Nom Like a Child

So I’m reading garbage forum posts on the internet, like I do, because it’s fun to me to lurk around reading the thoughts of oddballs who guilelessly reveal strange things about their life when I have time to kill. It’s that, memes, video games, and then books. This is if I don’t have a new issue of Harper’s. Harper’s is extremely good. Anyway, I am becoming infinitely dumber as I age, so I read more trash perhaps than I used to.

Doing this, I come across a guy, thirty-something, talking about his diet. It’s very funny to me. I’ll just repost it:

This is a list of pretty much any meal I eat ever:

-Steak and a baked potato with cheese and sour cream

-cheeseburger with ONLY ketchup and mayo and potato chips

-broiled fish (either whitefish or tilapia, no other kind) and clam chowder

-fried chicken and jojos with ranch dressing

-kung pao chicken and steamed white rice

-beef and cheese burrito with tortilla chips and salsa

-hamburger helper (classic) and potato chips

-tuna helper (classic) and potato chips

-buffalo wings and mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce

-cheese ravioli with marinara sauce and garlic bread

Holy shit! Aside from being a bulleted compendium of everything I ate today, that’s hilariously bad. I find people with bad diets like this to be very funny, especially when they go on, like this guy, to claim supertaster status, genetic issues, or that a vegetable in their mouth literally makes them vomit, instead of considering that their issue might just be psychological. Imagine going your whole life eating only this! Never crunching a delicious apple! No wedge salads! I mean, fuck health—I don’t even see any cake in here. Or eggs florentine! Fucccck. So salty. So colorless!

That diet is a damn kid’s menu. That diet is a carbohydrate death injection. That shit makes my chest ache. We have finally found the formula to turn a heart literally to stone.

Anyway, the word of the hour is bleph·a·ro·spasm. Blepharospasm. It refers to an involuntary tight closure of the eyelids. Sounds scary. So dark in here!!!

Do not lean into negative emotions. Everyone is scared and petty. Balance the world with your smile.

Photo Credit: Applebee’s

Current Meal Status: Applebee’s

Sometimes You Want to Go: Where Everybody Knows Your Name (Which, for me, is Applebee’s)

Drunk Monkeys Anthology Volume 3 On Sale Now

Ah! You know, I suppose it’d be prudent, wise and kind for me to pimp this.

So, Drunk Monkeys is an (I believe? Primarily?) California-based web blog lit journal film crit megalith of a writing thing that I have written for that is producing works of writing that I and many more would call exemplary. I love it like the dickens; I love it with my soul!

A few months back or maybe more, the editorial staff at Drunk Monkeys was so kind as to accept a story of mine that I’d submitted, called Awake, which you may have read or heard of, for which I won an Adult Creative Writing Contest award from the Tulsa City-County Library. (This award, which I am extremely proud of, ensured the enshrinement of my story, from the day of that award ceremony forward, and henceforth into time immemorial, into their tucked-away archives, paper-clipped together, typos and all, clapped up inside a very specific and—y’know, one would hope—bulletproof binder.) This was the story about the guy that cannot sleep to death. It’s very Stephen King-y, which should surprise not many—King’s a major inspiration. The way he welds Americana with its sick, tormented underworlds, and makes it look so effortless. Who cares if his endings suck? Even if they always suck? Except for, maybe, Hearts in Atlantis, if that counts, which it should, because that book is great. Stephen King wrote a story about the American dream blooming in the Vietnam season; I wrote a sad, sad one-off about a guy that fuckin’ died.

Anyway, that insomnia story’s in this book.

And so are a lot of other things, actually. Better things—the sort of thing you maybe haven’t read before. Like Christopher James’ sexotron story; that was pretty fuckin’ funny.  And a poem by Michael Passafiume that made me sorta wanna cry, that’s in there too.

Anyway, I got the thing for free. I read it in an afternoon. A cooler me would leak it, but, y’know, well, idk. A saner me prevails.

That said, the Drunk Monkeys Anthology Volume 3 paperback (which I would happily arrange to sign and slobber on for you, should that be your bag) is available here.

And the Kindle edition of the Anthology, which costs $2.99, is available here! Shit! I bet some of you fools can even figure out how to get that for free!

All jokes aside, thank you sincerely for supporting me in what I try and like to do. And thank you, incidentally, to the editorial staff of Drunk Monkeys for supporting it. If you all didn’t seem to like it, I wouldn’t be here. So all my best to you, friends, always. Selah.

Drunk Monkeys header courtesy

goal was not reached

this site is awesome. it’s a website that shows archived kickstarter projects that received no. freaking. money and it’s an awesome boneyard full of other losers’ failure that is pleasant to behold and hem and chortle at. the site is called kickended.

i am sure that taking great satisfaction in the raw failures of others is a universal human delight and not just some perversion of my own psyche—yes—yes i am quite comfortable that this is just a goofy thing we all enjoy and not feeling like this is utterly revealing of anything misanthropic or revolting about me as a person in the world even a little bit at all

scenes from the upcoming feature “Star War—Ep 7: the Force is Up” (2)


Gliding across the barren landscape we see REY ORGANA-CALRISSIAN, adopted daughter of Han Solo and reluctant Jedi, leaned back casually yet resolute, driving her COOL JET FLOATCRUISER. We linger on the cylinder in her lap, a modest-sized CUP FROM A GAS STATION, full of limited-edition PEPSI STAR WAR (BLUE FLAVOR). A straw protrudes, and Rey SIPS.

The soda FIZZES and GLISTENS, catching the rays of the distant TWIN SUNS, refracting them majestically, with sparkles, and lens flare.

BB-8 (O.S.)
*squawks adorably*

Aw, who’s the cutest little robot?

Rey pets the droid wedged at her side in the narrow pilot’s seat of the floatcruiser. BB-8 meets her gaze. The droid’s eyes are remarkably soulful—we are all reminded very pointedly of WALL-E.

You’re the cutest little robot.


The cutest widdle wobot in the whole wide fweakin’ gawaxy.


Rey bends the straw of her soda toward the reach of BB-8, who slurps eagerly.

Weeble-wobble blahp bloop, blorp! [Subtitles onscreen read “PEPSI PEPSI PEPSI.”]




KYLE REN, the dark vader, stands on the bridge with his mask and cape on, sulking. In his hand he holds an unopened bottle of PEPSI STAR WAR (RED FLAVOR). At his side is the legendary CAPTAIN PHAZER, fully chrome.

Captain Phazer…
Um, could you?

Kyle Ren hands the PEPSI bottle to his cohort, gesturing for help opening it. She cracks the seal after the slightest struggle. The resulting hiss of air is emphasized.

Thank you, Phazer. I was feeling very parched. This is just what I needed to refresh myself.

He sips, passes the opened bottle back to Phazer.

How goes the hunt for Jedi scum?

Phazer takes a long quaff of the PEPSI.

Excellently, my lord Kyle.

completely unedited copy from the back of this can of Monster Energy ® Ultra Red

☞ Copyright Monster Energy Company, 1 Monster Way, Corona, California. All Rights Reserved. ® © 2013

Change can be a good thing, when you make the most of it… like those mindless summers, working mindless jobs. They pay just enough to survive (party)—but somehow, you save enough for that last road trip before starting “real life.”

In homage to coming of age in America, and in keeping with our Monster family tradition, comes another change worth making.

White… Blue… and now Ultra Red: Light, crisp, refreshing with zero calories—and zero sugar.

Made right here in the USA.

Sweet, sweet, summer time, summer time…