I need to pay for it.

One part of his story kind of bothered me. Apparently he was in a threesome, got excited, and 'popped one in an eye by accident'. It was a guy's eye.

If sweat gets in your eye it'll kinda burn. Imagine how the hell it feels to have something that comes from within a special place in your eye? That has got to burn like a bitch on fire.

It's part of the reason I don't want to go to prison. I don't want my eyes to burn.

I also don't want to get butt raped, but a cousin of mine didn't include anything on the subject in his story. Therefore I won't think about it.

--

Most people know I want multiple kids. Multiple meaning seven, a number that is good for putting one child on each continent. It's my mark on the world and I find it more charming than popping people in the eye on seven continents. I mean I've done that already and I'm still not very well known. It really is a disappointment.

Anyway, although I do not believe a person can love all of his multiple children in an equal fashion, I do believe that he does genuinely love them all. My question is if you can love more than one parent, more than one child, more than one dog, more than one car, then why can't you have more than one significant other?

My theory is whoever came up with this convention was either ugly, unsociable, or very poorly endowed. Most likely he, she, or they could not get laid because some stud muffins were getting all the sex. Hence, the creation of a social construction; you only get to choose one partner for the rest of your life.

I guess what I'm trying to say is Mormons and other societies with concubines were rebels because they tried to break a social construction. I'm stupid, I know, so please stop pointing it out to yourself because it makes you look so stupid.

--

Another reason why I don't want to go to prison is because I hear the food sucks. Then again, I don't really talk to prisoners so maybe that is just a rumor to keep you out of prison. Because prison is actually a good place and I recommend you go there for your next vacation.

It will be such a thrill.

--

Help me raise a kid in the proper American fasion. I mean fasshion. Fashyun. Argggghhhh!

http://www.FreeFlatScreens.com/?r=1167953

--

Bounny will be your concubine, but not for free. Get her a gift and she'll sing like a canary. Canaries sing, right?

FREE IPOD

No muffins and no whiskey. Just gouda and an apple.

--

I've got a cousin in Taiwan who has become a crack head. His two baby mamas have left him and he has resorted to stealing. My parents had to put their passports in a safety deposit box because this asshole can't keep his sticky fingers away from anything.

The crazy part of this equation is his oldest kid. Little Fucker is eight years old and stealing money from relatives. His teacher called his aunt and asked two questions:

1) Why does this little fuck have $1000NT($30 US) in his pocket?

2) Why is this fucker treating all his classmates to lunch?

Can you believe this shit? I have to admit that when I heard about this tears started welling up in my eyes. Little Fucker already knows how to make himself look good on someone else's dime.

I'm shipping his ass here and hiring him as soon as I put all of my belongings in a safety deposit box.

--

My family in Taoyuan is pretty ghetto. Everything is falling apart now that grandma has left. I think I need to move over there and kick some ass. Kind of like The Rock in Walking Tall. I love that movie. A lot of great moments in cinema there.

If I had grown up or lived in Taoyuan I'd either be a pimp or loan shark right now. I probably wouldn't be on xanga and I sure as hell wouldn't be eating gouda. Night would be the only time you saw me on the streets. I'd be wearing a fedora with slippers and no socks. You would also fear me because of my long pinky nail/ass scratcher/ear picker/coke sniffer that is sharp enough penetrate your eye.

--

I have been seriously considering adopting Little Fucker. Apparently stealing is the least of what he does. He hits his grandmother and has hit my grandmother. Cussing is normal for him and lying is the only language he knows.

I can see he's smart though. He lied to my mom, telling her that the $1000NT came from his crack head dad. Look at that, he already knows his dad has no credibility and knows how to shift the blame. I'm not saying it's right, I'm saying it's smart.

Cussing I can stand. I might have a problem with the hitting, especially since I like to hit back with aluminum bats.

--

All kidding aside, I wonder what this kid would be like with a father figure. I know I'm only twenty three, but Little Fucker really has no one else. Considering his situation, he might need a big brother to slap him upside his head every once in a while.

Considering my situation, I wouldn't mind a son for a punching bag. Kidding.

--

Not that he would be able to start school right away, but Royal Oaks' school district sucks ass. Yes, I was looking up school districts so just shut up. I'm just as lame as you assholes will be.

By the time he can go to school I'll be in San Francisco, Los Angeles, or a little place I like to call Hell. Did you know I have always had a dream where I die when I'm 29 or so? I get a lot of dreams that actually happen, sometimes taking place a few years down the line. I've always assumed that 2010 might be that year I go to Hell.

But maybe if I adopt this kid, I can send him there in my place.

--

I still can't get over him treating his buddies to lunch. That shit is too funny. I'm not sure I had that much playa in me when I was eight years young to do something like that. Fuck, I don't have it in me now.

I have this image of an eight year old pimp sitting in a cafe surrounded by friends. He looks tired and smokes cigarettes. "This game is to be sold, not be told," he says as he puts on his fedora and rises to leave. A particularly fat kid who is his right hand man just nods and echoes, "You right. You right."

They shuffle their slippers and leave.

--

Bounny likes to use her pinky nail to clear out her ears. Help to put something back in them.

FREE IPOD

--

If you don't want me to adopt that kid then help me adopt a television. I might even give you my real phone number so that you can come over and visit it.

http://www.FreeFlatScreens.com/?r=1167953

Because that freak Korepsych wants to know:

I'm currently eating a mocha muffin and sipping a Johnny Walker Blue, neat.

--

There was a time when I wanted to be Prince. That was before I saw those high heels, figure skating outfits, the nerdy writings on  his cheek, and that awful perm. Because after I saw all that stuff I really wanted to be Prince.

But really, I love that whole persona he had. It was insane! He looked like a homo, but deep down he was just this horny little guy who humped his guitar whenever he took a break from humping his girlfriends.

I'm a horny little guy, too, but I don't have a guitar. I don't even have a perm.

--

Chris Rock once commented that back in the day people thought Prince was eccentric and Michael Jackson was 'Disney'. But it ends up Prince having a family and charity while Michael has weird looking babies with women that have no existence.

But I say you gotta hand it to Michael. He kissed Elvis' daughter and got her naked in a music video.

--

I have a love relationship with this thing called mocha muffins. They taste really good. I pick them up a few times a week at Rice Village on my way to work. Like any other muffin, the top is the best part to eat because it is crunchy.

I hate Costco muffins. Those are some rank ass muffins. Their tops are mushy and have a boogery consistency. I know a lot of people who wouldn't eat boogers, but they buy Costco muffins as if they were stocking up for a natural disaster. Personally, I would eat boogers before I lick a Costco muffin, which shows that I am a better person than Costco muffin eaters.

--

By the way, on the Southwest Freeway, there's this billboard that says Muff-a-licous. It makes me laugh so hard that I cough up hairballs. You make the connection.

--

Amazingly, I've lost some weight. I wasn't really trying to, but I think it happened because my poo maker is working overtime. It's like once a meal goes down the chute it hits rock bottom and rolls out. Disgusting, I know, but terribly interesting to me.

If you ever get the privilege to take a meal with me, you shouldn't listen to a word I say until after the meal. Chances are I'm full of shit and telling you things you want to hear. For example I might say you are prettier in person when you are undeniably atrocious.

--

So, uh, anyone want to hang out? If you have a sense of dread or any other generally morbid wishes, give me a call at 672-382-5968. I guarantee that you'll die within two years of meeting me.

But if we sleep together you'll end up living forever. The fountain of youth just happens to be located in my pants. You should know, though, that it's actually a terrible thing rather than a good one. Living forever just means everyone you love is going to die around you. You'll also hate your appearance because old age makes you look undeniably atrocious.

--

Help Bounny out. She needs a liver, but she'll settle for an iPod. I hear she gives 'great head', whatever that means. I haven't met her yet, so she shouldn't die unless she doesn't get her liver. I mean iPod. Just help her out, okay, because I want to receive my 'great head' or whatever the hell it is.

FREE IPOD

--

Oh yeah, and help me out, too. I need a new television and am way too cheap to buy one. Actually, I couldn't afford one anyway because my cocaine habit is extraordinarily expensive these days and the money I get from tricking with that monkey just ain't cutting it anymore.

This would actually work for you because once I run out of money, I'd try to sell the television and monkey to you for like five bucks. That's insane!

Just like you.

http://www.FreeFlatScreens.com/?r=1167953

--

I'd like to end today's session with a question. There's a niche market that I think I can dump some product on.

You know how people say 'dirty whore', right? Are there such things as 'clean whores' and would you be interested in them?

How about I sweeten the offer by throwing in some monkeys?

Mr. Charles' cover kicks Leon Russell ass.

--

Not all old movies are good. Especially when directed by me and captured off of VHS.

--

My wanderlust is getting way out of hand. While I was dropping new islands in my toilet bowl this morning, I started to imagine what living like a convict on the run must be like. Right now I'd be cruising into Boise in a Cutlass Supreme, looking for a job. I'd get angry because no one wants to hire an Asian and steal coin from old people.

I wanted to continue imagining in order to craft a story about slapping everyone in the town with a potato. Somehow it would need to end with me dying in a hail of FBI gunfire in slow motion, but I went to work instead and almost died in a hail of slow motion cars on the Southwest Freeway.

--

I have been especially lonely lately. Makes me reminisce about stuff that's not particularly interesting. Shit, I've only been around for twenty-three years, I say, and that's when things get wavy and I realize twenty-three years is longer than some of my friends have had.

Yes, it's one of those days where I feel guilty for no reason. Those days always prompt me to remember what was good and what was funny and what was bad.

--

Today's memory is about my high school band(Hi, I'm Peter. Percussionist. I hate you.). We went to Anaheim for some cheesy music festival. After an eleven hour bus ride I was groggy. The choir teacher was addressing us in the hotel and made some quip about the lack of restaurants in the area of Buena Park where we stayed.

Some whigger named Davis or some shit from the choir starts to make fun of me after I mumble something to myself. Christ I wanted to slap that guy until my hands turned red. His pinoy wanna be black friend started to chime in, as did all of the wanna be black but ain't black people in the vicinity.

I think the choir teacher felt bad for me and tried to get her boys off of me. But my pager went off and I had to go. My ride was here and I ended up going out to a teppanyaki place and getting drunk with a friend of a friend.

That was the last time I saw my friend of a friend because she died in a car accident a few years later.

--

I was scared to death in a pool hall once. One stranger walked up to an acquaintance of mine and shot him in the hand even though he was clearly aiming for his face. I didn't see much after the first shot because I was lying on the floor and covering my eyes.

"Life is funny," my acquaintance said a few weeks later.

He was buried a few more months later.

--

There was this one girl I knew when I was little who had crinkly eyes whenever she laughed. Whenever I saw those crinkly eyes I would laugh, too. So I can say that "whenever she laughed I laughed" in court without messing up my credibility.

If memory serves me correctly, she did not laugh too much after her tenth birthday.

--

Evidentally, I am lonely. Lately I've been talking to this one corner in my room because it is a good listener and not a snob like the other corners in my room. The snobs make me nervous because I know they are too good for me. I try to approach them, but I keep stuttering and running away as a result.

--

I have issues, I know. Still, there is nothing to be done except to keep talking to the one corner who will listen and to look forward to my upcoming travel dates. I can't wait to get on that open road like a convict.

The only differences are I'll be driving my Lexus towards Vancouver and the only thing I'll steal are some more laughs for Crinkly Eyes. I keep thinking about this and everything is okay again. I tell the corner who listens to these plans intently, silently nodding in total agreement that 'these are good plans'.

--

One day I'll get to Boise for my acquaintance and maybe shoot some pool there. I'll also be sure to buy a drink for the girl who saved me from choir boys.

I've been shooting around at the community basketball court lately. It's empty, but I've got no time for games anyway. So I just shoot around and enjoy my newly reacquired ability to swish the ball. For some odd reason, I do this much better with someone around, meaning I drag my cousin along with me.

He's terrible. The ball always bounces off of the rim or back board, landing in the grass area. It's a pain, but he enjoys it. He's the one paying for the association fee and he might as well put the dollars to use by embarassing himself.

Me, I just stand back and flow. I enjoy every minute of it. Especially considering I tend to fart when active. I like to fart almost as much as I like to make baskets.

--

I like to scare the white neighbors. They sometimes find me in the streets of Royal Oaks doing Kung Fu forms for no good reason other than to fart. When they drive by, they carefully manuver around me hoping I don't crescent kick their fenders off. It's empowering as an Asian to know that expensive cars and their drivers are scared of me.

The best part is that I really don't know that much choy lay fut. I took maybe two years of it, but I can make it look good. One time an old white lady asked what I was doing. I answered solemnly and looked off into a distance. 'There is someone on Wu Dan mountain who killed my father. I must avenge his death to reach enlightenment.'

My rep on the streets of Royal Oaks is starting to show. People pointed at me during the block party. They said I was the crazy kid who has to kill my father's murderer and described me as the one eating all of the deviled eggs.

--

If you and me got into a fight, I would win. My strategy is to destroy your balls. I'm not just talking about the testicle variety. I go for eyes and ball and socket joints. Beware of me, man, because I'm the Enlightened One from Royal Oaks and I have a rep.

My only weakness is deviled eggs. It's not that bad a weakness, though. You might be able to get a couple of good shots in, but I'd fart and the smell would kill you on contact.

--

I once wailed on a guy who kept making fun of my friend at a party. He was bigger than me, but I kicked the shit out of him. His friends just watched, amazed the whole time. Everyone left the party, though. Probably because I tried to make him smell my fart.

--

The secret to beating up white guys if you're asian is pretty simple. You don't really have to punch hard, just really fast and repetitively. White guys are slow and get confused easily. When confused, they freak out and start to either cover up or swing very hard and wildly. Smacking them in the balls won't do anything because if you ask any girl who has dated a white guy they'll tell you he doesn't have any. Just keep swinging and you'll be fine.

Oh yeah, and don't get tackled.

If you are going to fight a latino guy, your odds go down. They're faster than you. The only thing you can hope to do is outsmart them with some grade A tactics. I can't tell you what those tactics are because I am dumber than most latino guys. The only thing I would do is kick them in the shin, run away, and find a german sheperd.

If you are going to fight a black guy, you're shit out of luck. I once saw a black friend of mine fighting off five or six chinese guys. He fucking waved at me while I drove by. I have no viable suggestions, except to kick them in the shin, run away, and find a german sheperd. Make sure it's a german sheperd because those are police dogs. Pit bulls are a bad choice because they're all over the ghetto.

Regardless of who you fight and beat, you will have to make them smell your fart. It's an unwritten rule, but it's one you don't want to forget. The last thing you want to happen is for people to laugh at you for not winning a fight the right way.

--

Don't fight girls. They win instantly because they have boobs and those things are the ultimate distractions no matter what size. This applies to both genders. Admit it, you look at girls with small boobs just as much as ones with juggernauts.

The Enlightened One from Royal Oaks does not admit to anything, though.

--

Oh yeah, no one has killed my dad, but I hope to get enlightened anyway:

http://www.FreeFlatScreens.com/?r=1167953

Useless. Wearing a t-shirt in a torrential downpour is absolutely useless.

--

I was watching the Niners get killed when the first wave of trick-o-treaters came by the house. These little fuckers don't even try anymore, do they? Half of them weren't wearing costumes, which ultimately made me feel silly for 'dressing' up in mine.

What is it with kids these days? They seem to have too much pride to do potentially embarassing things. I know that I would not be the marvelous male specimen that I am today without the embarassments that I have amassed over twenty three wasted years.

--

I'm not sure what my most embarassing moment is. There are so many to choose from. One time, when I was nine, I flirted with a girl that I really liked. Except she wouldn't have called it flirting. She would have called it insulting.

At the time, I was almost as sophisticated as a WWF wrestler. It was great. I thought that to be flattering I had to act like Hacksaw Jim Duggin.

Boy was I wrong.

--

In celebration of all the great events that have been happening in my life recently and partly due to intoxication provided by fine scotch whiskey, I decided to be the Hulk for halloween. I bought some green body paint and purple spandex shorts because they make me feel macho.

The thing about body paint is that if you don't apply it smoothly it begins to clump up. So instead of showcasing my two only nipples, I had seven. Including four on my back. They weren't symmetrical, but I assure you they were pointy.

My cousin had a camera and giggled while taking pictures. I'd show the pictures to you, but I don't want you to think any less of me. He's not talking to me, anyway. I destroyed the memory card by shoving it up his butt.

--

What makes this Halloween truly weird is my other Grandma's birthday, which is Halloween. Friday was also the anniversary of my Grandfather's death, and I guess next year it'll be my Grandma's, too.

Strange days, huh?

--

Next year I'm going to be Hacksaw Jim Duggin for Halloween. Buying a two by four and wearing ripped jeans will be infinitely cheaper than sporting body paint and some erotically tight shorts.

--

Back to when I was nine. Yeah, so I flirted with this girl by spewing insults at her and giving the thumbs up and screaming 'Ho!' every so often. She really hated me.

We were in some kind of day camp(Cameron House?). I remember on movie night, she had friends and I didn't. I sat alone because I deserved it. Face it, I was a prick. And the only thing that has changed since then is that I'm a bigger prick, and not even in the department that I wish it to be.

While I sat alone and watched the girl of my dreams watch a movie, I realized that I wanted to be a movie. She was smiling at the movie when I so wanted her to smile at me.

--

There was this other time when I was little that is embarassing. A girl said that she liked me and I blushed and smiled like an idiot. I said 'gross' or something, but I couldn't stop my cheeks from reddening or the corners of my mouth from going north.

But that was before Hacksaw. When I hear stuff like that now, I just yell 'Ho!' and point my thumb to the sky.