Wednesday, December 31

i dance for celebration.

in the basement, the shaddows are circling. round and round they go, but they don't know i'm there. they can't devour me with their fearfull Nothingness if i just don't move. not at all.

one time one got on my arm. it attatched it's dark tendrils of darkness around me, sinking into my flesh. i forgot my phone number. i forgot if i tied my shoes yet. i forgot where i was and why.

it was pretty rad, but i ran away. they can't follow me out of the basement. suckers.

Tuesday, December 30

i call one of the kids from the audience down to sit next to me cross legged on the floor. all the kids raised their hands, but i picked this kid becuase he looked photogenic. you gotta think of stuff like that when you're on tv.

so we sit on the floor. i ask him his name and he says Sam. i tell him that i'm going to try to think of the worst thing in the world. i'm going to try to conjure a mental image of something really really mean and bad and terrible, and i want him to do the same.

so i think. Sam scrunches up his little face and closes his eyes and he thinks, too.

and i say i have it. i tell him i'll tell him my terrible idea and then Sam will tell me his.

i say to him that the worst thing i could think of is this: reaching over to grab him, cutting off his arm with a butcher knife, then beating him half to death with his own arm. i tell him how he would scream and try to get away but i'd be too strong and do it anyways. i ask the audience to just think about how it would feel to have your own limp bloody flesh smashed against your face repeatedly.

the audience is silent. or maybe i'm just not paying attention. i have become strangely fixated on Sam's right arm. i think he may have told me the terrible thing he thought of, but i wasn't listening. I just kept wondering how people a week after this hypothetical incident would treat him.

The kid runs away at my producer's beconing and i stand up. i ask the children in the audience what the most terrible thing they can think of is. maybe write it down and hide it somewhere for strangers to find.


i just found a box full of magic stuffed animals. they're all puppies, i think labs of some sort, and they really like trivia.

go figure.

think about this one. kids buy them, put them in their room, and years later when the kids get older, they totally get to watch them get naked. when i'm in the room with a stuffed animal and i needs some getting naked, i turn their heads away. or tape their eyes closed. i'll be damned if those animals are gonna ask trivia questions about my nakedness.



Sunday, December 28

i've been working on a new theme song for the show. i'm scrapping the old one, the one where i drop several large cooking pots and yell my name over and over. "The Midnight Mailman! The Midnight Mailman!" i had no problems with it, but i think it's just time to be moving on.

this new song will have a large choral section, church bells, five electric guitars, a chainsaw, and a herd of angry bison. the electric guitars will all play completely seperate (but equally rocking) solos at the same time while the choral section, bells, chainsaw and bison will do their repsective thing. all the while i yell "The Midnight Mailman! The Midnight Mailman!"

it's gonna tear the shit out of your tv speakers. it's gonna set new levels of what rocks harder than hard. your parents will be offended. your baby sister will cry. you will have nightmares for weeks, yet while your family and neighbors will beg you not to, you still come back for more, week after week, damaged ear drum after damaged eardrum, you will come back. the national rate of heart attacks from too much awesomeness will rise dramatically come the release of this new theme song.

so you might die. it's that good.

but i've got some friends coming over soon and i have to go check on that Tofurky in the oven.

Friday, December 26

and now it's done time for that one holiday everyone seems to celebrate. i sat in my house and drew pictures all day. the drawings will skyrocket me to fame, i'm certain.

but it just felt like another day. no blessings from christ or senor hanukah or nothin. just me sitting in my house drawing pictures. at least i didn't have to work.

on another note, the left side of my face started to melt a little. i'm not sure if i was halucinating like in that one Poltergeist movie, but it sure looked like it was melting. the left side. it didn't drip, but it did sag something awfull. exposing my entire eyeball and extending that nostril at least by three or four inches. gross stuff. i tried inverting myself, but it just melted into my hair and face is a bitch to wash out. so i just sat outside and let it cool a bit. it's not freezing or anything, but it's warmer than in my house. good thing i was almost completely alone all day today, or someone might have been bothered by my horrible disfigurement. and that'd be a shame on christmas.

but i'm sure it'll re-form itself soon enough into the charming visage the world has fallen in love with.


Tuesday, December 23

i didn't get anyone any presents at all for christmas. nothing. i found some books on my bookshelf that'll be nice for two people, and some porn magnets i made a while ago for one friend, but i've got a whole list. and i don't have any money.

i want to give everyone that deserves presents a note that says "i'm sorry i didn't give you a present this year. you are now entitled to love me less."

and while i'm content that i didn't take part in the whole consumer frenzy that's going on, i still feel like a dick. so it goes.




Monday, December 22

instead of doing a regular show tonight, i will be giving a lecture detailing and analyzing the commercials played during my show. i will distinguish who the targeted audience is by which ads are running, and from a carefully constructed log of the commercials played during the past seven weeks, i will attempt to assertain... everything

i will have my serious face on. and it will not be fun.

Saturday, December 20

no one is watching the show. ratings are at a record low. maybe someone unplugged the broadcast tower? i'll have someone check into that.

how can this be? i'm the most talented person i know. everyone from high school had absolute faith that i'd make it big. i wasn't voted Most Likely to Succeed or anything like that, but that was for the popular kids anyways. the kids who were in the theater department's rendition of Grease.

but now i have a show. everyone who always told me i could do it, here i am. i'm doing it.

why aren't you watching? why am i failing? what do i do now? can i make the show funnier? better? how?

how about....

nudity! no budget for attractive people, so i'll start by taking my clothes off. i can draw some breasts with a magic marker. there.

and i'll set things on fire. like my desk. there.

no we sit back and wait for the ratings to come rolling in. i'm pumped.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head and i are out having drinks. it's loud in the club and i can't hear my friend so well. he tries to tell me about his problems paying bills and with his woman who doesn't understand why he has to slap her around every now and then, but like i said, i can't hear him so well.

i soon start ignoring him and begin concentrating my attention on the most hideous man i've ever seen. he's enormous, at least two feet taller than anyone else in the room. and he has wings and claws and he isn't wearing any clothes. so i can see plain as anything that he has my face tatood on his shoulder.

only it's not just my face, it has a bright red X over my face, negating my importance. my goodness. everything that i cherish about my face this big ugly guy things isn't worth not crossing out on a tatoo on his shoulder.

so i go out to get at tatoo myself, but i don't know what to get to show this guy who's boss. my real face is already tatood to my skull, and another one on my shoulder seems redundant. so i get this phrase inked permanently on my shoulder, "i miss the way my shoulder looked before i had this crap tatood on it."

that'll show that naked monster.

Tuesday, December 16

her name is Junie. she has my heart. once i die, i want her to eat my corpse. i'll have it put in my will. that's romance, friends. she can dislocate her jaw a little.

she's so beautiful when her jaw is dislocated and she's slowly forcing food down her throat. if you listen close, she makes the cutest little gagging sounds.

she doesn't know that yet, though. about the eating my corpse part of the will. we're not at the stage where i make proposals like that.

i'm on a date with a very pretty woman. i wish i had worn something comfortable, but i wanted to impress her with my outfit. i hoped she was a fan. but she doesn't seem impressed at all and my goggles are fogging up and i've been wearing the black rubber boots all day and they kind of hurt my feet.

but i know the cape was a good idea. everyone respects a man who wears a cape in public.

i wish she were wearing a cape. i respect women who wear capes in public.

i try to tell her about my show, but she isn't interested. she'd rather eat. she can eat anything. that i respect. car tires, tin cans, cardboard. she's like a goat with a bottomless stomach. i can't tell if i respect that more than a girl who wears a cape.

man, my dream girl is someone who can eat garbage while wearing a cape. hot damn.

Monday, December 15

today i'm going to push the boundaries of public access television. do things that have never been done, going places where the Parents of America pray no one will ever go. places politicians rally against and faries die when these places are even mentioned. oh, god, tonight i will show them all how wonderful i am.

so check it out. no nudity, that'd be the easy way out. dangerous animals or fire? no. been done.

the boundary-pushing episode will feature a young girl, about 7 or 8 years old, wearing a t-shirt that says "You Are Thinking Wrong." She will slowly, over the course of ten minutes or so, drip the syrup onto the head of a dog who is giving birth to puppies, all the while a squirel will be frantically licking the syrup off the dog's head.

and i will be sitting the background asking the girl question about her parents. but not her real parents, her made-up chicken parents, Mr. and Mrs. Chickenparents. And her answers will be spoken backwards.

you'll have to tape this one so you can find out her answers.

oh, and if you play it backwards, you'll see me be decapitated by a semi-truck driven by a clown juggling skulls. played front-ways it just looks like i cough.

Sunday, December 14

rope swings over rivers

tall grass in the summer time

tea waiting for me in the kitchen

warm cozy places

the blank page waitng for cleverness to be set upon it

beautiful women

dreams where i can fly and crash into things.

i'm standing in my basement. in the corner. i don't keep anything in my basement, leaving it empty and wonderful. the floor is concrete and the walls are bare cinder blocks. a lightbulb hangs from a string. and i stand in the corner.

morning ritual, you see? i just try to be as still as possible. so the shaddows can't find me. it's practice for real life where the shaddows can kill you. my basement shaddows are harmless. creepy, but harmless. so i stand still for practice, practice for real life.

and i've been doing this for some time. years i think, but i couldn't tell you how many. years seem to blend together, especially when all you're doing is trying to stand as still as possible. here comes a shaddow. it sniffs my arm, my shoulder, neck, but it doesn't seem to recognize me as important for eating or Attatching. it sniffs the floor, more floor, the wall, and another shaddow. no problem. i'm fucking good at this.

at the end of the show i have some quiet time where i tell the kids some important things. i sit in an easy chair by the fire and smoke on a pipe. i take off my large black rubber boots and replace them with large black rubber house slippers. i look very fatherly and wise.

i tell the kids, drink something you don't like to drink tonight. like urine. drinking urine builds character. your own is good to start with, but don't limit yourself. there are over six billion other people in the world who are making liquid waste that'd build the hell out of your character.

i tell them that i was the one who said 'but, it's a FREE giant wooden horse. how can you say no to a FREE giant wooden horse? who cares who it's from?' i urge them to be the one who acts against logic and good sense. in the end, aren't we all glad that Troy lost the war?

i pause thougtfully for a moment.

so goodnight, children. and don't forget that you might die tonight. or your mom, or your dog, or your sister or your best friend. there is no mercy. but there is love. and i love you.

Saturday, December 13

my goggles are begining to fog up and i think my cape might be caught under the wheels of my chair. i'll fix it during the commercial.

today we have a ventriliquist on the show. there is nothing interesting about that.

as he talks and makes his puppet thing talk i write little notes to myself on my notepad.

the ventriliquist has asked me a question. dammit. i push the emergency button and Mr. Happy Puppet Head comes running out to start doing a dance. i yell that it's time for the Mr. Happy Puppet Head time for dancing, and all the kids yell with rabid excitement. hot damn, that puppet's on fire tonight.

the producer motions for the ventriliquist to leave the stage. he does. he looks sad and dejected. so does his puppet thing. i'll make sure he gets two of those gift baskets with the crackers and sausage. i wonder if that shit's any good.



Friday, December 12

after the show.

i sit in my dressing room with my tie undone, slumping back in my makeup chair as i study myself in the mirror. i look tired. i can't believe i went out looking like that, and on the first night. i'm going to fire that makeup guy. i hate fat people anyways.

so now i'm going to get drunk. with martinis. that's what i drink now that i'm on tv. showbusiness. that's what people who are on tv drink. martinis, right?

that big monster thing with the tentacles and the claws appears in the corner. i always try to ignore that thing. i shouldn't even peek at it out of the corner of my eye now that i'm on tv. people might start to talk. they might start to talk about not wanting to watch me on tv anymore. and martini's aren't free, you know. so i better not look at the monster with the tentacles and the claws.

he's waving at me. i accidentally saw him in the mirror. he's smiling with that big mouth. no teeth in there. looks like more tentacles and claws, only tiny. he looks so friendly. and he is. but i get mad at the things he says and then i break things. he says he's only trying to help, but still.

i think most people don't see that monster with the tentacles and claws. i wouldn't want to not see him, but still.

i throw my martini at the mirror and it breaks into glass pieces all over the place. the monster's smile falls, until it has an idea. an idea to dance for me. the happy dance that makes me smile sometimes. i think, no way, i won't smile tonight. but he wiggles and flips anyways, dancing and spinning his happy dance.

and i smile.

Thursday, December 11

this is the part where we get some kid from the studio audience and do something funny.

we'll take you, the kid with the t-shirt depicting a shark on a surfboard. he looks like we can get some good jokes out of him.

what's your name? Frank? great.

so what do you like to do? go to school? yeah? what about your family, any brother's or sisters? yes? a younger sister named Carrol? you think so? well, we've got a surprise for you, don't we Mr. Happy Puppet Head? yes we do, Frank. bring out the surprise mr. happy puppet head!

look at that! a hamburger! do you like hamburgers Frank? i know i sure do. boy, yummy stuff. go ahead, dig in.

do you know where hamburgers come from, Frank? that's right, from farms. but not this time, no Frank, this time that hamburger is made out of something less than bovine in nature.

this time... that hamburger is made out of... get ready folks... your sister Carrol! isn't that a funny joke?

don't worry folks, kids always vomit and run and cry at the same time like that when they discover they've eaten someone they love. it's part of the joke.

yes, i know, we still have some kinks to work out on our show. like making it funny.
This is my new blog. hello internet. this is where i get to be so clever and witty and everyone will love me. boy oh boy.

maybe it could be like a tv variety show where i have puppet friends and special guests? or something with lots of explosions and hot naked people from time to time. that's the excitement, what keeps people coming back. 'cause maybe you'll see some naked or explodings.

here's one of our friends now, mr. happy puppet head! he has drug problems, and he's a racist and a communist, but we don't talk about that with him.

he says hello to all of us, and we say hello back as loudly as we can. he does some spins in the air and tells a joke. he's so funny and we laugh. but then he tells a joke that isn't so funny. sort of uncomfortable, see. it's about someone who died recently, and not only was it in bad taste (because everyone loved that person), but it wasn't even funny, and he kind of stumbled over some words. there he goes, running back behind the curtains...

goodby mr. happy puppet head, maybe next time, eh? we won't hold it against you.

very quickly the producer shoves out a woman and a man, neither of them are very attractive, but they both take off their clothes and start licking each other. there's a lot of spit. the children cheer them on wildly.

and the show progresses from there. i'd say it was a pretty successful first try, and we'll iron out the kinks later.