"So, do you want me to have this in Portland by Saturday or Monday"
(For this one, dorks, remember it's Friday)
"Um, which ever one will get it there faster."
This is the lady that I had to explain a folder to. Where the fuck did this rubberhead come from?
"That'd be Saturday."
"Yeah, let's go for Saturday."
That's a way to wrap up and summarize this past week. Rubberiffic, and fucking smirksome. Long. Talking 'bout my week, not my ...
That's it! I'm out of here. Time for an oil change and red-headed loving. Talking 'bout my girlfriend.
Weekend, dorks.


Yeah, I know, dorks. I'm sorry that my blogging this past week has been very none-done. I did try to write one yesterday when I accidently closed the wrong window (the bloggin' one) and lost it.
"Aw, fuck it," I thought. And fuck it I did.
So, like I was telling you yesterday but you didn't know, this has been media week for me.
I bought three new, used C.D.'s last Friday.
Green Day "Dookie" (Awesome reminder that those fuckers who walk around going "This isn't punk. Punk is punk I'm punk, this ripped sweater is punk" aren't punk. And really no one is punk, dorks, it was a stupid, stupid way to sell some records in the mid-to-late seventies since disco and stadium rock had saturated the public ear. The Sex Pistols WERE (don't ever be fooled into thinking they weren't ... it's not very punk to think otherwise) the SECOND boy band. The first being the Monkees. Punk music is still good, however, punks are dorks with spikes.)
RZA presents "Wu-Tang Killa Bees" (Good truck drivin' music)
The Soundtrack for "Dogtown and Z-Boys" (or something like that. I'm not going to pretend I know the title correctly and falsely have you assume I'm down with skating culture).
All good C.D.'s.
Also bought "Death Race 2000" and "Rollerball" (the Jimmy Caan one) and rented "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"
All excellent movies. Best lines in each movie respectively ....

Cleopatra: It isn't my fault everyone scored before us. You should have gone after that boy scout camp like I told you!
Nero the Hero: I tried the goddamn boy scout camp. You know how fast those boy scouts move?
Cleopatra: Now here's something more your speed.
Nero the Hero: That'll be at least 200 points!
Cleopatra: If they scatter, go for the baby and the mother

Then ...

"It was never meant to be a game!"


"Fooeee, where'd I put my sword. Oh-No! A ninja!"

I really want to use that Rollerball line at some point in life.
"Hmmm, this fish is a bit gamey."
"It was never meant to be a game!"

And to top off Media Week I've been reading (I think I mentioned this ... oh yeah, I did) "The Dice Man" by Luke Rhinehart.
Very excellent book, please read it.
For Christ's sake, calm down. I'll give you a summary b/c I know some of you dorks can't read.
This guy invents a way of living where dice decide what he does with his life. There are some rules, the major one being that he has to do what the die say. Here's how you do it.
Think of six things to do and let it represent one of the numbers on a die. Or maybe think of 4 things to do and allow a couple numbers to represent one thing to do ...
1.) Find a hot homeless person and give them $5
2.) Get drunk
3.) Clean your home
4.) Call someone you haven't talked to in a while
5.) Hit on the next stranger you see
6.) Climb a large hill
... you'll understand as you go. They can't be things that you woulnd't do. You have to do them without thought or ego once the die is cast.
So, I've tried it a few times. In the book the di command the guy to scream that he's Batman and bang lots of broads, the di commanded me today to go eat an unhealthy lunch in the park. Of course, I don't want to bang a lot of chicks because ....
R. Sense-of-humor and I are getting antsy about our big move. I think we're both over the nervouse "What the hell did I just agree to?" stage and at the "Fucks sake, let's do this already" stage. I remember when it was just "frame stage".
Boy, who doesn't want to see the new Jesus movie? Me. Is it just me or does watching Jesus get beat up for a couple hours sound morbidly interesting and therefore totally out of the realm of being able to go see because of the fires of Hell (that I don't believe in) that would await me if for just one second I had the thought "Man, this Christ guy really just can't take a punch".
And what the hell is up with the F.C.C. since LaToya whipped out her tit? I mean Mel-Gibson-sucker-you-all, you pull out a boob for a second (a black boob remember!) and all of a sudden no one can say "pee-pee". But show two hours of Jesus getting whipped and everyone goes "Hey, let's rent out a movie theater so my kid can watch this."
And while I'm going on about current events, I need to say something about Rosie O'Donell. This dork-with-tits is the only celebrity that the gay marriage movement could get to join their cause? Well, maybe it's not a movement as much as a natural and A-O.K.-with-people-who-are-secure-and-don't-hate-their-fathers-and-jerk-it-to-Freddy-Prinze-Jr. progression in civil rights, but anyways ... getting Rosie O'Donell to stand up for your cause is like having the one armed kid from my high school throw out the first pitch at the World Series ... THEY'RE GOING TO FUCK UP SOMETHING IMPORTANT! We all know Rosie is going to go to San Fran and be all snoddy to people like when she (DAMMIT!) would always give the person the correct answer on Hollywood Squares! I mean for fucks sake Rosie, it's a game stop acting like you do anything besides eat and throw koosh balls all day. She's going to piss off different leaders who will rush to shut down what would have been quiet civil disobedience.
"I'll take gay marriage for the win."
Anyways, I think that's enough dorks rocking for the past few days I've missed. I'll talk to you all tomorrow and tuck you in for the weekend.
And the dork sayeth on to ye, go forth and do unto dorks as you'd have dorks do onto you.


O.K., Ameridorks, nows the time to saddle up and kick some old white guy ass. We've lost Dean. That's all right, the Democratic Army can still win the fight .... IF, stupid Ralph Nader drops out of this race.
Ralph Nader is the biggest dork in the world. Even worse, he will never be president because he doesn't have much more than economic ground to stand on. And even worse he gave us that momma's-daddy's boy of a president we got now. I'm a seventies-era porn man myself, but I hate me some Bush.
So I've been sending e-mails to info@votenader.org (it's the only e-mail address I could find on www.votenader.org). I've probably sent out almost 100 in just 45 minutes of work. Why not actual work, Brent? Because I'm working for America now, dammit!
You should all send similar emails to this address! I've just been writing things like "No Nader = No Bush" and "Rember 2000?" or "Two parties bad? Three parties worse!" in the subject line and then pasting a simple message as such ...
Please do not run for the office of President of the United States! You know in your heart that this will only split the Democratic party and fuel a Republican victory. Please support the Democratic candidate!
Thank you,
Brent Kinkade ...
to the body of the e-mail.
Tell your friends to do it too. If this fucker runs than it's 4 more years of Bush. That's four more years of your dad's friends running the country. America won't be hip anymore kids. The old white terrorists will have won.
So, how was your weekend? Mine was superfanfuckular. It was such a beautiful Seattle weekend that on Saturday R. Bedbuddy and I laid in bed all day and looked out the window. We had grown sick of doing things on the weekends so we decided to do nothing. And nothing we did.
R. Girl had to go to work at 4:fucking:30 on Sunday morning ... and with no sleep thanks to a drunk me.
"You asleep? Christina Agulkaearea sucks on Saturday Night Live ... wait, it's not live here. Did you realize that? Hey, are you awake?"
But I didn't have to work, so I slept until 10 in the morn and then went and played a little disc golf with the L.C. I have to say that I played pretty well for not playing in a few months. Now that frisbee fever is back in my veins. I need to get a couple more discs to round out my set and I'll be in good shape. Also need to work on my drive. Can't seem to get enough power behind the disc. And, no, I'm not a girl.
After that the L.C. had another L.C. over for dinner, except the L stands for "loud" this time. We had dinner and lovely conversation about lesbians, marijuana, sirens, dogs, dogs and sirens, and ladders. I now know where to go for random gay sex in Seattle. Heavens, what I needed to know is where to get a good slice of meringue instead I got the whole pie!
Today I've been reading 'The Dice Man' by Luke Rhinehart. It's pretty good pre-Fight Club male angst stuff so far.
It's now time for ...
The B-Man's "After 47 pages" book review!
The book opened strong with much talk about disillusionment and disassociation with society. Then there was some talk about this guys wife's ass which was cool, but was quickly replaced by talk about an egg breakfast with this guy's kids. Then there was talk about murder and Christ and the Buddha. I think someone took tranqulizers. A must read!
Thank you.
Anways, dorks I need to get back to my real job. But you need to do my bidding and send out those "No Ralph" e-mails. If you don't, a New York City fireman will cry himself to sleep. And you don't want that do you? A good American would do anything for a brave New York City fireman. Are you a good American, dork?


I forgot to mention that my little brother (who is now bigger than me) has started a blog. He also has blue hair. Blue fucking hair. And he's a proud geek. AND he has blue hair, he used to be an aryan now he's a smurf.
I personally know nothing about how to make music. I'm going somewhere with this, dorks, so calm down a minute. Dammit, you are impaitient. Now, as I was saying, I don't know how to make the music come out of them music machines.
I taught myself how to play the harmonica when I was younger. The musical fruits of my labor (hehe, beans) was that I could play a pretty good "When the Saints Come to March In Our Town ... Pilaging the Land!" and "Low Rider" by WAR. I can still play hobo-worthy harmonica but I can't wail like Eddie Van Halen. But that doesn't mean I don't know who to rock your balls, dorks!
What does this crazy guy mean? Look!
I left the following message on my friend Eva's (http://themeasure.diaryland.com) answering machine the other night (and, yes, she correctly guessed that I was NOT drunk when I left it):
The part I'm talking about is, of course, the classic Wayne's World head thrash part. Eva's in a band called Perfect Sleeper so she can do this.
But think about how wicked sweet it would be if a band did this. They'd be singing along all emo-alternative and then maybe at the end of a song they'd do that cool thing where they hit the strings one last time and let it fade out slow while they look at the ground with their hair in their face when all of a sudden ...
Wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-wha wha wha-wha-wha-wha
(I just wrote those lyrics without looking them up on the web! I rule!)
So, my point is, dorkensteins, that I know how to rock, but I just don't know how to make it roll. I want to be in a rock band just so I can have awesome ideas like that and have them happen before me like a babe born anew of Zeppelin and G. 'n' R.
And I've got ideas, oh yes, ideas in my head are brewin', but I taint telling you none of them 'cause one day you will see them on MTV and your head with explode from THE EUPHORIA!
I am hungover this morning, dorks. I drank 2 40s and a few other beers and played some muthadominating RISK with the better half of the L.C., the other half being in Cali. or Haiti or something for the week.
How'd I do at RISK? I lost. Then we played Trivial Pursuit. How'd I do? I lost. Although with the Trivial Yah game I think the questions were a little easy for certain people who weren't me.
Example question for the better half: "You eat off of this and it rhymes with plate."
Example question for me: "14, Stevenson or that apple?"
I guessed 14. I lost. So, I'm hungover and very tired. I called R. There-for-me a couple times when I was wasted last night. Always a good idea.
"Hey, I'm wasted. Who wants a tickle?"
"You're on a phone, you can't tickle."
"What? You're cute."
He,he I just called UPS and they say "What brown can do for you." Brown do. He, he. Fuck I can't stop giggling about this.
"Sir, we lost your package."
"He, he, package. Do."
Then they said "Check us out at UPS.com"
"He, he, check. Like what I write at the grocery store. Check."
Allright, I need to fucking work. Damn, I have been writing this thing for almost an hour! Need to go, dork tickles.
Wait!! One more thing.
I went to return the digital camera that I got R. Camera for Christmas. It broke when I was trying to take a picture of her riding a statue of a monkey at the zoo.
Here's what happened at Best Buy.
"Sorry, we can't replace this. The return date has passed and you didn't get the stupid, stupid extended warranty deal that we should have on all of our products anyways but we don't because we like to ass fuck you because we know you'll keep coming back even if we ass fuck you because we have lots of shiny things. Lube up!"
"But, it's a shoddy product. It broke, it's not working, you should take it back."
"I'm sorry (shoving the receipt at me) but the exchange date has passed."
"You don't need to ... so, you can't do anything for me."
"So then I guess I got (oh, it's soo good, wait for it just a second, rewind it and turn it up because this is going to be good!) ...
"So then I guess I got .... THE WORST BUY!"
I actually said this and many people heard me and I walked out of there like a king. Goodbye, dorks, I rock.


I tell you, dorkfaces, sometimes I think this whole world is full of people with rubber-filled heads. That's right, rubber-filled heads.
I just showed someone in the executive office how to ...
a.)Convert dollars to euros
b.)Build a rocket to take them back to their rubberhead planet
c.) Use a folder. A regular freakin' paper folder. A folder that would not be unlike the folder that has been used for many a year by many a beurocrat. A regular (although it was red) paper folder. I think it needs to be said again for effect. A regular paper folder. A red regular paper folder.
Ok, now you're supposed to guess. If you guessed "c" you are not a rubberhead. If you didn't guess "c" I have a rocketship waiting for you.
"This folder not be da one me usededed to be using."
"Here, you open it up and then ..."
"Oh, that's that there's the folder I be seeing when i use the folders. Yep I likes the open folders."
I'm glad that rubberheaded people make 3 times as much as me; it really helps me stay focused and well-balanced. Very zen.
I hope your dorky weekend was nice and that you all ate chocolate and got hit with Cupid's arrow. Not cupid the love guy, Cupid this meth addict I know with a fondness for crossbows. That's right, I hired a cranked out crossbow nut to hunt you down, you smirksome rubberhead.
But really, I had a great weekend. Me and the R. chicky went out to eat and held hands. I gave her a journal type thing and a nice pen for Valentine's. What did she get me? Well, I got porn.
I know I told some of you that R. Virgin got me other movies. This was a lie, a boldfaced lie, I lied to you.
You see, I did this because I didn't know if I wanted to tell anyone that I owned porn and that I mutually owned porn and that I received it as a gift and yadda, porn, smut, other stuff, hmmm, television, I wonder what's on.
But, then I realized this little fact.
November 2003 - R. Touchdown gives me football tickets for my birthday.
December 2003 - R. Christ gives me a b.b. gun for Christmas.
February 2004 - My R. gives me porn for Valentine's
Football, guns and porn. I think that needs to be said again. Football, guns and porn. How perfect is this chick, I mean babe. Plus, who the hell doesn't own porn? I mean, the exception is that Catholic priests don't own porn and we all know what's going on there.
That's right, if you don't own pornography you have to wear very tight collars. And lord knows I like a loose collar.
On Sunday (the day of the tight collar) the me-couple and the lovely couple went to the zoo. It was very fun. One of the elephants had half of his (her) ear gone like it had been ripped off. That was awesome.
There was also this sign that talked about how a certain type of monkey will get into fights with eagles. It had a painting showing what a monkey/eagle fight looks like. What does it look like? Like this ...
I have said in my life that a lot of things are the coolest thing I have ever seen. Santa Claus, people falling while sking and gators jumping are a few of those things. However, all of those things are lame ass shit-fuck compared to monkey/eagle fights.
A group of these certain monkies will be sitting in a tree just hanging out.
"It sure is a good day to be a monkey," they will be saying.
Suddenly, an eagle will swoop in and sit next to the monkies in the tree. He is the spotter.
"No, it's a bad day to be a monkey," the eagle will say. Then his buddy swoops in and starts picking up monkeys.
(This next part was not mentioned in the zoo display, but here's how I think it goes)
The monkies, flying high above the ground held tightly by the eagle, will fight and claw. The eagle will do sky-cartwheels and zigzags to confuse the monkey. The monkey is too smart for this and pokes at the eagle's eyes. His attempts are futile. The eagle pokes back with his razor sharp beak, slicing the monkey's left ear. This angers the monkey who swings violently at the eagles face. The blow to the head shockes the eagle who momentarily loses control of his flight. Both the eagle and the monkey are falling to the ground at TERMINAL VELOCITY! Just before impact the eagle regains control and swoops up. The camera zooms in on the eagles claw (that's right it's a movie now) only to reveal it covered in blood. The monkey could not escape TERMINAL VELOCITY!
Before I die I want to witness God's most perfect conflict ... the monkey/eagle fight.
There were also bears and zebras and asian people. But you've seen all of that stuff.
Well, I need to go home because I don't want to be at work any more. You dorks are all right, ya crazy rubberheads.


What to say, dorks? It's muther-smirksome Friday, boyyyy! I've got my truck fueled up, all of my Valentine's shopping done, some cash in my pocket, a horrifying addiction to crystal meth and two days with no ape women. B's about to get freaky up in his Valentishizzy!
I woke up very late this morning after a night of weird dreams that included one that I met LeBron James on the street but I didn't know it was LeBron James. I asked him for some reason if he knew how to get Sonics tickets and he hooked me up with season tickets. I think I woke up at some point during this dream to some questioning by R. Sleepy. I vaguely remember trying to explain that I had just got basketball tickets.
I sometimes have dreams like this where I'll wake up and be expecting some cool new thing to be there, but it isn't.
"Cleydsdale with a rocket launcher attached to each leg, where are you?"
So, I woke up late and got to work about half an hour late. No one noticed, nor have they noticed that I've been running errands throughout the day.
But beyond my growing psychosis (I did the stumble and mumble thing in my sleep again last night) there are great things a-brewin' ... because it's Valentine's Day weekend. And that means I get a present! And R. Girl and I are going out tomorrow for dinner at the place we went to on our first date and then a movie. Sunday will be the zoo (if weather permits) with the Lovely Couple. Will let you know how all of that turns out.
They just announced on the intercom at work that "The Mountain Man is in the lobby!"
The Mountain Man is this guy who goes to the offices around the area selling nuts and candy every couple of Fridays. The people around here don't get too excited to see him, but when I had the Roy job the chicks over there would go crazy!
"Oh, I just love your chocolate cock. I need it so bad."
"Give me some of that sugar covered crack-heroin."
"The Mountain Man is my God all other Gods are beseeched in the glory of Mountain Man and his delectable gummy worms."
Naw, it's not like that, they just like candy and nuts. Hehe, nuts.
Anyways, whenever they announce that "The Mountain Man is in the lobby!" I always get this image of some sort of deranged hillbilly who has escaped from somewhere and always finds his way back to this office. I always picture him barefoot and in overalls with a straw hat just kind of frantically running around going "Ah, hoo-eee, it's the lobby for me!" Then they have to announce that he's back so the gaurds will come and get him. Of course, there are always banjos playing in the background as they chase him.
The next time you are bored in public play one of "Brent's Imagination Games". Such as:
-Next time you're at Wal-Mart or the D.M.V or wherever your happen to be picture in your head what would happen if a hillbilly ran in a hootin' and a hollerin' 'bout "Heading for the hills" or "T'ain't going back to no jail". What the hell would you do? That one's always good for a chuckle.
-Or. Imagine the person you are talking to (a cashier or a cashier) suddenly had a spear go into their head. NOt a killing spear, just a suprising spear. How funny would it be to see someone with a goddamned spear in their head? As long as they were still healthy and just happened to have a spear in their head.
Dammit, I love the "spear head to pass the time" game.
-OR, you could play the ever-Brent-popular "The last few minutes of Return of the Jedi" game. In this game you are Han Solo and have just shot up the reactor core of the Death Star. Uh-Oh, Han! You'd better get out of there fast! This is best played at crowded malls when you are trying to get from Cinnabon to that smelly Yankee Candle store.
Maybe I'm still sleepy.
Well, have a good weekend, dorks. Happy Dorkentines Day to your and yours (your nuts, hehe).


"Why didn't you 'put on socks'?"
"Because my job is to 'wear tennis shoes'."
Dammit, there are so many pricks around this office that I feel like I'm at a gay bar. That was a pun on the word "prick", not a homophobic slam claiming gay men are pricks.
But I'm still hip, dorks, because I'm listening to U2's "Stuck in a Moment" while the sun shines outside. This is GreatDayOutside Pt. 2. It is such a nice reprieve from the usual Seattle "What'd you expect? It's Seattle" rain and grey.
I saw Mt. Rainier yesterday for the first time in a couple of months. I always forget how freaking huge this mountain is or exactly where it is on the horizon depending on where I am. So, sometimes I'll be driving around a bend and Mt. Rainier will pop out and go, "Ah-ha, it's mountain time!" (A time zone joke! Maybe the first of it's kind ... ever!).
Say, speaking of sequels, I just saw online that they are making Die Hard 4: Die Hardest. Nothing really to say about it, just say they are making it. Well, maybe they could have thought of a better sequel name. Maybe "Die Hard: Hell's Doorway", "Die Hard: Shotgun of Pain" or "Die Hard: 18-Inch Machete Wound".
My dad was in New York this week for the Westminster Dog Show (he was watching not participating). Some dog won yesterday.
Oh, I looked up information today about an inn that R. Tickles and I want to stay at when we get our tax return money back. I could tell you about it or you could look at the web site. Guess which I'm going with ... http://www.oceanshores.com/lodging/JudithAnn/
I made a budget for the next few weeks today and I got my watch back yesterday that has had a dead battery for two years. I like being productive ... just like you like being a dork.
So, it looks like Kerry might be the next great Clinton hope, eh? Do they just have interns to bang them? I mean can I just stop saying girlfriend and say "intern" instead? They always told us in college to get an internship, they also say college is the time to explore your sexuality. Maybe our universities are just whoring us out to the business people of the world. Magna Cum Laude, eh? Sounds like an escort agency name if I ever heard of one. Hmmm, eh?, hmmm, then eh?. It's time to go do laundry, dorks .... or maybe an intern. Ah, boo-yeah!
Oh yeah, Ramones (that's what the R. stands for, remember?) Girl said that I jumped out of bed last night and began walking around her apartment. I vaguely remember stumbling around in search of a glass of water trying to explain that I didn't understand or didn't know. What didn't I know? I don't know.
R.G. had a more lucent memory, which is that I was stumbling around without any pants on talking about how confused I was. She just rolled over and went back to bed. Now that's what I call love, ignoring psychosis.


Today is such a freaking beautiful day in Seattle. The weather is just right for me to wear my new grey lambswool sweater over my hip light/dark blue plaid shirt. And with my wind tossed hair, OOOOOOOO-EE, I am looking good and feeling a little like Al Joad in 'The Grapes of Wrath' ... that'd be after-church-pre-desperate-flee-to-California Al Joad. But you knew that, my Okidorks.
It's such a nice day that I was only momentarily considering an uzi to solve the following problem ...
(For the following scenario I am going to replace the monotonous duty that I do every day with the phrase "wear tennis shoes", another activity that I do every day)
Me: (Walking down the hall) Pretty Br-ent, walking down the street ... Pretty Br-ent with Sauconys on his feet.
This woman: (Running up behind me) Brent! Brent! I really need you to "wear tennis shoes" today. It's very important.
Me: O.K., just so you know, I "wear tennis shoes" everyday.
This woman: Oh, well I need you to (no joke) triple "wear tennis shoes".
Me: (Confused, very confused)
There was even a note attached to the thing that I was supposed to "wear tennis shoes". It reads ...

This needs to "wear tennis shoes" - no acceptions!
This woman

She really wrote "no acceptions", it's not another of my AC/DC kilt mistakes. This is very frustrating because the more I try to explain to her (and show her documentation) that I "wear tennis shoes" every day the more she becomes convinced that I don't.
I wonder if this has been a pattern for her entire life.
"Columbus sailed the ocean blue in 14 hundred and ninety-two!"
"1947, hmm?"
"No, 1492."
"Yep, 1947 sounds right."
"That's right, in 19 hundred and forty-seven all good Columbuses went to heaven."
But, like I said, it was too nice of a day to consider uzi therapy for more than 12 seconds.
I went and got R. Valentine her, well, her Valentine's Day present today. What did I get her? It's a really cool little ... can't fool me, dorks. I know you're all agents for the man.
"But we aren't agents for the man."
"Agents for the man. I should have known."
"But this paper here says that I'm not an agent for the man."
"That's right, that paper says you are an agent for the man."
Actually, that would be a pretty fun outlook on life.
Well, I need to run out of this office now, my blog buddies. It's time to stash gifts, eat protein and drive to see my snickerdoodles for some pseudo-spring loving.


Dorkensteins! I just had my mind tripped like the clown/bourbon warp on Saturday. I went to Google.com and typed in "dorks don't rock" (in quotation marks) to see what comes up... why, instead of working? Because my ego is grander than any one thing else EVER!
Anyways, the third find is this german website that lists "german language blogs" and has a link to mine. Das es vat? Weird? Not so much yet. I translated the page to English all Sherlock Holmes styley ... AND! .... Dorks Don't Rock in English to German to English translation is Dorks Don't SKIRT!
Maybe skirts DO Rock (skirt=rock).
Examples from history:
1.)Catholic school girls wear skirts. Rumble my rocks.
2.)AC/DC rocked in a skirt (One day after writing this it has hit me that none of the members of AC/DC wore a skirt. It was short shorts, which are very close to skirts on the efiminate scale, that I was thinking of. But, I've thought of another example ... Rowdy Roddy Piper. I feel like such an idiot for messing up an AC/DC reference. Hellls bells.).
3.)Those Scotish caber tossers wear skirts. Sorry, kilts, me brethren. And while we are at it, can't we just say skirt instead of kilt. Hasn't a drunk man throwing a log really far and a drunk man wailing on the axe (turnbuckle) justified the skirt? I mean, I know that they are traditionally called kilts, but my grandpa traditionally wore "britches" but I don't get all big-cocked when someone says, "Nice pants, Brent."
"What? These are brithces, queerbo, only ladies wear pants. Maybe I need to punch you a new zip code."
So, you see my point.
What was I talking about?
Well, while my A.D.D. catches up with me, this reminds me of something else. I really value R. Girl more every day for many reasons, but one is that she remembers all those things I forget (90% of the world). Lots of times she'll say something funny and I'll laugh and I'll ask her what she's talking about and she'll go "Remember when you said that when that thing happened". Or I'll go, "Do you use doors or windows to leave and enter buildings?" and she'll say "Doors" and I'll go "The Doors are a band, not a portal" ...
Oh yeah, the German website. Weird, huh? I'm pretty honored that somewhere a German kid might be reading this. Maybe I should pass on some knowledge that I've learned from watching Schindler's List and eating Bratwurst. Why not, it's a free country, unlike Germany. So....
Dorks Don't Rock presents Brent's Advice to Germans Reading This ...
Hi, there, I heard you're German. You're very handsome or pretty or ugly, did you know that? I bet you did. I bet you hear how handsome, pretty or ugly you are all the time down at the old Bierhaus. You know you should really be careful how much you drink, your countrymen aren't known for their steadfast tempers. Oh, I know you are different, I know. It's just that you might want to know that the rest of the world thinks you are probably a Nazi. What? I don't make the rules, I just live by them. Now, come on. Let's see a smile. You do make good cars and Ramstein was fun for a few songs. There you go, that's my Hansel or Gretel. Now, you go show the world how not a Nazi you are with you little sausages and warm beers.
Well, dorks, on that diplomatic note I do think I am going to go do something else which doesn't involve talking to Germans.
Oh, before I go, is it just me or is Howard Dean becoming that dude that couldn't stop going back to his high school after he graduated.
"Come on, dudes, we'll get some beers and totally vote for me."
"Um, maybe later, Howard, we have lots of homework to do."
Yeah, I know, he was my boy, but now he's just another dork like you.



Jeez-um-craw, dorkwads, I've had a busy day. Or maybe it was a busy past couple of days, hmmm, hmmm? And did I mention I am not feeling well?
I've been on a productive spree. I have done my taxes, switched my cell phone to a hipper flip phone, paid bills, seen sites I've meant to see, spent time with my R. babe, caught up on films I want to see, re-organized my office slowly but surely (my official name plate came today, I'm officially non-official) maintained a healthy diet, caught up on sleep, and other things which I'm sure a pointless to list because who is really reading this far.
Update on my Hendrix-drinking experience the other night ... I have no idea what I'm talking about. I remember seeing a painting of Hendrix eating a bowl of soup and I was thinking that it was something "at the Mecca", but now I can't find it anywhere. I think I just saw the place, thought "Oh, a cafe, they have soup, Hendrix ate soup in a picture, Hendrix was there" and went in. Curses, my demi-tourist status/faultifourous logic fooled me again!
Anyways, I forgot to mention that there were a bunch of clowns there. Not jerks, actual clowns. Real live fucking clowns in a bar. Can you wrap your head around this? Imagine clowns being anywhere. Weird, right? Now imagine seeing a clown's face as you sip bourbon. This is my life.
Do you want to know how good a guy I am? Really, do you? Listen ...
When R. Girl gets off from working the night shift (6 p.m. to 6 a.m.) at the place where they help sick kids I wake up early in the morning to go over to her apartment and crawl into bed with her. This way it's like we spent the night together.
Choke back the tears, dorks.
Fuckin' OutKast, bro, right on.
And I just want to say that it's sad when we have to give almost as many awards to dead musicians than live ones. No, wait, I want to say something more ... fuck you for dedicating every fucking thing to Johnny Cash when none of you have the balls to stand up to the corporate machine that puts out shit like Evafuckmyessence and that puts you on a 10 minute delay because they are afraid you might show some tit for a second. Johnny mutha punching Cash would have stuck his mutha kicking finger in the gosh darn fuck air and said "For Janet".
And Warren Zevon? Christ punch a medic, "Werewolves of London" was good, but dude that White Stripes bass lick is too tasty to not super size with the Grammy. Mutha huggers, I hope someone interesting dies or gets cancer next year so we can have better tributes and awards.
Like I mentioned before I am not feeling well. I think I've caught something that has been going around this office. I feel like I need to rest but I feel to sick to get any real sleep so my brain is going "Ah, why bother".
All right, it's time for me to skee-mutha-lovin-daddle.
Morning, dorkies. Happy Monday to you ... I mean "Fucking Monday", you know, 'cause I'm hip.
I have a bit of work to be tending to, me dorkles, so read you this about a lad and a wee bit of "hooliganism". Didn'a know it was a word.




Yeah, it's late, and maybe I've been drinking, dorks, what do you care.
Doing a little web-based research I realized I haven't typed in this thing for a few days. Well, let me tell you something.
The R. had to work at the place where the save kids tonight so I decided to (I'm not correcting any mistakes I make in pucntuation or grammar from here out, dorks, it's taking too long). So, today I bought a couple of lamsbs wool sweaters at a GAP outlet. That was spectacular. They were only 10 dollars a pop and so a I coutgot two. HMMM, and them I wasnt' feeling too good adn R. baby had to go to wo rk and so I went asn saw Mystic River with the lovely couple. Robert Downey jr. is good, but I don't mean robert downey jr. I mean the other guy, sean penn. He was reall y good in that movie. Every time I see sehan penn on the screen I am like "dude, that's madoneas'sas fuck buddy" but no, the dude can act. Like I'm a judge of anything.
"dead man walking, more like madonnas tits a sucking ... hehehehehe, know what I mean, he dated her, dude, totally, he had to suck on those things ... hahahhahaha, dammit, dude, madonna's tits"
So, I went downtonwn with Kyeele tontight and had one drink at theis bar that I rmember reading about in a Hendrix bio or seeing in a Hendrix screen print. Either way it coust me almost 16 dollars for TWO miller genuiine drafts and a jack daniels and a yager shot. I don't think jimi would have paye dthose prices even with inflation. (I had to to back and correct my misspelling of Jimmiy" becasue I have to sound li ke I know my hendrix to remain hip, dorks) So, I guess I was taken becasue I liked "all along the watchtower".
I think that's about it. I just wanted to let you know taht I'm enjoying drikingin this beer and this bourbon and possibly this beer. I'm sleepy. Whend is it time to say god night? Now!
Wait ... I bet you wonder how I got so drunk. Right? I drank the rest of the bourbon letft over from my touesday tirade. This shith is good, dorks. I'd tell you I love you all but ehnn you'd asay I was just drunk.


Anyways, dorkies, I had written a pretty negative blog earlier with copy/pasted e-mails and charts and graphs and testimonials describing just how rough yesterday was (too much bourbon on Tuesday night mixed with little sleep and ape women marching). And then I came back to Hipville.
Hey, I'm all right, just lost my esteemed level of cool there for a minute. Now I'm back and ready to rock you dorks who can't.
Right now I'm listening to a mixed C.D. I made called "When You Need to Rock". (sidenote: I made a little series with these, including "When You Need to Rock ... Softer" and "When You Need to Rock Southern" both of which are amazingly wicked c.d.s that I'm proud of. The combination of the two genres mentioned above is my "Go 'Way ... A Honky C.D." a fine milestone in my marvelous mixed C.D. legacy). Right now I'm hearing "You Don't Always Hmm la la" by the Stones (the C.D. is mostly Stones and Zep stuff). This used to be my favorite Stones song when I was in Jr. High and early high school. Then it was "Paint it Black" in late high school/very early college and became "Honky Tonk Woman" soon after that.
Now? I think it might be "Jumping Jack Flash".
This morning was beautiful. I woke up for a little morning smooching with the R. Baby (I spent the night with her last night so I could whine and get a back rub) and an unexpected shot of vodka. Apparently lushly R. had some screw drivers the other night and apparently they were so good she forgot she had them. I was feeling a little under the weather and asked if I could have some orange juice, which unknown to me was full of vodka. So I got me a little 5 a.m. Stoli kick, some more kisses and it was back to sleep. Great way to start a day ... well, and then quickly wind it down again.
I get more done before 5 a.m. than most whinos do all day.
Tonight is cleaning night. Yeeha, my life is exciting the past couple of days!
I need to get back to work, dorkles. Just letting you know that I hadn't forgot about you and that you are all so precious. Suck it.


Afternoon, dorkies. Or maybe nighty-night to you French dorks, you Forks.
Today was a very boring day. I did receive this e-mail string, I'm sure you all realize that you'll read the last message first and then the first one last. So, to understand my frustration, read from the bottom of the list up (this is the actual e-mail corespondence, with names changed).

((From: Me
To: A girl
I understand. What I need is the address for the portal homepage. The homepage on this comp. is set to something different.

From: A Girl
Sent: Tuesday, February 3, 2004 1:57 PM
To: Kinkade, Brent
Subject: RE:

I gave you the path in the previous email. Go to the portal homepage, click on the Employee Services tab, then click on Procurement and Payment, and you will see a link to Business Cards and Stationery.

-----Original Message-----
From: Kinkade, Brent
Sent: Tuesday, February 03, 2004 2:56 PM
To: A Girl
Subject: RE:

What is the address for this website?

From: A Girl
Sent: Tuesday, February 3, 2004 1:52 PM
To: Kinkade, Brent
Subject: RE:

The Business Cards and Stationery website.

-----Original Message-----
From: Kinkade, Brent
Sent: Tuesday, February 03, 2004 2:43 PM
To: A Girl
Subject: RE:

(A Girl),
I'm sorry, I'm still learning ... what site are you talking about?

From: A Girl
Sent: Tuesday, February 3, 2004 12:59 PM
To: Kinkade, Brent
Subject: RE:

Please go to the portal Employee Service tab, and click on Business Cards and Stationery. You can order letterhead through this site.

-(A Girl)

-----Original Message-----
From: Kinkade, Brent
Sent: Tuesday, February 03, 2004 1:23 PM
To: A Girl

(A Girl),
I need to order some letterhead for the Bellevue location. I was told to go through you.
If this is correct, could you please tell me how much we usually order?
Brent Kinkade
(my work number) ))

It's like I'm ordering letterhead from a Muppet.
Well, that was the dorksdontrock highlight for my day so far. I've rented "Lost in Translation" and "American Splendor" and plan to start watching them within the next 10 minutes.
"But Brent, you are still at work."
Not any more, my dork beauties ... I'm outta here!



Festive how-dos on this the holiest of days. The day from whence the hog of ground bursts forth upon the land to beakon the call of but 3 fornights hence of winter's fowl demoness. And, yea, that tradition, born of the noble clansmen and nazi-noos of Germania, has rendered upon us the icy grip once more. Take heed ye of weak condition and cast on your blankets of wool!
Fucking groundhogs.
Very busy Monday for me here, dorkhogs. People here must spend all weekend thinking of things for me to do on Mondays. Naw, the probably don't. They probably throw beurucratic orgies.
"I'm sorry, to receive fellatio you must have been with the orgy at least 2 hours and have the consent of a sadist."
But there was no swapping of the pinstrip-ed flesh for me! There was ...
a box of wine as predicted on Friday which led to ...
my first (and 4th) cigarette in over a week and then ...
a fucking massive hangover when I went with R. Girl to here place of work which ...
is a place for kids who are sick and so ...
I played with a paralyzed kid who is so much fun, what'd we play? ...
"where'd the paralyzed kid go"? where? under the blanket. and then ...
there was a car-sick ride due to the wearing off of the wine and the settling in of the big part of the hangover, that ...
made me so nauseated that I almost puked in R. Girl's carmobile which meant ...
there was no mini-golf rematch (blamed on rain, Milli-style) so we ...
went to bed early and tried to get healthy for ...
the Puget Sound cruise we went on.
This thing was awesome. Kyle and his pseudo-squeeze went. I was and still remain angry at Kyle for brotherly and otherly reasons. This put a damper on the trip, but didn't ruin it completely.
We got to go through the Ballard locks and see this wicked awesome hill where multi-million dollar homes just fell off during a wicked winter a few years back.
"If the groundhog sees his shadow into the Sound with your house. (da-da-dum!)"
And then what did I do? Hmmm, let's see, I returned my winter jacket b/c I was sick of it's lack of hipness and protection from the elements. In exchange I got ...
I went and saw The Shins! And they rocked so hard that I cried. No, I didn't cry you tabloidorks. I nodded my head and shook it when they said "... at the morning bus stop, shaking their heads".
We went to the all ages show so there were a lot of hip little 14-year-olds in CBGB t-shirts ("It totally stands for 'Come bang girls, buddy'"). Besides the lack of hipness in the crowd there was a great fucking show on the stage. I heard pretty much all of "Oh, Inverted World" played live! Next stop, Badly Drawn Boy("I totally heard this guy doesn't have hands and so he can't draw, buddy"), Radiohead and James Brown.
Other things to talk about?
Not really. I'm pretty tired from my run around weekend. I haven't had to much time ...
wait ...
someone from Microsoft contacted me today about a position with them. Should I do it? Also, been trying to get in touch with the station manager of one of the big stations in town to work as a part-time d.j. (like I did in college all of you Phi Kappa Nasty fans).
Will keep you updated on that.
I'm going to go eat protein and sleep. You are all so precious to me, dorks.

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by HaloScan.com