Wednesday, March 31

I haven't seen Mr. Happy Puppet Head in almost a week. No phone call or anything. We had that one boring show where we took naps and smoked cigarettes, and I haven't seen him since. Maybe he's dead. I've been thinking about getting a new co-host.

Our options:

Bermuda and Steve. a two-headed monster, kind of like on Sesame Street, only they're gay and naked. enormous genitals. no shame.

Loli. a little eight-year old girl with no arms. she's so cute. cute in that way she's so stupid she'll believe anything and always asks the dumbest questions. and then she believes whatever shit i tell her. and she eats anything and everything, like a goat. so that's a fun game.

Megan. she's in a metal band and has tatoos and rides a motorcycle. she gets in a lot of fights. she has a scar on her forhead, but she's still hot. I haven't actually talked to her yet, but she goes to the same bar I do, and I listen in on her conversations. she sounds like she'd be a great co-host. and maybe she'd go out with me.

So I've got some thinking to do. Because even if Mr. Happy Puppet Head does come back, maybe it's time he moves on. I don't know. We'll see.

Okay, now we cut away to a Educati-Fun Video where we learn all about Lucy and Timmy, two kids who are kidnapped by some bums and force-fed gravel, all because they didn't listen to their parents about doing their homework.

(this is from one of the absolute best things I've ever found on the internet
Friday, February 27, 2004
Drink The Magic Potion, Faggot Day!

There are three ancient flasks on your kitchen counter and an adorable girl in your bed who's gonna wake up sober. You have to drink one of the flasks and become superhuman before she wakes up and discovers who she mistakenly went home with last night, thanks to dim lighting and the 38 dollars of whiskey you poured down her throat.

Only one of the flasks contains the magic potion that makes you superhuman. Of the other two, one turns you into a giant frog, which she probably won't dig but at least when she leaves and never calls it won't be because she found out who you are and what you're like. And the third magic potion turns you into something indescribably horrible. But again, it's either "I got the hell outta there because all of a sudden he was this skinned wraith with clawed wings," or "Dear Christ he was dull and unattractive." Win-win.

If you're still afraid to drink the magic potion, see if you can get her drunk again after she wakes up. Bring the flasks into the bathroom and listen to the closed door for when she wakes up. When you hear her rustling, say through the door, "You're probably really hungover. If you want to drink a lot of whiskey, it's in the cabinet above the toaster." If she takes the bait, stay in the bathroom around 45 minutes, long enough for her to get so drunk that you're worth her time again. If she says she doesn't want alcohol so early in the day, drink the magic potion faggot and start thinking of places for brunch.

Happy Drink The Magic Potion, Faggot Day!

My mind is completely blown away by this girl.


Monday, March 29

Today is my birthday.

Sing me a song. Wish me happy times for the future. Send me presents.


John Peters walks to work every day. It’s just a few blocks down from his house, and the walk is nice enough as long as the weather holds up. Today he is wearing a gray suit with a red and gold striped tie. His favorite tie. He can’t wait for this day to be over so he can drink alcohol.

From the corner of his eye he sees a flicker. He turns his head and sees a small garter snake leap out of the grass and catch a frog by the back leg. John stops walking. The frog gives a desperate struggle for a moment before sitting still—like it’s giving up--as the snake steadily swallows upwards from the foot. The frog soon begins struggling again, but by now the snake has a very strong grip. John thinks about rescuing the frog, but decides against it. He doesn’t know if the snake is poisonous, nor does he like the idea of taking away the snake’s food.

He hadn’t noticed the small furry puppet creature standing to his left.

“Life and death...” it squeaks. “A frog dies so that a snake may feed its family. That’s just the way this crazy world works, huh?” John nods politely to the thing standing next to him, but doesn’t make eye contact. It smiles at him. “That’s pretty crazy, isn’t it. Makes you think about your own life, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. Sure.” John nods again, only slower this time. The snake’s jaw is now completely dislocated. As it slides the amphibian slowly into its body, the frog screams a high pitched frog-scream, a desperate plea for help. He imagines the man his wife has been sleeping with, and what he’d sound like crying on the ground as John beat him up.

“Reassess your values, your life,” continues the cute thing. “Makes your own problems seem trivial. Like, at least you’re not being eaten alive, right?” Its smile seems to get brighter. John looks over at it, tries to figure out how to make it go away. He’d like to walk away, but really wants to see how the snake is going to fit that whole frog into its thin body. The frog lets out another scream. Then a whole series of them.

“But let me tell you this, my friend,” the puppet’s smile melts away and its voice grow serious. “You are being eaten alive. You may not know it yet, but we all are. Or at least some of us. All but those who have been shown the way, have been taught to see the evils of this world and the path away from them.”

John turns his head and looks the puppet over. Not even two-feet tall, covered in thick blue fur, with a fat little body and long thin legs and arm, it looks calmly up at John. It reaches behind its back and pulls out a pamphlet. “I can show you the way, my friend. Guru McIntosh has lead me to the path, and I am on my Way. It’s truly a beautiful thing, this life, if you know how to See it.”

“I’m not interested,” says John. The snake’s tail lashes around in the grass. It doesn’t seem to be making much progress now that it’s gotten near the ribs. Or do frogs even have ribs? John tries to remember his high school science class, but that was so long ago.

“Oh,” says the puppet dryly. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” It disappears with a slight pop.

John continues watching the snake and the frog. He figures the tire store can deal without him for a little while longer.

The End.

Saturday, March 27

I retract my earlier comments. ALWAYS invite monsters into your home. Have a dance party.

Friday, March 26

Arpit and Bloodbath the Pirate Captain in

Arpit and Bloodbath are standing outside their apartment complex. They are looking over the fine family they have built for their lonely widow neighbor, Mrs. Dickenson. They built a dad with a beard, a cute little girl missing her two front teeth, and the cool teenage son who means well but is always getting into trouble.

The dad opens his mouth wide and a recording from inside his head says "I love you, honey bunny."

"It's weird." says Bloodbath

"What? What's so weird about a happy family?" aks Arpit.

"I didn't know I couldn't do that," says the recording in the teenage robot's face.

"They're being clever. Just like on tv." says Arpit.

"Fine. But it's weird and you're going to scare that poor woman."

"Nuh uh."

"I wuv you, mommy," says the recording in the cute little girl's face. "I wuv you, mommy."

"I didn't know I couldn't do that."

"I love you, honey bunny."

"I didn't know I couldn't do that."

"I wuv you, mommy." Sparks begin to shoot out of the little girl's mouth and nostrils. "I wuv you, mommy." She falls face-forwards onto the pavement, still spitting sparks. "I wuv you, mommy. I wuv you, mommy. I wuv you, mommy."

"What? Stop looking at me like that." says Arpit as he picks the girl up and sets her back on her feet. The sparks soon quiet down.

"Look, her lips are all black and burnt," says Bloodbath. "You can't give them to the old woman like that."

"Whatever, man. Love conquers all. Even burnt up little girl robot lips. Trust me."

Thursday, March 25

We haven't planned anything for the show today. Me and Mr. Happy Puppet Head got lost last night on the way home. It was scary. Kids, if you ever accidentally find yourself in a poor black neighborhood, make sure you look straight ahead and check to make sure your doors are locked, but only out of the corner of your eyes. If they aren't, act like you're just putting your arm up on the door to rest, but push the lock down with your elbow.

That's my philosophy. Mr. Happy Puppet Head prefers the method in which you roll down your window at stoplights and yell racial epithets at passing citizens. Then when they get all close to your car, spit on them. Puppet spit is really gross, too. There were several near brawls, but the light always turned green before anything got too violent.

That is why Mr. Happy Puppet Head has a black eye and is missing one of his front teeth. We've got a dentists appointment later to get that fixed.

And now we've got nothing to entertain you children with.

How about some jokes?

How do you get a nun pregnant? No... I've used that one before.


... now's a good time to change the channel. I think I'm just going to go take a nap. For the rest of the show we'll be cutting back and forth between me taking a nap and Mr. Happy Puppet Head smoking cigarettes.


Wednesday, March 24

Don't invite monsters into your house.

Tuesday, March 23

Don't talk to monsters.
Here's another PUZZLE GAME. even though no one likes to play them.

It's another sentence all jumbled up. The WINNER gets a Midnight Mailman t-shirt.

here we go.

drink can under found to sink the the stuff be best!

Good luck!

Friday, March 19

After the show in my dressing room. Uninspired. Tired. Sweat dripping from the tip of my nose. Goggles fogged up. It was intense, today's show.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles up and tries to tell me about his problems. He has so many of them, poor guy. I try to listen, but he's knocked up so many underage girls and been charged with more credit card fraud than I can count. So i tune him out and try to get my bowtie off. It's been over a week since I've taken off the outift, and the knot is stuck.

So he's going on and on, just a buzz in my ear, his new handlebar mustache bobbing hypnotically up and down. He does have a nice buzzy voice, that floating puppet head. And a really sweet mustache.

He wants to know if he can crash at my place tonight. I tell him of course. We can play Jenga.

Apparently he has some repressed Jenga memories. He starts crying, wailing, and soon banging his head against the wall. Again, nothing new. I hope this doesn't mean we can't still play, since that's the only board game I have.

I am truly an artist of distinction. Praise me.

the ever popular PERFORMANCE ART!

I call the names of all the children in the audience to come down on stage. As they approach me I give them a live shrimp wrapped in a piece of paper. on the paper is written a fortune.

all the fortunes are the same. they all say "happy birthday! hope the operation is a success!" and there is a drawing of a bloody surgical knife.

As all the children look up at me clearly confused, I tell them to never eat the shrimp they hold in their hands, but to cherish it always, even after it's rotten and diseased from mold, to love it more than their own parents. seafood will never leave you, no matter how badly the operation goes.

we stand in awkward silence for a long time. I hum the I Dream of Jeannie song.

Cut to an Educati-Fun Video of me spinning a group of handicapped children on the meri-go-round until they are sick and screaming and throwing up.


The Torture Puppy Game.

All the kids have been paird up into teams on little tables scattered all over the set. The tables are set up to play the game, with large metal spikes, broken glass, and razor blades sticking out all over the place. Next to the tables are buckets full of newborn puppies.

Mainly, there are no rules to the game, as long as puppy-torturing is involved. So everyone's a winner.

This is my favorite game. Because it's a challenge. Torturing a puppy may look easy, but when they look up at you all gooey, it's hard to spear one on a nail. Trust me.

Wednesday, March 17

For today's show we'll be cooking. I'll show you how to prepare basic meals when your parents have left you unsupervised because they don't love you enough.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head is going to bring out the ingredients and then we can get started. First we'll learn how to make a basic omlet and bacon milkshake for breakfast, a steak milkshake for lunch and dinner, and then we'll learn about all the magic cocktails you can make with the ingredients in your parent's liquer cabinet. So basically, the blender is our best friend in the kitchen.

Hey... all the lights just turned off. Kids? Mr. Happy Puppet Head?


It's so silent. Everyone was just here... what's going on? So dark... I can't find my way. I hear breathing, heavy breathing close by. Hello? Hello! Who's there? Mr. Happy Puppet Head? Is that you?

Oh my God! Who's there? I can hear someone trying to say something. Whoever is breathing all deep is trying to talk, all gutteral and loud... like it's coming from inside my head. I can't run from it. I try but it's so dark and i run into things and the doors are locked who locked the doors? I have the keys but I can't find them and i pound on the door but no one is around the studio is empty and dark and all I can hear is the breathing in my head, i turn around to see who's making the breathing but there's no one and if there is someone it's too dark to see. Holy shit.

The voice is repeating something over and over, but i can't figure it out. Fall forword for mean dude? I don't understand.

All is farwost for mean dude and something about hams? No? Lambs? Where are you? Could we turn on the lights? This is really creeping me out.

All is lost... okay.... Oh! All is lost for we are all dead... and... like lambs on a post. Is that it? Yes? Oh, okay.

Does that even mean anything?

No, I understand what you said, you don't have to repeat it so much. I'm just saying I don't really get the signifigance or context. Maybe if you could just... no... I heard you the first time, you don't have to yell...

And now my studio is on fire and Mr. Happy Puppet Head and all the children are hanging by their necks by barbed wire over a pit of their own blood and entrails. And yes, I freak out a little, screaming and clawing at the locked door. Of course.

The lights flicker back off quickly. The voice repeats the whole we are all dead and lambs stuff. I just don't get it, sorry. Just a little more information and I think we could be on the same page.

Red light, I look down at my hands and they're all rotted like a corpse and there are flies and as I turn them over to examine them, horrified, the fingers drop off, followed by my hands. The red light flicks off as soon as I scream like a little girl.

But I still have my hands. Not rotted or anything, just normal. That's comforting. Okay, maybe I can figure this out. We are all dead... all is lost for we are all dead... and like lambs on a post. Lambs on a post.

Lambs on a post? Oh, hey Carl. Thanks for turning the lights back on. No, I know where the switch is, there was just some sort of ghost thing going on. Real weird. Yeah... hey, have you seen Mr. Happy Puppet Head? Yeah. Yeah. Uh huh. Really? Uh huh.

So... I've been missing for ten years? And Mr. Happy Puppet Head is president of the world? And everyone has psychic powers? And dinosaurs? And robots from Mars? And flying cars that come standard with dvd players that record our dreams? Anything about lambs on posts? No? Weird.

Shirking responisiblities can be fun.

Do it. Don't go to things when you are supposed to, then after a while of doing that, show up, but half-an-hour late and drunk. Or on drugs. Or both. That way, when you show up late and everyone's mad, at least you'll be fun to have around.

And go to the park and drink margarittas.

Am I the only one advocating this? Why isn't this idea more prevalently spread in our school systems? What's wrong with our country? They want to teach me how to read longitude and latitude lines but they touch nothing on the topics of the finer things in life.

Something is desperately wrong.

Tuesday, March 16

I once found a gourd in the middle of the street.
It was yellow.
We played games with the gourd.
Ninja games.

Casual sex is a myth.
Except for that one time,
it's never happened to me.

Police have guns,
and if they really wanted to,
could take your house and all your stuff,
and pee on your floor.

You are what you smell like,
said Tiffany.

The rules will set you free,
said Jackie.

The 'S' stands for super-soldier, sexy, whatever you need,
said S. Wayne.

The end.
I'm tired of doing things. School, work, my own projects, everything. I just want to play drums and draw cartoons and hang out.

On the beach.

The quickest and most efficienct way to my heart is a combination of playing me incredible music that makes me cry it's so good and anything to do with deeply important funny cartoons and videos.

I think that may be the only true path to my heart.

And I'd like to comment on the unforseen trend of blonde Morman girls of late. My comment is that there has been a trend.

Saturday, March 13

For today's show we will be playing drums in the backyard.

Friday, March 12


Every pretty day is a gift from the Almighty God Himself, kids. Draped in Holy chains with Razer Barbs of Justice and Truth, He pulls forth from his Backback of Power the Pretty Day and sprinkles a healthy dose over our heads. Because we are all so nice and He Loves us.

Thursday, March 11


Mr. Happy Puppet Head wheels out a washing machine and a dryer. I walk out carrying a garbage bag full of dirty clothes.

And I wash my dirty laundry. About a week's worth. I don't separate the colors and instead of detergent I use rancid milk. While the clothes are being washed I sit on top of the dryer and stare into space. I repeat over and over "I'm good, I'm clean." A hidden microphone picks it up and amplifies it painfully loud.

After a long time, maybe half-an-hour, I take the damp clothing out of the washer and put it into the dryer. I don't check the lint trap. That's what suckers do. I turn on the dryer, perch myself back on top of the humming machine, but this time my mantra is changed to "I tumble and cry," also amplified far too loud for comfort.

Eventually the clothes are dry, and I fold them. Not very neatly, though. Paying attention to neat creases and proper folding etiquite is for suckers.

Doing my laundry is a metaphor for facism.

Tuesday, March 9

I can't remember falling asleep, but now i'm awake. My mouth tastes awfull and the back of my head feels funny against my pillow. I reach up to find it's been shaved and the skin is raw.

Looking in the mirror I see I have gotten a tatoo taking up all the property on the back of my skull. Through the scabs and puffy skin I can make out a face... only there are too many lines on it that don't match up.

And I remember. At least parts of it. Stumbling in the tatoo place, yelling at the tatoo guy... and walking out with a portrait of my face permanently drawn in simple blue and red off-set lines on the back of my head. I pick up the 3-D glasses from the bathroom countertop and study myself in the mirror. The tatoo face grimaces in pain from getting the tatoo of itself on the back of it's head.

So before my hair grows out I'll have to buy lots of these 3-D glasses to give to everyone. As much as I regret getting it, I don't like to see a good 3-D tatoo go to waste.

Monday, March 8

I am in a sports bar on Sunday night. It's pretty empty. Mr. Happy Puppet Head is playing darts with a large naked monster. I'd like to play, but I've had problems with that monster before.

There's a woman sitting alone at the bar. She's attractive enough. Blonde. I'd much rather make out with her than not make out with her. I sit next to her, close enough to whisper in her ear. Close enough to smell her shampoo and the alchohol on her breath.

Believe in Yourself.

You are good enough.

Believe in yourself because you are really great.

You are far too good for these other people.

Spit on them. Hurt them if it makes you feel good. You are truley on a higher level of exhistence than the rest of us.

You can fly. Spread your wings and soar, soar higher and higher. Forever. Fly.

Have sex with me. You are attractive and of legal age. As I've already said, you're really great.

We are one. One in eternity, of one mind and one soul. White emptiness surrounds us in a blissfull glow of perfection far surpassing even that of the infinite beauty of Heaven itself.

I have clean sheets. And I just took a shower. Smell my hair if you don't believe me. We can pick up some condoms on the way home.

You are perfect.

Friday, March 5

His name is Addelbert but he goes by Ted. That's his middle name. He is currently unemployed, single, and lives in a man-made pond in an apartment complex. He'd invite you over, but the place is a mess.

Thursday, March 4

I was a little sad today, children. Not for any specific reason, really. My life is good overall, but today I just felt deflated. I'm lonely and masturbate too much, and I really wish I could move to an apartment more centrally located, but I can't because I don't have money. So I was a little down.

Until I went home, took some drugs, and watched cartoons on the television. I've felt so much better since then.

So when you grow up and have to go to Health class in school, they'll tell you all sorts of mumbo-jumbo about not watching too much television and not doing drugs, but IGNORE THEM. Trust me. They'll say that drugs will rot your mind and you'll end up slicing your chest up to watch your guts as you jump off a building because you think you're Superman. No. The truth is that drugs make cartoons funnier. But not only cartoons, you yourself will become a pinale of hilarity, delighting all around you with your pithy witticisms. It's incredible the things modern drugs can do for you. You will decipher new meanings in common household objects and understand the world in a much deeper way than anyone else before you could possibly ever have done.

Which way to the presidential candidate that's in favor of more drugs and cartoons? That's who I'm voting for.

Now for the ADULT SITUATION episode. this is a special episode, aired at 3:00 AM when all the kids are asleep.

We have a full house tonight, glad to see all of you naked overweight people above the age of 40. I am the only person fully dressed because I am a guide tonight. A guide in your sexual education.

Here we have a large vat of oil. Cooking. Canola. Everybody climb the ladder and jump in. Make sure you go all the way under, otherwise you won't be properly lubricated. Try to inhale a little bit if you can. You're going to have to trust me, old fat people.

Now everyone stand in a circle facing inwards. Mr. Happy Puppet Head will put on your blindfolds, and on the count of three, everyone run straight ahead, crash into a big pile of oily flesh, and just start humping. Don't worry about who or what, just enjoy.

Okay? One... two... three!

Mr. Happy Puppet Head will be coming around with more oil soon, so don't worry. You guys are doing great.

Tuesday, March 2

I have a waterbed.
I'm digging a hole in the backyard at night. Except for my goggles and rubber boots, I'm completely naked.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles up.

Oh, hey Mr. Happy Puppet Head. It's a beautiful night, just thought I'd get some digging done. Yeah... oh? wow....

Mr. Happy Puppet Head dances around, his mouth opening and closing as he silently tells me his story.

Well, there's not much I can do for you, huh? You probably shouldn't have stolen that car... yeah, or the dogs, vases, televisions, or that teenager. No, that's never a good idea. No. No this hole isn't for hiding things, it's for the joy of digging naked at night. It's one of the simpler things in life. Theft and kidnapping aren't all there is, you know. For some it's very little of all there is.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head takes a look at the hole I've been digging. He nods, clearly impressed.

I tell him that No, it may not get you sex, or any sort of "high," but digging holes naked in the backyard at night can be more satisfying than any of those things. You laugh now, but wait until you're in prison. And yes, I will alert the authorities of your whereabouts and tell them everything you told me. Becasue I'm your friend, that's why. Now there's no need to yell.

Mr. Happy Puppet Head bobbles away.

Now kids, learn from Mr. Happy Puppet Head's mistakes. For all his smiling and bobbling around you'd think he's happy. But he's a drug addict, soon to be a convicted felon looking at some serious jail time, and his two kids can't stand the sight of him. The younger one vommits uncontrollably at the mention of his name.

So dig.