This is a new post. You may now dance the Dance of Rebirth!

I working on a story right now.
If it will be a ALLWORDS novel/la, a comicbook mini or a small-time video complete with bad acting and jerky hand-held moments that were not supposed to be there but if brought the audience "into the moment" I'll say, "yeah...I meant that!", no one can say right now.

Especially not me.
Look at me; you think I plan anything?
I'm a methhead chasing ambulances to hospitals.
I wouldn't know what to do if I...got hold of a hypodermic needle. So to speak.

It's a D&D inspired dialouge fest. Hopefull if I get my players talking about enough stuff maybe they'll happen on something you'll like.

I really just want to start an idea and finish with a product, as a tell my child therapist Dr. Needle. At least I think her name is Doctor Needle.
Some last names should make you exempt from being a doctor.
Payne.
Hertz.
I heard from Mr. Rod, my 9th grade Physics teacher, that some girl had a dad whose a dentist named "Dr. Slaughter"


Irony really makes life worth living.

I should also get out that I want to work on a book that follows the day of a grown-kid visiting his highschool 3 years later. K-K-K-K-KRAY-ZINESS! (note to self: next time use C's, less racist that way towards myself)

"Autobiographical", you say? What, what? (there goes the [Talking like I'm british tag] AGAIN)
Difinitely autobiographical, with similar people (with changed names..sometimes), an odd main character, a compositing of 2 or 3 different people into one to save time (and energy) and all done an 3 hour period from 12:10pm to 3:17pm.
EASY.
EASY. EASY.
HAAARD.
EASY!

(note to self: call your old theater teacher Mr. G. It's the least you can do)


Oh, and I'm reading Transmetropolitan. It's a RapeFest...but in a good way. Scratch that shit, it makes me want to go outside and punch authority figures. FUCKING AWESOME is the name I have for this series now. Why isn't this posted on telephone poles in major metropolitan cities?

Edit:
http://paprpapr.blogspot.com/
Bud Ries has a magazine/blog. This little improv demon was sooo nice to me in my early high school years. I repay the favor by posting his blog on my blog that no one is watching. YOU'RE WELCOME. BUD!

Double Edit:
Vice Presidents? I don't give a shi-ooooh it's a la-daay! 20 months of being Gov. of Alaska, you say? FORMER MISS WASILLA, YOU SAY?! Well, sign me uh-oh that's right I'm voting for the historic moment in race relations for the United States rather than pleasuring myself to hot pics of the VP when she was "Sarah Barracada" on her high school basketball team.

Hawt Pix of Sarah Palin ballin'.

Biden? I'm sure there were more intellectual choices but this is a political choice so it sucks.
It'll probably help him get elected. It sucks.
It'll give him that "tough America" edge. Shit sux.
Okay, now I'm being a bastard.

Soon to be TV movie " Merv Loves Work"

(A little something I wrote in Junior Year at University School Of Nashville in my "Love Stories" class. Merv Albright, an ode to Marv of Frank Miller's SinCity fame and Marv Albert of "YESHHH!" fame is mix up in an Office Space type would that he relishes to belong to. Strange right? Why would he want that? Hmph, maybe if we read a little we'll find out for ourselves)

An
André Churchwell Production


Merv jogs to catch up to the bus to his job. He’s almost directly behind it when it charges off without him. He slaps the back window and screams, "Where’re you going? Stop! You can’t leave without ME!"
The chase begins with him standing in astonishment. He takes of cutting through a mini-mart. In the front and out the side door, with a "Hi" and a "Bye" to the cashier he swings of the door handle. Skeeting down different alleys looking for a low gate or no-gate, he finds a lower than usual high-fence. With a sigh and a lunge, Merv klangs onto the fence and bounces off the earth. With a bit more resiliency and spirit, he kicks off the wall of the building to his right to get to the top of the fence. He strains his arms to get the rest of his body over the fence until he gets a foot over it. Easy as pie from here on. All Merv has to do now get to his work place before he gets fired for being late for the 20th time this month (13 the boss knows about). He doesn’t even see the bus parked out front the lot; a sign that he maybe too late. He storms into the building, not noticing the bus just pulling into the lot as he opens the door.
He stomps up the stairs when he finds he can’t wait for the elevator. He runs ramshackle through the office space and straight to the boss’s room. The secretary tries to stop him but to no avail. "You can’t go in there!"

Merv searches around and finds the room to be empty. "Where is he?" he says. She strikes back, "Oh, I don’t but you must go."
"(Chuckles, with a snort) Hey that was cool!"
"What?"
"You just made that rhyme, what you just said, that was cool."
"It didn’t really mean to…but I guess it’s true. Anyways, it’s not really that cool."
"(Snort) Oh, I whole-heartedly disagree."

By then Mr. Pennywinkle came out of the bathroom, buttoning up his pants he says, "What the Twinkies is going on here? Merv, what are you doing here?"
Merv goes into beg-mode, "Sir, I just want you to know that those last 10 infractions on the getting-here-on-time code were misjudgements on my part and I take full responsibility of." His boss, Mr. Pennywnickle tries to chime in, "But Merv…"

"Ah, I would like…love a chance to explain myself. Now this time, this time I really wanted to be here, sir. I have this passion for not getting thrown out of my office. I trailed the morning bus that was supposed to take me after that byzantine mongrel of a bus driver who wouldn’t stay the extra three seconds needed for me to get on the b..b…bloody bus! I ran over trashcans, outrun police dogs, climb a wall, and…and a clerk tried to shoot me! Yeah, for strolling through his store on my intent to find a shorten distance to this, your, establishment. What with the bruises and burns all over my…bruised and mangled body, frankly, I’m surprised I made it here in alive and enact. What more could I do? I was a mere runner in the race, nay, the marathon, nay, the Nascar for survival! One must have a trade or one does not exist (chokes on tears). So I say to you now, by my bonds, damn my track record and damn your preconceived notions!! I am Merv Albright, and I showed up to work!!!!"

A dramatic pause ensues, then the secretary and Mr. Pennywinkle look at each other.