Let's get de-lir-i-ous. Nananana-na-nana. Prince rhymed something with de-lir-i-ous. Nananana-na-nana.
Future me was up very late last night lifting and opening. Color schemes and tidiness. The fridge wasn't on, ice cubes to be made! Too many DVDs, did I really need "Firestarter". Oops, I forgot to clean out my coffee grinds from coffee pot ... 3 MONTHS ago. Coffee is fur. Girlfriend vomitous. Lift a dresser, box spring. No sleep yet.
I traveled to the future, my friends, on a machine fueled by Taco Time and redheaded smiles. In this future I have a toothbrush holder and a special cup for rinsing. Ingenious. In this future I hang my t-shirts on hangers. I didn't know you could legally do that!
The future's so bright I gotta wear switchblades.
Dorks, I want to crawl under my desk and sleep all day. I could do it. I could.


The prettier half of the Lovely Couple: No, she's not working with A.D.D. (ay-dee-dee) kids any more. It's actually now "English as a Second Language" kids. They still have some sort of learning disability.
Me: Oh, so it's Aw-Day-Day kids, then.

That was a good one.
Thank you, Lovely Couple, for a great and gas-heated warm three months.



While coming back from the grocery store on my lunch break today I started thinking about a writing excercise we did in my sophomore-level English comp. class. The purpose of the excercise was to write a few sentences that showed a progression of a thought.
I think mine went something like:
Kirby Puckett is a dedicated baseball player and a good man.
He played until he went blind one day.
He also was nice to kids in the community.

In retrospect (and because of Kirby's "touchy feely" charges) I think I should have instead written the following:
Abraham Lincoln hated doing algebra.
He was sure that Albert Einstein had invented it just to make him look dumb.
So, Abraham focused on writing during his school days.
Because of this we have The Gettysburg Address.

That seems a lot more interesting and creative.

Oh, dorks, I went to the beach. Let me ask you, dorkwaves, have you ever laid on a full-size fold out couch, chugging wine while you stared out a window at the ocean a mere 200 yards away and your red hot girlfriend lounged sedated and bare in a hot tub only a few feet from you admiring the same view while R. Kelly's remix to Ignition played in surround sound throughout your villa including in your master bedroom where a King sized bed awaited you with comforters surely made from the hides of angels and baby rabbits? No? I have, fuckers, I HAVE!
This weekend ruled like no other.
I flew a Ninja Turtle kite on the beach for hours on end.
I bought a bumper sticker that says "I love dinosaurs".
I ate buffalo jerky.
I ate blueberry pancakes.
I ate a pizza that had cashews and feta cheese as toppings.
I slept in a bed for the first time since I was 3 where my feet didn't hangover the edge.
And for two whole days I didn't talk to anyone except my lovely R. Tickles.
You want to know how you know how you've found someone special, dorkles? You don't realize that you've just spent 2 whole days without talking to someone besides them until you have to answer questions of "How was it?" bursting your bubble. Bursting your bubble of waves and R. Kelly.
And, lo, I say onto thee, the dorks of now and forever, remember this day for now and forever. For this is the day that Bachelor Brent lays down in his cave of cigarette butts and Hustler back issues. Yea, tomorrow and forever shall be the day when he known as Brent moves forth into his apartment with she known to all as R. Bunnycurls.
The bachelor is dead.
Long live the king!

He's checking his list,
going to IKEA twice,
tomorrow he moves in with his girl
who is nice.
Bachelor Brent is going away.
He knows he must be tidy.
He knows he can't stay drunk.
He knows he has to wash his feet
And not always be scratching his junk.
Oooohhhhh, he now owns a rug
He now owns plates.
Who the fuck is this guy
for Christ's sake?
He's Future Brent and he's here to stay!

Dorks, I won't give you the sappy shit ("she melted over me like putty"? what the fuck?). Just know I'm smiling 147 % more often these days.

He's Fu-ture Brent and he loves you dooooorrrrrrks!


Dorks, how's it going? I'm good. Heading to the beach with R. Bubbles tomorrow. We got us this here hotel room with a bay window that overlooks the ocean ... as you sit in a hot tub, mother fuckers!
But first more shopping at IKEA tonight.
Want to hear something cool that happened to me?
How many of you dorks have watched "The Sopranos"? OK, one, two ... um, 24. OK, good, then you'll follow me.
I was listening to the Sopranos soundtrack on the way to work this morning. As I got closer to work the last track came on, which was a bunch of quotes from the show.
"Owee, I pinched my pinky."
"You really look good in green, Tony."
"Hey, who needs a hug and a cupcake?"
After these actual quotes the theme song for the show came on ... just as I was pulling into my office parking lot.

You woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun,
(Hell yeah, roll down my window)
Mama always said you'd be
The Chosen One.
(Pull my access card out)
She said: You're one in a million
You've got to burn to shine,
(That's right, can't no security gate stop me)
But you were born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.
(Look at this fucker with the briefcase, what a mook)
You woke up this morning
All the love has gone,
(That's right, mamagamook, keep walking.)
Your Papa never told you
About right and wrong.
(Don't noone mess with T. I mean B.)

We'll fast forward a bit. As I'm parking my truck these lyrics come on.

When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning,
You got yourself a gun.

I parked my truck at the same point in the song that Tony parks his in the opening credits! No fast forwarding, nothing, just perfectly in synch with my actions! God loves a soundtrack!

Later, dorks, weekend!



A conversation (circa. 2001).
Kyle: (looking at meat grilling) Man, look at that. That was alive once.
Me: Don't be too sad for the cows, dude. If it weren't for us, the cows would not be alive in today's world. What purpose would a cow serve besides for food?
Kyle: Then what purpose do we serve?
Me: To eat the fucking cow!

Two signs I saw whilst on my lunch break.
"Caution: CARS PARKING" (In a PARKING garage. "Is this where I park my squirrel?")
Manufacture paranoia.
Sell more Subarus, safety scissors and wars.
I'm eating peanuts (salted) out of the shell for breakfast.

Simple pleasures, like the ocean,
help to keep us all in motion.
Just like the waves below the gulls
We all have crests, we all have lulls.
But simple pleasures, like peanuts,
Christmas trees and girls' butts,
Home Alone, parts one and two
and the deep Pacific blue
will make you flip from a standstill, sure.
'Cause simple pleasures are the cure.

Yizzy, dorks, what's been going on in your respective lives then, eh? Dammit, not all at once! Respective, respective.
I had a good weekend.
R. Throaty was feeling better but playing a little sick.
This meant I got to play the doctor and prescribe her some ...
poetry time over, dorks.
I played basketball with this kid on Sunday? What kid? I don't know, just some 11 year-old kid that wanted to play basketball at R. Yankee's softball practice (and by the way, she's good. I saw her whipping them softballs around all better than the other girls and I got excited. I got me a star athlete for a girl, I'm going to be the most popular kid at school!)
Back to the kid, the Jordan to my Bird.
At first, I let him win a game of HORSE.
"Aw, shucks, you got me. I guess I didn't bring my A game today."
Then he wanted to play one on one. I just met this kid and from his shooting techniques during HORSE and the fact that he's 4 feet tall I was guessing that he couldn't be TOO much better of a basketball player than me. This,of course, meant I gladly welcomed a one-on-one game.
And goddammit, the little duthafluffer started doing all of this Nike commercial around the back Harlem Globetrotter hug the line shit. Dammit! And if I got too close to him he started screaming "foul".
I was trying to teach him about the neccessity of the hook shot and he was throwing the basketball at my butt so he could drive the rebound home.
And I couldn't contest his Harlem butttrotting antics. Like I'm going to get into a verbal argument with an 11 year old in a public park.
OK, so maybe I said a couple of times "Bullshit, that was out!" but other than that we played "Dominic-ball"
"You talked, your point doesn't count."
"I can throw the ball at your ass but you can't throw it at my feet, I hurt my leg."
"Mumble, jumble, Racky-too. You can't understand me, because I'm pre-pubescent."
But then, the little punk hit me.
I had decided that he couldn't have all the rules the way he wanted them.
"No, you can't go walking around with the ball out-of-bounds going 'nay,nay,nay,nay'. I'm drawing the line there. It's my ball."
"It's my ball, check it to me."
"Hell, no, you have to have some limits. My ball."
So, the kid hits the ball, which I'm holding, and it goes into my face and knocks my glasses sideways. DAMMIT!
I was Larry Fucking Hulk.
"All right, your ball," I said.
But the game was mine.
I pulled no more of my punches. Literally. The kid took a couple elbows to the side and got slammed one time when he drew a charge. I ran the points back up in my favor (I had been letting him keep a 3 point lead). I ran around him like he was a track and my name was Jackie.
I won the game 21-20. And, yes, as you can probably guess from the score, I wasn't a complete ass. I let it come down to the wire so we could have a big finish. I even gave him the ball a couple times and let him run to the hoop really slow while I did "Sports Center" highlights voice-overs.
"Dominic takes it up, this is for the win."
But he couldn't complete the circuit and I got bored. My win. Well, technically my win, but we had to keep playing until he won. My last goal didn't count because I had a hat on.
And, yes, the kid had fun don't run off to call Social Services. We have a playdate next Sunday for a little "Around the World" action.
Last week I read "Slapstick" by Vonnegut. Good. I'm rereading "Timequake" by the same guy. I wish Kurt Vonnegut put out a new novel every week.
I also bought "Children of the Corn"
It's now time for "What Did Brent Say As the Credits Started to Roll on 'Children of the Corn'"
"What the fuck did I just watch?"
Join us next week when Brent watches "The Cat in the Hat".
"Ass lickers! Ass lickers them all!"
Mike Myers is dead to me. In my mind, Mike Myers got into a firey jet plane accident shortly after filming for the original Austin Powers ended.
Well, dorks, I really need to finish these peanuts.



One more thing, dorks.
A question I used to ask myself when I was a teenager and that I put before my friend Jared Stover one day. Maybe it wasn't Stover, dammit, dorks, who cares who it was! This question was asked ...
"Do you think that they'll ever run out of songs? I mean, it's possible that there are only so many combinations of notes and chords and stuff. "
Maybe we have run into this block, maybe the combinations have all been found! Maybe we just take old stuff and play it faster. It's new! It's new!
-Dawn of the Dead
-King Kong
-Puff Daddy
-Starsky and Hutch
-Walking Tall
Remake, remake, remix and remake! Now there's a movie idea, dorks! A truly original one! The world has rehashed everything so much that a man sells a copy of "The Little Train That Could" as an original work! And everyone loves it!
Monkeys typing .
A movie about monkeys that take over our planet! Original!
So, close, dorks. It's very close. Can you feel it on the horizon? I know you can't literally "feel the horizon", dorks, I know. But, it's there, begging to be felt up. Change is a slut, dorks, she wants you to take full advantage of her.
When change blows through town she doesn't advertise $5 handjobs of herself, she begs you take full advantage of her services.
"It's prom night and I'm drunk on champagne. Bomb city hall, tear down a historic tree, curse, fuck and show your tits. Don't shoot Arabs, Islamics, Afghanis or non-rabid dogs. Love tits. Tits made you healthy. Black tits started your species, don't be ashamed of them. Change, take me, knock it all down. You want to, I want you. You're drunk on champagne too."

Vote for Kerry.

It's been a good week, dorks, it's time for a good weekend. Sure, my girlfriend is sick and has cottage cheese in her throat and I can't kiss her for a week and that I have to drink beer alone. Sure, my job is no closer to permanent and I still live out of a backpack between R. Girl's and the L.C. Sure, I have had major headaches all week from a snot fortification in my head.
But, the slut is blowing into town, dorks. Things are close to happening. The precipice of the old, new shoes on, trail runners, perfect for whatever happens next. Unknown next.
New apartment, higher wages, new president, lower gas prices, electric cars and boobs galore!
Good, bad, a meteor, a bomb, a Democrat or sunshine in Seattle.
I'll take it all.

The rubberhead planet has been found! It's beyond Pluto! Can you believe it? I ask where these rubberheads come from and then from behind Pluto out jumps a fucking new planet? Punch the world awake and the universe spits out a new planet!
"It's a planetoid," says the scientist.
"Aw, fuck, scientist, don't rob me of this. Just call it a planet. It'll answer so many questions!"
"But then we have to rewrite the books," say the beurocrats.
"Jobs, jobs, jobs!"
"But then we have to name the planet," say the reporters.
"Rubberball! Texas 2!"
(I just realized that the following doesn't make much sense unless I explain that I was thinking of the Sun also. The solar system as a whole ((excluding moons)). Sun, Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Just, Set, Up, Nine, Planets. 10.)
"But ten was such an nice number," say the mathmen.
"So is 11! It's two ones! We're #1 #1!"

Dorks, dorks, good weekend to you, dorks.


Happy birthday to you, Happy first official and by official I mean first recognized by the media when in fact it's been an ongoing battle for more than a decade and not a first birthday to you, Happy birthday, War - in - I-R-AAAQ.
Happy birthday to you.
Now, blow out the burning children and make a wish.

Weird times, dorks. Things personally are getting better and better for me. However, now that I don't have to focus on my own lot and now that I have your attention, I feel I should be punching the world awake. Maybe it's just youth, maybe it's just pictures, maybe I've caught my R. Matey's fever ...
She's doing better by the way, thanks for asking. Well, she's either doing better, or she has mono. Either way, she's cute when she's sick.

A blind man with a seeing eye dog at his side walks into a grocery store. The man walks to the middle of the store, picks up the dog by the tail, and starts swinging the dog around in circles over his head.
The store manager, who has seen all this, thinks this is quite strange. So, he decides to find out what's going on. The store manager approaches the blind man swinging the dog and says, "Pardon me. May I help you with something."
The blind man says, "No thanks. I'm just looking around."

Hahahahaha, fuck ... now, that's funny, dorks! Happy St. Patty's Day, dorkles! From all of your Scotch/Irish freinds at Dorks Don't Rock .. Get drunk, start a fight and have unfulfilling sloppy sex tonight!
Blarney, dorks, blarney!


Busy. Sick. Running around.
Drove sick girl to hospital last night, picked her up at 2 this morning. Her kidneys went on strike.
I hate hospitals, dorks, hate hospitals. It's sad to see people stripped down to their blood and fear.
An e-mail I was going to write to Eva Moore today, but instead I'll write it here because I'm killing birds with stones here, dorks.
I went to the hospital last night. (My girlfriend)'s roommate was sick. She got no kidneys. Anyways, I saw something you might find interesting. What, praytel, you ask? And I respond ... get the fuck out of here with that praytel shit.
And then I say ...
I saw you. Well, I saw what you will be when you are 50. When you are 50 you will cut your right pointer finger and wrap it up with a wad of either cheap gauze or good kitchen paper towels. You won't be in pain, just a little worried. Your mind won't be focused on the hospital. Instead, you will be either thinking about a book you just finished or something your brother said to you.
You will still wear glasses. Your pajamas are hard to distinguish from your summer clothes.
You will get sick of waiting and realize you can patch yourself up. You'll walk out of the hospital with a look that says "My finger hurts and I'm alone with this" or "I don't want to see this much of this part of the world for a long time".
If, when you're 50, you are thinking the later ... we'll have shared a thought 26 years apart.
R. Fever is sick too, fever of 101.3. Me help with ice water, lots of blankets and a cold press. I'm Dr. Frankenstein for fevers. "It's Aleve ... it's ALEVE!!"
All I want to do is go back to her apartment and crawl into bed, close my eyes and not hear anything. Wrap my arm around my R., sleep, let my headache and snot drip away and dream about zombies, sweet blissful zombie hunting dreams. Forehead kisses and zombies, dorks, that's all I need.
Not much more to say except ... whew.
Whew, dorks ... mutha punching, whew.


"Time and again, George Bush has failed to give those fighting the war on terror -- whether they're overseas or over here -- the weapons, equipment and support they need."
Dorks, dorks, dorks. Does this sound like a "slam"? CNN claims "Kerry slams Bush over war on terror." I was thinking, "Goddamn, a slam! This is going to be good!"
"That muthafucka ain't done shit for Kerry. And if he ain't done shit for Kerry than he ain't done shit for none of you fuckers either. That ass licker best start doing and stops lying before I go from straight chillin' to straight killin'."
But instead we get the above quote. See, dorks, it's all just a hyperbole to keep your mind fucked. "Kerry slams" "Nation mourns" "America attacks" "Terrorists threaten" "War mounts" "Security lowers" "Dorks Don't Rock". And now you're starting to see through the hype.
Morning, dorks. Have a good weekend? Me too. Me and R. Consumer went and did some shizopping. Things we now mutually own together:
-A Vacuum
-Shower curtain
-Welcome rug
-A slip mutha covering cover
and other stuff, etc. It's weird to mutually own anything (besides a case of beer) with someone. We are just a few weeks away from the big move in. Yip-mutha-readin-ee! I am so ready to have a place to call home and not just a backpack full of clothes in different locations.
What'd I do this weekend. Well, I was sick on Friday and so was R. Sniffles so that meant that we did jack shit. I was so wound up from last week with it's sicknesses and exploding heads and other Kyle fueled anger that, in fact, I have no idea what we did on Friday.
I do remember that I went to Taco Bell and that I was dazed in my typical "7 layer good, but 2 tacos for same price" daze when I heard the Lovely couple saying my name behind me. Apparently they had been standing in line behind me and I hadn't noticed.
In turn, the female part of the L.C. didn't notice that I was right in front of her. Guess what? She's my cousin. I guess there's some sort of "Tacos have preponderance over people" gene in my family.
I like saying "In turn". I'm going to use it more often.
"In turn, I say to you, good sir of Wendy's that yes I shall indeed Biggie Size."
"So, I was wasted and, in turn, I took on SIX COPS!"
"Dammit, I missed my turn ... in turn."
Want another reason to laugh at Ashton Kutcher? O.K., here you go.
Isn't that the most ridiculous story about hats that you've ever read?
It's like wearing an "I Love Ghandi" shirt to a fist fight, or a "George Washington ruled" shirt while you chopped down an apple tree, or making a very violent movie to spread the word (or your particularly warped view thereof) of Christ.
Hey, who remembers Stussy? Can you still buy a Stussy hat? Or what about Yaga? Or was it Yaya? I was always afraid to ask because then I would ruin the carefully constructed image of hipness that I had created. I had a kickass Stussy hat in high school, but then some dude said that if you read the signature all funny it said "I am gay". So, of course, I couldn't wear it because my cock hadn't started it's growth spurt.
That's right you started reading a simple paragraph about hats and high school memories and then all of a sudden (BA-DAM) you have to read about my junks. I like to keep you on your toes and on my tip, dorks.
So, on Saturday the R. Girl and me boy went and played disc golf with the L.C. That was fun and frustrating. I couldn't seem to get my game together, so of course I spent more money on new discs. They were having a tournament and all of these great players were out there, which ruined my self confidence faster than a Stussy hat.
There was this group of deaf guys in front of us playing ( I now know how to say "Knucklehead" in sign language). We were all slowed down because of the tourney ( I said "tourney", I miss the March fever that college life brings on) and frequently spent time together at tee pads waiting for other groups to throw. At the 10th (and I know I might have that wrong and a part of the L.C. will catch it) hole, which has a huge hill just off the teepad that has a baseball field at the bottom, the deaf guy (sorry, guy who is deaf) with dreads and wearing the "Weedies" t-shirt throws a slice into the outfield. So he walks away angry at himself, but fogets that his buddies haven't thrown yet. But what can you do when a deaf stoned guy is walking in front of your disc's flight path? (I think it was R. Girl that made the joke about stomping on the ground 4 times ... get it?) So, that was funny for all the deaf and hearing people.
I bought the original "Dawn of the Dead" on DVD this weekend. It was awesome.
Well, I really should work or something. Later, dorks.


Ok, dorkwads, I'm a little hungover this morning and I had to pay bills, which might make my statements here a bit biased ... wait, maybe not biased, but skewed ... ah, Christ, dorks, just listen ...
Two conversations I had today that made me start to think that something is starting to happen in the world that I should be aware of.
(Calling up Best Buy to pay off my card and avoid interest rates, which I can't do online because ...)
"So, I can't pay it off online because the service makes me post-date the check and I want to pay it now and I can't pay it over the phone because it would cost me 15 extra dollars, which would make my efforts moot. I don't know why you make me post date the check, every other company allows you to make the payment that day and have it applied instantly."
"Sir, you can not compare our website to another company's web site ..."
"Wait a minute, yes I can. As a consumer (and a Goddamned bomb dropping American!) I have the right to compare. Your website is inferior to others."
What the fuck? I can't compare. Oh, please be quiet Mr. Consumer and take your ass raping. Shh, just be quiet. Don't point out how we make it hard for you to pay things off so it makes us easier to get richer and dammit dammit dammit. Don't fucking tell me I can't compare. I dare to compare! I'm the compare king. Your website sucks. Burger King is better than McDonalds but not Arbys unless I really want a burger. Apples are better than bannanas. Leno is a douche, Letterman rules. Argentina is nicer than Mongolia. Fuck I'll compare all day, ass. I'll compare shit you aren't even supposed to compare! Why? Because I can.
A skyscraper is tastier than the moon.
Trees are taller than air.
My shirt is more alive than my Burt's Beeswax Lip Balm.
Don't talk bad about the corporation, sir.
Fuck the corporation! The corporation is more orange than my left nut.
Deep breath.
Next, I'm at McDonalds this morning ( I know I said Burger King, but McDonalds was closer. Closer things are less stuff than stuff not closer.) and I see this sign.
"Lunch Policy! ... 16 cents extra for a dipping sauce for nuggets."
First off, this isn't a policy. Everyone is so excited for everything to be a policy. Since 9/11 everyone wants to be Giuliani so fucking bad.
"I hereby decree that the department of nugget security henceforth charge 16/100 of one American dollar for BBQ sauce."
It's a rate, it's not a policy. Policies you can debate, there was no debating this RATE.
"Wait, you have to pay 16 cents now for your sauce? It's not free any more?"
"Si. No." (He spoke Spanish)
"What? Are you guys going bankrupt?"
Dammit, I don't even eat McDonalds any more (except for my rarer by the minute weekday hangover) and I care about this. I think I might go make signs and protest this weekend.
6 piece = 1 sauce!
Say no to sauce fee!
Sauce good! "Policy" bad!
I've found my cause, dorks. Have a good weekend. Love you, mom.
Dorks, oh dorks, sweet dorks ... you know that part in the 80s movie where the parents come home and the record player goes WHEEEREEEREEE because the precious Izod parents have come home to find that their precious sweet son has thrown an all night party full of strippers and Kelly Le Brock and booze and mutha punching sheep ... CHRIST, DORKS, I SAID SHEEP! THAT MEANS FUCKED UP SHIT IS COMING UP! SHEEP MEANS THIS!

Your Mother
Nice to read that you are hemorraghing and doing so well in your social life. Pick up the phone you little skamp!!

This is one of the comments to Kyle's little entry about putting his head through a fucking, sorry Mom, stupid window! This means that my mom (by linking to read the Kyle story) has read this site! Fuck Christ Shit punch the Pope and inhale whippets while a lap dance girl does things and fuck and shit and dammit. I mean shoot, ma. Shoot it all to heck!
No one else is going to use the word "skamp"! Skamp means my mom! My mom has read about all of this! Ahhhhh, no way she could just read this little bit and then stop. I'm as adictive as nicotine, which I don't inhale on a daily basis, Mom.
"Brent, what's a skamp?"
"Shit, I don't know, I only knows 'bout talking bout beers and boobs, I think my ma knows what skamps might sure be."
And so we begin "Brent Explains Everything to His Mother"
Hey, Ma ... remember how I call you Ma? That's funny isn't it? I know you read some things on this here website that aren't too pretty. Um, so, I'm still a virgin ... it's just that the other kids laugh at sex jokes. Yep, and jokes about, um, your girlfriend buying you porn. That's the funniest joke out there now for kids to tell ...
'Who's there?'
'Your girlfriend.'
'Your girlfriend who?'
'I bought you porn and totally respect your mother.'
That IS the funniest joke out right now, Mom.
It feels like I'm cleaning up my room, dorks. Except it's not my teenage "Hide the Marlboros" room. Nope, I'm chasing frantically around my "Hide the, um, the yep let's stick with Marlboros and not dildos" DAMMIT room.
And now all of you dorks are saying, "Well, hey Brent, why don't you ever mention your parents except in passing?"
Why don't I? I've noticed that too, dork fellows. So, now that I've admitted to having a mother and not being the coolest hippest most idependent space commander on the sun I should probably open up about other things ...
My parents are divorced. My Dad lives in Michigan and is remarried. My mom lives in Phoenix. She recently admitted that she is an alcoholic and left her chump fiance that kept telling me that he loves me. This was very uncomfortalbe for me.
"I love you, Brent."
"I don't know what you look like."
At least my stepmother is honest. She once said to me, "I don't care if you freeze to death." This made me think, "Hmm, maybe I'm totally misinterpreting this freezing to death thing. Maybe that's how Iowa sluts say 'Hello'."
(Guy frozen in Iowa)
Iowa girl: Hello to you too.
I don't talk to either of my parents very often. By not very often I mean think of the last time you talked to your parents and divide by 3. That's how much I have talked to my parents this year.
People: So, what do your parents do?
Me: Um, I don't know ... live?
And that's all you get for tonight about, dorks. I hope you all freeze to death.


"So, um, I have an entry for you ..."
"You know, for your little blog thing ... I've got something to write about."
"OK, Kyle, what?"
"I'm in the hospital right now. I cut my head open and I lost a lot blood and had to ride in the ambulance."
"What!?!? Are you O.K.?"
"Oh yeah, they're cleaning up my head wounds right now. Look, I don't feel so good, I'm going to go."
This was the call I got last night on my way to R. Cookie's.
"He seemed O.K.," I thought. "No need to go to the hospital."
Then I thought, "Wait, I wonder how fucked up his head is!" I couldn't miss this! Kyle's head might be wide the fuck open! I might never have a chance to see his skull again!
So, being the good brother and avid fan of head wounds that I am, I went to the hospital. And why did Kyle have a head wound and massive blood loss last night? This might top the duck story, dorks, it just might.
"Boy, I sure worked hard today, I think I'll go eat a pizza and play video games at home. All I need to do is walk through this door and get in my car. Yep, just walk through this door and I'm home free. I've done this millions of times. There won't be any problems here ..."
Kinkade advances toward the door ... he's coming out of his corner fast ... the door just standing there, possibly trying to psyche out the Thunder Dork ... it's not working, Kinkade is still advancing ... he's now trying to push the door, who seems to just be giving in to his brutal attack .. WAIT! the door is swinging back ... OH! the window has laid a vicious left hook to the Thunder Dork's right side ... He's down! Kinkade is down! There's blood everywhere! This fight is over, folks! The window has won! The window has won!
So, yes, Kyle tried to open a door and instead put his head through a window. Subtle. Personally I would have just gone through the door, but sometimes I guess it's healthy to try new things.
So, he had a nice sized cut on his forhead, his right elbow was torn up pretty gory and he had a nice slice on his left arm. And what did his charts say? They literaly said ... "Kyle Kinkade ... Window V.S. Head".
What did I get to see last night being the only person who got to go back into the E.R. and be with him?
-Kyle's elbows look like baked chicken on the inside.
-When Kyle has to have his head cauterized because he has cut an artery in it and is losing a lot of blood fast ... well, Kyle doesn't smell too good when his flesh is burning. At first I thought, "Hmmm, someone is having bad Taco Bell." and then I thought, "Wait, that's Kyle cooking. Someone needs to dump some salsa on him to cover up that smell." (Oh, dorks, it was so awesome! The cool guy's in the E.R. let us keep the portable cauterizing iron! I was going to take it home with it all covered in Kyle's blood and keep it forever, but I figured that he deserved it more.)
-Kyle's heart rate jumps for cupcakes.
"Hey, dude, you look pretty fucked up. You O.K."
Kyle: (Heart rate = 91) "Yeah, I'm not too bad."
"I brought you some cupcakes."
Kyle: (Heart rate = 121) "Really? Awesome." beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep
So, anyways, Kyle was O.K. and pretty much laughing the whole time. The worst was when he had to get stiches.
"Oh, Heavens, please not stiches."
Meanwhile: Some old lady in the room keeps saying "Just let me live one more night." Some pregnant lady next to us is talking to her doctor about getting brain surgery. I'm pretty sure a heroin addict died right next to us while some heroin addict down the hall is giving a lesson on the German/Phillipenes war, which I don't remember. But Kyle can't see this (he stayed strapped to the strecher for 5 hours). So, to him, his 20 or so stiches were the worst in the world. Cupcake worthy, I'd say.
So, Kyle is fine. He went home around 10 and was laughing about it.
"Dude, look how covered in blood I am!"
You can read Kyle's take on it ( www.omglolh4x.com ... probably later today and possibly codeine induced) AND see the funny cartoon I drew about Kyle and his battery! I'm very proud of the cartoon ... and more personally I was scared last night, dorkos. Very scary drive to the hospital not knowing if Kyle was O.K. for me. I was glad he was O.K. and it was soulful to play the big brother role in another way than the jerk.
Other things since last blog:
-Bought new shoes and a new jacket with my tax refund. Adidas and North Face respectively. Also, paid off some debts and, um ... shit, fuck, dorks. What the hell did I do with all of my money?
-R. Di and I were approved to live at our apartment. It's so nice to be approved. We've been planning our decorating patterns and color schemes. We are very TLC. I am very anxious to get this apartment thing rolling, dorks.
-I finally finished "Franny and Zooey", goddamn those lesbians whine a lot. Seriously, it's 200 pages of ...
"Oh, but to be back yon in the day of childhood. We could cast the off what we had wronged and were justly wronged by. The Jesus Prayer."
"No, Zooey, to cast off is wrong. We, being child of superior intellect, know only how to cast on. We must learn to cast sideways. A sort of side toss of the soul."
"Mayhaps a knuckle ball, Franny. A knuckle ball would cast back ..."
Jesus, I got a headache from reading that book. No wonder people kill people after reading "The Catcher in the Rye."
"Wow! Today is a beautiful day. I think I'll head to the beach. You know what? I should really take a book with me. I really like that last book that I read. That Holden guy was so honest and not a little bitch. I wonder what else that Salinger guy has written. Wow, I'm already at the bookstore. I sure walk fast and talk out loud. Hmm, "Franny and Zooey", eh? I think that I, Mark David Chapman, will read that one."
Two days later.
"Fucking whiny little brats. I mean seriously just eat the fucking soup and stop nagging. Christ, I'm so let down I could shoot a Beatle!"
And this has been "Brent Distorts the Deaths of Beloved Cultural Figures". Join us next time when Brent takes on J.F.K. Jr.
"Hey, ladies, I can't remember if I got the plane that can fly under water or not. My dad was a president, let's find out!"
I also read "Fahrenheit 451". It ends with a nuclear war. Biased, I like this one a lot more. I have another book to read, "How Soon is Never" by Marc Spitz. It's about a guy who tries to get The Smiths back together. It sounded interesting in the library, but now I think I'd rather just listen to a Smiths album.
Well, dorks, it's been nice talking to you again. I am tired and getting over a little sniffle thing today. I hope all is well and that you have a limited number of bleeding family members. Later, dorkpals.


Dorks Say Sorry.
I was wrong when I said in a previous blog that Rosie O'Donnell was going to piss people off with her marriage. Kudos and kooshes to Mrsissz. O'Donnell and her new husbawife.
I wasn't wrong about the monkey/eagle fight.
Martha Stewart is guilty, Howard Stern is gagged, a 24 hour a day search for Bin Laden is underway (the CIA wasn't leading up this "convenience hunt" from the begining? "Ah, come on, we looked for him yesterday. Plus, Dr. Phil is on."), Bush uses images of 9/11 to get your vote ("It happened under me" being the appropriate slogan), job market predictions have been cut back, my dad just told me he isn't going to be helping with my student loans, British troops plan to be in Iraq for at least two more years and many Iraqi "leaders" (yeah, and Bugs Bunny was a fucking rabbit, these guys are more puppet than Muppet), for some reason Ben Stiller makes more movies than the Beastie Boys put out albums, my goddamned shoes hurt, Bishops are gay, gays can't marry here, gays aren't supposed to be here, a tit has shook up the world, the F.C.C. is headed up by a Powell and so is our war, probes, leaks, Haiti, Nader = 4 more years, stamps for e-mail?, Atkins was obese when he died, Giuliani defends everyone, Kobe rapes ... he scores, little boys being touched, gays, bombs, is Hitler back?, high gas prices, lower wages, air, clouds, bird flu, mercury, carbon, hydrogen and oxygen ...
and then you see this.
Have a good weekend, dorks. If the world is ending, you've seen it all.


The female part of the Lovely Couple: I don't know the soup was good but the prawns were grey so, of course, they were a bit gamey.
Me: (Snapping to attention) IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE A GAME!

I got to use my line! Oh joy, oh meat, oh blessed dorks! Skin, eyeballs, Nikes and all!
I write no blog this week. You know. I know. Hulk smash.
I could not wake up today ... but boy-oh-boy I could wake up yesterday. Because ....
R. Girl: mmmmm (you know the morning groan of dream-bliss and awake-realization) Happy Birthday ...
Me Boy: Thank you, but it's not my birthday.
Even if it wasn't my birthday yesterday it sure was great way to wake up. I wish stuff like this would happen more often.
Typical jerk sales clerk: Thanks for buying socks, Happy Anniversary.
This reminds me that I used to have (when I had my own bathroom during college) a piece of paper torn out from a magazine that just said "Christmas" over my mirror. I think the same principle is at work here.
So, guess what I do this weekend, dorks. Hulk guess.
I'm putting my security deposit down on an apartment that R. Cupcakes and I finally decided on. It's damned near official, dorks.
Hulk nervous. Hulk never live with girl before. Well, Hulk live with girl roommates. Hulk know isn't same thing. When girl roommates have girl boo-boos Hulk say "Drink, hush" and girl roommates go to boyfriend.
Hulk sure Hulk be fine. Hulk like redhead girl.
You know I feel like I need to go off on all of the insanity going on under the Bush regime ...
-Howard Stern being pulled off the air ("But that was Clear Channel that pulled him with no pressure from the government." Shut up and suck Dr. Phil's cock, Oblivious Boy, he's near climax ... And isn't that a good point.)
- The march of the anti-gay bootstraps.
- The anti-science "But ma baby's imbilical cord should be placed in a holy trash receptacle 'stead of being used to help the cripple boy walk" and "T'aint never been no water on Mars" ... Oh, the Mars thing! Why are people scared of water on Mars? Why? I know! I know! Dammit, dorks, I know! If there was water on Mars then maybe there could have been LIFE on Mars! And if there was life on Mars than what does that say for the creationists, the Baptists ... your God, What does that say for the entire South? If God didn't just make life on Earth than maybe he didn't make just Adam and Eve, maybe he did make Adam and Steve (Arrrrrrrgggghhhh, the anger from this phrase makes me want to run my truck over a panda), maybe Moses didn't part the Red Sea, maybe Jesus could fly (awesome), maybe Cain and Abel were cyborgs sent back to decide the future of mankind (Cain: Step away from Eve. Abel: Never Cain 5000! You may have the shotgun but I've got the dynamite!) ... Maybe an Army of gay men and women and people who don't want to see the new Mel Gibson movie and people who don't feel they need a gun to gain an erection or that we shouldn't hit Hindus and that a pious bastard is worse than one who commits adultery, maybe this army will rise up from under the grip of "God's Army" and say unto those who are left open mouthed and jaws in their limp pants licking and eyes bulged out BECAUSE they have witnessed that man can be strong and glorious without a God and they will see this new race of men powered by the knowledge of Mars life and ask onto they "But what can I believe in now that my superstitous beliefs have gone" and the new man will say "Lo, but believe in thy self" and old man will say "But I suck and I'm scared" and new man will smile and say "You've got some Dr. Phil juice on your lip."
-Um, where to go from there? The Oscars were pretty good ... Oh yeah! Why does every critic keep saying "The Bored of the Rings" "I'm so bored by it, Oh it was so boring, Bored" ... Harry Potter rim an atheist, what's wrong with these people? "Oh, I have to pay attention for more than a minute and there's no Hillary Duff? Boring." and ... "Lost in Translation was boring, so boring, nothing happened, it was boring." No it was different not boring and don't worry too much some new 'Lion King' sequel will be out soon enough for you. "He, he, that ol' warthog pooted". Now put your lips back on Dr. Phil he's randy again.
- And Haiti! I'm not going to act like I'm I know anything more than Haiti except that I do not want to go there ever, but I'm not an idiot.
Stupid president in the news: "Maybe Aristide should step down."
(Cut to the next day: Aristide "leaves" for Africa.)
Aristide: "I was forced to leave at gunpoint by the Bush machine."
Bush machine: "Naw, come on, America, the silly black man is lying to you. We just happened to send 50 Marines to the country a few days before he left. 50 Marines seems like quite a small number to make any difference in a chaotic country doesn't it? But, it seems like more than enough to get one guy out doesn't it? Don't worry though because ...."
- Something like 180 people died in Iraq yesterday because of sucide bombers. You don't know 180 people. Can you wrap your head around that? Everyone you know could have died in Iraq yesterday. And now they're saying the guy that's heading up all of these suicide bombings and gureilla tactics in Iraq was within our reach when we first entered the country. But, no, we had to focus on getting Sadam. That's right, because that hole he was governing had to be liberated. 180 people died yesterday so Bush could make Daddy happy. 180 people. Everyone you know. Prior knowledge once again ignored.
How can you spot an elephant on the moon?
He's the one with the big "E" on his space suit.
(here's a joke I made up while I was making a no-bake cheescake the other day)
Me: Hey, what do you call a chicken who hits its young?
R. Stumped: What?
Me: An egg beater.
And on another positive note ... naw, we'll save that one for later. But until then, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DORKS!
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