Wordsmoker

In case you were wondering…  If not, no harsh on you, my friend. Sean was my best friend, and he lived next door to me in section eight housing, in Fuckno, Californication, back in the eighties. I bought some duds for the high school dance, where Lorelei would cause calamity…

I pulled up to the section eight housing development on Chestnut Street off of East McKinley near Dakota Avenue. This was my home.

You know, I was fucking poor. I was making my own cash money working at a biker bar, cleaning up broken teef, blood, spilled beer and used condoms each morning before school.

Lovely.

I went in and showed my new threads to my two little sisters. Galen, the older one who was dressed in a potato sack, clapped her hands and squeeled, “You will look like Johnny Fucking Rotten in that shit, yo!” Read the rest of this entry →

The early morning sun rose behind our escape pod and chased us through the gauntlet of angry men standing alongside the desert road back home, waving greenbacks over their heads.

Why would Joshua trees do such a thing? You will see, if you follow along this path.

A quiet song played loudly on the radio in the breeze as we rode along in the desert.

Lorelei was smiling at me, long legs sticking out the passenger side window, feet bobbing to the beat, lit cigarette between her lips, and green eyes slit open just enough to let me know that she was still alive, or aware, or around.

Joey had his hands, fingers and tongue all over Nolei in the back seat. They made quite a pair: one was hard-punk in leather and the other was silky in his smoking jacket. Read the rest of this entry →

You know, Christian God, I’ve been thinking since the last time I thanked you for all those special things waaaaaay back in November 2009. Hey, I’m busy. Supposedly, you can see all this shit I’ve been going through so I’ll just assume you get it. Right? After all, I’m told you’re punishing me because I’m chosen or some other exegetical nugget. Read the rest of this entry →

Ok, so like a train load of Jews are getting together in New York on May 20th to denounce the evils of the internet (porn) and to declare that it must be removed from homes or severely filtered. As it turns out the guy funding the event is the owner of B&H Photo in NYC. So basically the profit from selling technologically advanced electronics is funding an event meant to put the kibosh on the use of technologically advanced electronics. Go figure……

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He’s the piss in our vinegar, the bark to our bite, and the hell in our handbasket. He’s the reason we keep coming back to this place. He’s the glue that holds this sticky bunch of strangers together. He’s Virus, and there’s nothing else like him.

Sure, Gawker has its Nick Denton. And yeah, he’s a genius with an unusually large cranium. But he’s not Virus. Not even close. No, this little corner of the Internet is different. Special. And when Virus is here, the cat photos are just a wee bit fuzzier, the commentary bites much, much deeper, and the poetry is ever-so-slightly rhymier.

And Virus may be [checks flight pattern of migratory birds] a bazillion miles away, but he’s still here for us. When the shit hits my Internet ceiling fan (which it does a lot, and no I have not considered the possibility that perhaps I ought to stop flinging it), Virus is the one who checks in to make sure I’m okay. Always, like clockwork.

So in case you’re reading this, dear Virus, I just wanted to let you know that this particular misfit in your merry band of weirdos appreciates the heck out of you and hopes that you’ll be back soon.