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.

WE'RE OFF TO SEE THE JOKER! THE WONDERFUL...AHHHIMONFIREAHHH!!

Watchmen.
Dark Knight.
I have now found out that I'm gay (for these movies!) for Dr. Manhattan’s blue crotch.
They actually have it in the trailer!
I can't wait for the redband with photo realistic BIG BLUE PENIS LIGHT emitting from the screen.

So tomorrow's the big day and I'm going with my uncle and HIS RAPPING SON!
I was planning on watching Batman & Robin tonight to dare/compare the villain treatment "Let's kick some ICE!"
Lo and behold, I found a treasure trove of logic leaps that kinda kept me laughing lots (that was incidental, I swear).

I want to read Book of Magic and head to La-La Land so that my mind will be filled with magic and its vague machinations. Maybe I'll converse with John Constantine before the big day.
How interesting...now I want to make that story happen. An account of my meeting John Constantine in Dreamland along with various random characters (and Kirby is nowhere to be found = IRONY). I'd better rub up on my cockney accents.

Whatever, I need to write something before the big gig in the unavoidable coming fall.
School, that is.
Art school.

My RAPPING COUSIN and his friend apparently just found a place of interest that wants a 30 minute show and will pay depending on admittance. Some place in downtown south Nashville. Owned by a church (hurmmm). Called the Rocket-Somethingorother. GO! IF YOU WANT TO!

Peter Capp is Batroc ze Leaper

I was doing my Peter Capp voice when I was driving my way to the car shop (I practice voices when I drive by myself...huh...hadn't thought about the reprecussions of THAT act) and I remember Ed Brubaker (current award-winning writer for Captain America) making a comment in an interview that went to the affect of "I would love to put Batroc the Leaper in there but I can't write in a French accent accurately." This got me mad. How come Brubaker doesn't just force the accent? I want Batroc ze Leaper so badly in a Brubaker comicbook (especially after reading the Immortal Iron Fist: the Last Iron Fist Story Hardcover) cause Batroc is a nonsensical, formidable, mustachioed, madman who speaks with French phrases that sound like gibberish if translated. He's like a French Deadpool, except for the healing factor and weapons and ductape.


From his wikipedia article under Quotes:

Batroc uses many French terms which may strike even the American reader who makes up most of Marvel's audience as stereotypical; a native speaker of French may find Batroc's dialogue not only stereotypical but hilariously badly translated: "Zut alors!" (Batroc uses this term even in a totally inappropriate context) "Sacre Bleu!" (An expression spelled as one word in French.) "Alas, you are too sensitive, mon cher! But, c'est la vie!" "Nom du chien! Your insolence is insupportable-- insufferable!! For zat you shall pay un mille fois!" (Batroc should say "Nom d'un chien" and he shouldn't use the "un" for "mille fois") "Is it not très formidable!" (Andre: "It is not very tough!" Sure it makes sense here but in French to say something isn't something you have to say it with a "ne pas" around the verb. Without it the phrase "trés formidable" means: you/it are/is very tough! So it sounds like this to me: "It is not-YOU'RE VERY TOUGH!" "Ah, mon pauvre petit!" (Andre again: he basically called Captain America his daughter) Batroc inserts so much mangled French terminology into his speech, that Captain America once asked him "Who gave you your English lessons, Doctor Doom?"

Back in my car, I suddenly start cackling in the Peter Capp I-am-not-from-this-country-voice that "I AM BATROC! ZE LEEPERR!" It goes down hill from there (depending on which direction I was driving I could have easily gone uphill. Well, that joke sucked)


That is all.

BONG

And down this road, you will face your ultimate fear...living with your parents when your 30.

Today is a brand new day for me.

I'm taking the reins.
I'm bringing up baby.
I'm takin' em to Missouri.
I'm knowin' when to holddem and when to folddem, when to walk away and when to run.
It's fantastic!
I am so doing stand-up as a job this summer (along with many part-time ones, OH that reminds me to check my e-mail for UPS's response to my e-mail).
I am doing something of magnitude everyday.
I am calling the people that need to be called every week.

Starting today, no more lazy about watching shit on the internet (I've done enough to last me a lifetime back in college).
I need to write and read and work every single day.
I have a year to get myself awesome and show my 'rents that Andre Lemont Churchwell Jr. is the man that they though he was going to be when he was sired those many moons ago.
I got movie ideas that need tinkering.
Bits that need it too.
My room need s to be the cleanest of the house.
And my comic books....ooh boy...my comic books will be studied and pondered about till I can create an original idea for one myself.

They will be no stopping me.
Except you.
Not you, the happy reader.
YOU.
INTERNET.

I must salvage what I can of my will and strength and keep these brandwith demons at bay long enough to...catch up on the news of a Runaway's movie?...Wah-WHAT! And Brian K. Vaughn is writing the scrip-NOW THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKIN' BOUT WILLIS!

....er...

Good 'morrow.

There was a time I never read a book, no matter the cost...

Chapter three of George Orwell's Nineteen-Eighty-Four

An elaborate scheme to keep the future society of Oceania in constant internal struggle to conform , to resist, and to have their minds in constant preoccupation with punishment. In a book full of practical and impractical elaborate schemes it would be fitting that this whole system of proles and the inner-party, The Revolution, Big Brother (who we do not see), and Emmanuel Goldstein (who we also do not see) were just pawns and rooks to keep the people busy. What gets me down that line of thinking is the two major figures that represent opposite ends of the civil spectrum (Big Briother and Mr. Goldstein) could be figmental characters that perpetuate this inner war with everyone in Oceania. Does not the fact that no body sees the Wizard not grain on everyone working for them? All you need is one brave soul or a straw to break the camel's back to reveal a giant machine that sends recorded messages to both sides of this civil dispute.

And now, if a may a silly poem

Am I useful?
I don't mean to askthe question: Can I do something useful?
No.
I mean can I do something that utilizes human ingenuity and practicality as well as be interesting?
Could I perhaps drive a fork lift?
Not a small fork lift.
A huge one.
With skill of a man twice my age and a deft field of vision not applied to my other task.
Can I sing a duet?
With any old dude or gal.
And make the whole thing better with and without rehearsal,
through sheer style and choice of improvisational movement.
With if...I knew gun fu?
Something silly that I would not ordinarily consider but have seen in a great many media.
I could have exceptional taste soup that gets people ready for brain-bending sex.
I just never could bring myself to offer up the advice to a trustworthy human being.
If only I had years in a hole,
to try and fail,
to surprise myself,
to live differently thereon out.
Perhaps I make bold statements the best of all others.

No.
That sound like something Jesus told himself.
I'm not Jesus.

I am Junior.