Today is the day. Today is the day that YOU adopt Kenny Rogers, the dog. You, with your generous backyard and one or more persons on the premises at all times, with your adequate energy to get out to the park and toss the beast a tennis ball. You who are not the kind of douchebag that has a steroidal pit bull struggling on a length of Home Depot chain so you can look like a badass in your powder blue track suit, but who does secretly relish that your totalitarian secret police dog could probably kick that dog’s ass. You who has kids and/ or valuable possessions and is in need of a guard dog who looks really scary and mean but would probably just lick the intruders, but is effective as a deterrent because the sign that says “Warning: Attack Dog” has a picture of your actual dog on it. Today is the day. Today is the day you go to the East Valley Animal Shelter on Vanowen Avenue in Van Nuys and ask to check out an intact male German Shepherd officially known as “Baby G.” But that is his slave name. His real name is of course Kenneth Donald “Kenny” Rogers, because he picked a fine time to leave his abusive former home. Because he knew when to walk away, and knew when to run. Because baby when you met him there was peace unknown; you set out to groom his burr-laden undercoat with a fine toothed comb. Because don’t take your love to town.
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Kenny Rogers, the Dog Part 3: Today is Kenny Day
5 JunMonday Part 2
4 JunWhy do I feel, on Monday morning, every Monday morning, like I’m headed in to see my fucking oncologist and there is a ninety nine point nine per cent chance that he is going to give me bad news? That it’s cancer of the dick, cancer of the ass, cancer of the face, that it’s too late, if you had come in earlier- that’s always a big part of it- if YOU had come in earlier. If YOU had done this and this and this, if you had read the fine print you would have seen that form 1052X is actually due three weeks prior to the main jury summons delay form and three weeks means we receive it three weeks prior, not that it’s merely postmarked three weeks prior, and by receive we mean it reaches the processing center, not merely that it’s entered the giant aluminum garage-door loading gate on a truck of undifferentiated mail- what good does it do us to have it then, sir? Continue reading
Diary: Weekend Read
3 JunGod damn- you know what I really do not want to do? Is read this fucking book for my boss. Yet another goddamn fucking 400 page book from (REDACTED AGENT) about rich women in New York, wives of bankers who live in the Upper East Side and in the Hamptons, jockeying for status over certain addresses and their ability to hire certain in-demand caterers for their weddings. But oh no, a slightly more old money WASPy family has secured this caterer, or worse still, some noveau riche provincial, or Russian, with much more money than the Jewish but still Spence and Harvard type WASP-assimilated protagonists. I cannot stand to read even one more word about this world. Particularly another word written by a wealthy woman who comes form one or more generations of prosperous artists or novelists. I cannot– this is some hideous punishment, you know, getting this call on Friday and knowing, knowing, that it was either (REDACTED WILLIAM MORRIS AGENT) or (REDACTED ICM AGENT) calling with another book written by a woman in her 40’s who grew up somewhat but not cartoonishly wealthy on the Upper East Side of Manhattan, lampooning in what they think is microscopic detail the quirks of this demimonde, of like, bankers and stuff, and you know, delightfully skewering this world in a way that they think will be relatable to some person in St. Louis whose house was foreclosed on by some financial entity three times removed from the employers of the male side characters in the book, so you know, it’s of the moment. Continue reading
The Title Sequence from Me & Nikol’s Aborted Youtube Puppet Show
2 JunWe open on:
Blackness.
Blackness blacker than black. The blackness of the darkest soul. The blackest night. A really really black guy, standing in a very dark room, not smiling. Or if he is, he is wearing a mouthgaurd that is black as Hitler’s dick.
Then a single mote of light slowly fades into view. A tiny spec. Light. Hope. This dot, containing multitudes, seems to be struggling within itself. Suddenly, in the briefest of moments, the mote EXPLODES with unholy force. The sound of a thousand school buses being dropped on a canyon full of tympanis and aluminum foil. The light EXPANDS, pushing out into STARS, GALAXIES. NEBULAE. OTHER COSMIC TERMS. Camera FINDS within this infinite maelstrom of twisting spirals and hot colorful gases a TINY BLUE DOT. This is EARTH. VOLCANOES are exploding. ROCK FORMATIONS, jagged and cruel, are pushed up out of hot magma only to recede, crushed. Continue reading
Get in Shape, You Disgusting Fat Fuck
1 JunDon’t read this if it’s about you.
I went on a date this week with a girl who actually has a nice body. Can you imagine? A girl, off the internet, whose weight was as advertised. We all know that OKCupid weight classes are two words for OK and then fifteen synonyms for fat, and you know when you go out with someone here they’re going to be at least thirty pounds over what their photos would lead you to believe. It’s just a hazard of internet dating. Something you accept. The girl who shows up is substantially fatter than her photos. Every. Single. Time.
And I was cool with that—I don’t mind if a chick is a little “thick,” or even “plump—“ basically, I have no standards and will fuck anything that moves, and the virtue of internet dating is no one has to see what you’re doing. I won’t email with someone who has “a few extra pounds,” because we all know what a cruel joke that word “few” is in this context, but “curvy,” sure. “Average,” why not. It’s never the “average” for women between the ages of 18 and 29 in Los Angeles, CA, the most body-conscious city on the entire face of the Earth; these girls generously judge themselves by the national average. But still. Fine. Continue reading
John Wayne Gacy
31 MayDid you know that John Wayne Gacy got married, by the way?* He married a fan who wrote him nonstop in jail and sent him sexy pictures. Did you know that this not-good-looking multiple child rapist/ murderer managed to find someone to settle down with, while your faithful correspondent Cornelius J. Tacos— a reasonably tall, not violently bad-looking young man who is capable of holding court about Narwhals or the Electoral College or WHATEVERTHEFUCK YOU WANT, people, I will have an intelligent conversation with ANYONE about ANY FUCKING TOPIC and charm the goddamn pants off you, and I have an IQ three and a half standard deviations above the mean and 11% body fat and many fine, interesting hobbies, and am generally a well-rounded and not unpleasant human being— this distinctly non-child-raping-and-murdering young man has been making A REAL MOTHERFUCKING EFFORT for several years and still can’t find a decent goddamn girl to give him the time of day? Were you aware of this? Probably. Continue reading
Scared?
31 MayAre you scared of crushing hordes of nubile young pussies as easy as breathing? Are you scared of bending dewey-eyed coeds to your sexual whims like you were General Fucking Zod as portrayed by Terence Stamp in Superman II? Except General Zod was trying to have sex instead of throwing cars and shit? And therefore Superman didn’t give a shit what General Zod was doing and instead of having to thwart his plan just left him alone, and General Zod just went around the Earth peacefully fucking everything that moved until the end of his days? Are you scared of being like a Kryptonian except instead of flying and X Ray vision our Earth’s yellow sun just gave you extraordinary powers of fucking? And Superman was watching from on high where he was using his majestic power of flight and looking down on you and thinking “fuck, man, I really got stiffed on these powers. That looks way better.” Continue reading
Kenny Rogers, the Dog Part 2: Love Will Turn You Around
30 May
Some of you may remember from it being two inches below these words that we had a dog named Kenny Rogers, and were wrestling with whether to return him to a possibly neglectful home.
It’s now a bit out of our hands. Kenny jumped the fence at Nikol’s house and wandered up to some woman who turned him in to the animal shelter.
In a way, this kicks ass, because both the phone numbers off his avid chip were disconnected (we did end up trying them). The shelter can’t get a hold of his owner. So for him to get the dog back, he would have to take action, meaning, he wants the dog and therefore gives a shit. If he doesn’t give a shit, which seems more likely, the dog will go up for adoption on June 5th.
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Kenny Rogers, the Dog
29 MayWe found a dog in the park. Me and Nikol, and this other girl. Walking in the middle of Elysian Park on this long dirt road, we saw in the distance what looked like a gigantic coyote or a small bear stumbling drunkenly around, digging up shit, and eating sticks. Getting closer it was just a huge German shepherd. Little beat up but a handsome beast, and with a collar on, so we figured some jerkoff would come jogging up the road behind his Gestapo enforcement dog that he’d let roam free in a public space frequented by small children.
But no. No one came. And getting a closer look at the dog he’d been fucked up by something. Patches of fur falling off, walking funny, and the top half of both ears were missing. Like he’d tangled with something that had bitten them off; they were just lumpy black skin scabbed over. Continue reading
New Book
