Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Life is like a box of angry

No, I'm not all that angry, relatively speaking, though I am back to work after a generally quiet weekend -- thank you, Redneck Neighbor, for doing your beerdrinkin' n' hellraisin' at the weekly Cracker Twelve Step, thereby permitting me to do gay homersexual commie pinko stuff like writing poetry and italicizing half the text in peace. I simply thought this was a cool pic. C'mon, like you all don't miss Unka Dick a wee bit, you fucking liars.

Speaking of fucking liars, I was one when I lied to myself last night as I lied down in my bed, lying awake, dreaming of naked



my wife, that I was on the right track with the latest offline versification campaign. Alas, no. Maybe. I am, after all, a noted liar, but my pants remain inferno free. No, that's not a Freudian slip, they're actually not on fire, but the drawing board is.

"Which you're holding."


What's frustrating, beyond stinking, charred flesh, is how physically draining writing and/or composing is-ing as you're finding through reeling and teetering hours that you're not capturing yet again-ing the feeling flowing out, an invisible bloodletting, bloody hell it's tiring, resulting in naught but this stultifying lining. Too much melodrama? Fuck off, hipster detachment farmers.

Oh well, I have earned this divine punishment for not spending my time with the important matters of the age like protesting episode #763A of Something Vile That Will Remain Vile And In Power Until The End Of Time® or watching one set of honkey yokels Freudian slip their way through the Sotomayor hearing -- that's a fiction-worthy last name, no? I am Sotomayor. You killed my father. Prepare to die -- while another set of honkey yokels computerizes about just how yokel the first pair of Goldman sacks were. Sorry, Freud, but they don't have the biggest balls of them all, shitass motherfucker.

Watch out for the crayfish. They look angry.


susan said...

If I'm going to do any serious creatifying it must begin on the morning of a perfect day after at least two uninterrupted weeks of total lazing about. If that can't happen (and it doesn't) my doodles must suffice.

I love the Princess Bride :-)

Liberality said...

what does this post mean? oh well, I still luv u anyway. carry on, luv is coming to us all...
signed another dippie hippie

Sherry Peyton said...

It doesn't mean anything. It's the insides of a brain that operates like a pinball machine. I know, I'm married to one. It never gets boring! But you ask this question a lot: "What universe am I in now?"

Dusty said...

Cussing is good for us? Who knew?

Fuck me running..now I have an excuse for all the f-you's f-them and f-everybody. ;)

Christopher said...

Watching the Oedipus manifestations play out between Liz Cheney and her father is more than a little creepy.

In fact, I’m waiting to see how much longer until Liz kills her mother, Lynne Cheney, and assumes the missionary position with the Big Dick?

This Cheney clan is one fucked up lot.

Tom Harper said...

OK OK, I admit it, I do miss Cheney. The face on my Dick Cheney dartboard is so full of dartholes, you can't even recognize it any more. I need a new one.

sunshine said...

I hate to say this but Dick looks almost exactly like my Dad's Dad. He's was a pick too.

I didn't know that you did "gay things" on the weekend. Hopefully your redneck neighbour doesn't find out! He's liable to string you up boy!!
Did you just say you were dreaming of naked Marge simpson? Hmmm... I believe I ran across some porn one time.... nevermind!

I saw AD/DC live in Toronto last year. They were pretty awesome. :)
One more thing I crossed off of my Bucket List.

Can I mention that my dog Cheech is sooooooo cute!!!!!!!!?
Well, he is. :)
Ciao for Niao babes!

sunshine said...

Prick not "pick"...Dammit!

Randal Graves said...

susan, so what you're saying is that I should skip work? (and that's a great flick)

liberality, it means now that I've emerged victorious over blockage, I've fallen prey to suckitude, ya damn hippie.

sherry, are you going to tell us about string theory?

dusty, "you should watch your mouth!"

"I am - for my health!"

christopher, I'm really glad I didn't just have lunch.

tom, no excuses now, just embiggen this one and print it out!

Randal Graves said...

sunshine, I do gay things all the time, it should be obvious that I'm a very happy camper. I can't tell anyone about all the naked ladies I dream about, this is a family-friendly blog.

Übermilf said...

Do you just take all your leftover thoughts and dump them willy-nilly into your blog posts?

Randal Graves said...

übermilf, duh. Where the hell have you been?

Tengrain said...

Graves, you swine!

If we learn nothing from the 70s it is that one should always be on the same drugs as the DJ.

In this instance, you are the DJ.



okjimm said...

I never swear... it's bad for my fucking health.

Beach Bum said...

Watching the Oedipus manifestations play out between Liz Cheney and her father is more than a little creepy.

Dammit dude, you hit the fucking nail squarely on its head. Other than the passing thought that Liz was Dick in drag that chick has got some serious issues.

Thanks Randal, this cussing did make me feel fucking better!

Lisa said...

Some days I really miss Dick.

Yeah, you heard me.

Mauigirl said...

I have to admit I miss both Dick and W. They were great blog fodder.

dguzman said...

Between your crazy post and Christopher's and Beach Bum's comments, I'm just too busy laughing to offer up a sentient comment.

Randal Graves said...

tengrain, you bastard, I'm insulted at your insinuation that I dare violate the sanctity of our anti-drug laws.

okjimm, so is beer and donuts.

BB, see, I told you. Know what else is good for your health? Throwing up after you wankers.

lisa, gasp!

mauigirl, it was certainly easier with the doofus and the supervillain. Much fuckery is still afoot, but it's less cartoony.

dguzman, it's for times like these that someone needs to invent an automatic comment generator, a blog magic 8-ball.

S.W. anderson said...

RG, when writing seems too grueling, try this little exercise in reorienting your perceptions and reigniting your desire to put word to screen.

Go to the biggest mall parking lot in your area, preferably early, when it's nearly empty. Squat down, grab each ankle with a hand. Now, put one foot, then the other foot, forward until you've traversed the parking lot.

After a period of low cursing and sore muscles, you'll be eager to write again. Or clean the garage, even. :)

Randal Graves said...

SWA, you are one deranged soul. ;-)

Distributorcap said...

i think yoiu have some splaining to do on this post

Dr. Zaius said...

You can't have a proper Disco Inferno if your pants remain inferno free.