Thursday, November 30, 2006

Strangers in my Shirt

Who buys my stuff?!

Seriously. Who (other than me) is going to walk around wearing a shirt like this:

Olden Pimps

Agoraphobic Jokes

I was just checking out my sales, and noticed that these two were on their way to someone and I thought I'd share.

It cracks me up to think that these things are out there walking around. I mean, sure, I'd wear 'em. And my friends wear them when I give them shirts. I expect that.

But this whole, "strangers in my shirt" thing sometimes freaks me out.

People just bought these shirts, too. So they're probably gifts.

I love it. That Original Pimp Action Squad one is hi-freakin'-larious. It's these crazy dudes from around the globe--photos taken from the early 20th Century. And they're total pimps. Check it out close up if ya want: click "view larger" and then, "zoom in on image". It'll be worth it just to get a good look at the stylinest pimps of the turn of the century and know that someone's gonna be out there showin' them off on their shirt. Global stylie pimps.

Glad that there are some similar senses of humor out there. Just a little freaked about it sometimes.

I still haven't just bumped into someone wearing one of my designs. That would be INSANE. I'm praying for it.

Monday, November 27, 2006

A Poem

Alright. I tried to quit smoking. I didn’t say anything about it, because I didn’t want to start again, and then have everyone say I’m a stinkin’ wuss.

Stress always gets me.
Cigarettes end the stress.
So I stop quitting and smoke.

I wrote a poem about it. Wanna read it, here it goes:

I do a good job of staring at the computer screen.
I can stare and stare.
It’s that or scream.
Or run out the door to the store.

I NEED cigarettes.

I need cigarettes.

Or staring.
Or cigarette staring.

Monday, November 20, 2006


I like Thanksgiving. Not because of what it stands for. Oh, no. If you know me, you know I’m not much of a holiday lover. Nope. I like Thanksgiving because it brings lots of people to one table to be thankful for eating food. Someone(s) work at making the food with love, and everyone appreciates it.

That is a good afternoon.

Ours includes wine, and we try to make it exclude football.

Yeah, I’m obviously the anti-american. So be it. I don’t like Pilgrims raping and murdering the indigenous folk and ultimately stealing their continent and then Thanking them for it years later by talking about how the Indians helped the Pilgrims survive long enough to infect them all with disease or murder them. Yay Pilgrims. Thanks, Indians.
But I loves the turkey and cranberry sauce. Can’t wait.

Thursday, November 16, 2006


Olympian autumn was short. I don’t know if it’s always like this, but it seems to have just come and gone. Like, the leaves turned colors, and fell off two days later. I’m not exaggerating. It really happened like that.

It’s not quite Thanksgiving, and the trees are bare. I don’t mind it at all. I just wonder if it’s typical.

So far we’ve had a lot of rain this month. I hear that’s not too typical.

Well, I do like weird. Weather counts.

Sunday, November 12, 2006

Poor Me

I went to military school. It really sucked. I had to do lots of pushups, and run around a lot in the tropical Texas heat. I ate shitty food, got yelled at every day, had to sit and study for three hours a night, had to stay on base, never got to wear civilian clothes, learned how to brainwash people, got brainwashed, was beaten, saw people die, beat people, wanted to kill people, got a girl pregnant, partied in Mexico and on South Padre Island, smuggled drugs across the border, smuggled drugs into school (and cigarettes, and food), broke hearts, broke noses, broke out one kids front teeth, lost my mind, stopped giving a shit about my parents, decided I hate the military and the government, did acid for the first time, partied with the mafia, and generally had a bad time, or a great time doing really bad things. Got out and had to see a shrink. I’m 35 and I’m still not over it.

Don’t send your kid to military school. Don’t ever do it. No matter how bad they seem. They will get worse. I promise.

Tuesday, November 07, 2006


Whenever I hear the term “blue tooth” (can I write that?) I think of blue balls. That leads me to thinking about that movie… oh man, what was it? Where those guys rent a condo on the beach, and spend the whole summer trying to trick girls into having sex with them?

There’s the sleazy surfer, and the old guy, and the nerd… What the hell movie was that? There’s a whole scene about that girl who’s a big tease, and she gives everyone blue balls. One of the guys falls victim to her wiles, and has to run for an ice pack. That was such bullshit to lay on my teenage mind. That crap doesn’t happen. And if it did, why didn’t the idiot just take care of it himself?

If I remember right, I got off on that chick by moving my leg. And I was just watching her on some tiny TV screen in a basement with five other dudes. The guy in the movie spent the night with her rubbing her short-shorted self all over him.
Freakin’ blue tooth.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

The Past (and the Future)

Have any of you ever been a professional psychic? Man, it’s rough, isn’t it? All that jib-jabbing with people’s souls. All the ghosties, and questions about love and money. All the purple. All the crystals, and incense, and obnoxious lesbian witches. What a freakin’ hassle that shit is


Wednesday, November 01, 2006

All Hallows Day

Halloween was here.

Zane was a chicken:

It was funny. Wuddy. Really Wuddy.
But it was also cold, and so the Gicken didn’t do a lot of door-to-door.

Caspian was Neo:

He was cool. He did do a lot of door-to-door.

We went with Mechele, Colin, and Audrey (our raddest neighbors and most excellent friends) to “The Pumpkin House”. It was impressive. There were a hundred carved pumpkins (maybe not that many, but close to it), and a ghoul playing electric guitar.

The adults in the crew were inspired. Next year we’re decorating our house. Coffin in the yard and all. We’ve got a lot of yard. Maybe we’ll have a gallows and a graveyard. Definitely a ghoul with a guitar on the porch.

Who wants to come trick or treating next year?

We need someone small enough for the chicken suit. Zane’s gonna grow…