27 October, 2011

Psych is the most racist show on television.

I know because I watch it. (Not enough to know the characters' names.) But there is a black guy and there is a white guy and they are in every scene. The comic talents of the two heretofore nameless actors are both middlin' and the personalities of the two characters are interchangeable, but in every scene the white guy says the choice line and the black guy is relegated to rejoinders. I call upon the two main actors in this series, Herman Goldberg and Shavontez Roosevelt, to differentiate characters and stop being racist or racialist.

Shavontez Roosevelt
needs our help!

14 October, 2011

I wrote some palindromes.

I am the king of exactly halfway finished palindromes. But here are some palindromes THAT REQUIRE NO EXPLANATION.

If I was a wi-fi.

Twas aemsborrobsmea! Saw 't!

Are we not aemsborrobsmea to new era?

Here are a few I wrote in ancient Marathi (hopefully your browser is set up to read Devanagari-2 encoding):

👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓

(I attended the Wat Purnima festival with my uncle, a sheepshear.)

👓 👓👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓 👓 👓 👓👓👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓 👓 👓 👓👓👓 👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓👓👓👓 👓👓👓👓👓

(Life is like an unbuttered pav.)

Alright, so I wrote 1 palindrome.

02 September, 2011

Things I have written in emails to my boss who doesn't read my emails.

"Colin Fredricks has yet to return your call. Dana Peale has yet to return your call. When speaking to Dana, remember she has a sultry phone voice but is mannish in person."

"The head of their board of directors was in The Spanic Boys. Decent band, kinda gay, but 10 times better than Lady Antebellum."

"The letter to Dana Peale will be published in a book of poems: The Tree Thief: Metaphysical Ecoconsciousness, edited by my college girlfriend Myra Metzer. The book will be available for $0. She accepts donations, so she may continue her work, but only in the form of 'Big Red Barn Cooperative Dollars.' She will not accept or even handle US currency."

"I'll deflate your inflatable goat and check the airline schedules."

"I think I should flat out just tell our intern to bleach her moustache. Where is her mother?"

"I will get Jimmy John's for the meeting. I will not get Toppers pizza. Toppers is a blight. Toppers thinks it can just muscle its way up to the pizza trough in Milwaukee, all market saturation and no excellence of pie. What's with the outrageous prices? Toppers needs to get over itself and its boilerplate product. Their slogan could be 'Toppers: Our pizzas are circular.' If I want Little Caesar's I call Little Caesar's."

Subject of email: "Colony collapse syndrome is a scam by big honey."

"James Lee stopped by the office in your absence. I had no clue he was Asian."

"Regarding bring your daughter to work day, I don't have a daughter so can I bring a case of Schlitz?"

"As per your request, I will no longer be concerned about the money your non-profit pays you for consulting. With your permission, I will continue to think it hilarious."

01 September, 2011

I have not posted in a while and this is a great way to tell you that I now have a son!!!

HI! I guess most of you know, there's a new Kowpoke in the Kapuchinski Klan Korral! He's so good looking that I think I'm having "gay panic." It's like the feeling when Paul Newman comes on screen unexpectedly and I make a little gasp. I want to make love to the little guy!

I really thought I'd never have a child to call my own, to love and to mold, to teach the things my father taught me. Like how to fish. My son will fish with me. "My son and I are going fishing" "My son." I just like saying the words. I want to climb a mountain and shout "I have a son! I finally have a son."

My wife Jane already put in the paperwork to call him "Cicci" which is pronounced Chee-Chee. The lawyer she keeps on retainer informs me this is her right. I think I will call him "Buck" though, in honor of the Milwaukee Bucks. "Buck" is what we currently call our adopted son, but fair is fair. I have a son!

20 August, 2009

Top 10 Maritime Disaster Songs


1. The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot

2. Sultana - Son Volt

3. The Sinking of the Reuben James - The Kingston Trio

4. Turkish Song Of The Damned - The Pogues

5. Seaward and Gone - Beck

6. Sloop John B. - The Beach Boys

7. The Scuttle of the SMS Derfflinger - David Hasslehoff

8. Pontoon Down! My Deposit! - Viva Water Law

9. The Rime of the Ancient Vulgarian - Evinrude Boyz

10. Qui a Oublié le Fucken Cooler? - Alizée

15 May, 2009

I made a new word -- Vageinstein!

Let's say you were talking about how your new boyfriend is really good in bed, you could say:

"He's a real Vageinstein!"


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14 May, 2009

The introduction to my 2002 book: Cinematic Dwarves

Subtitled: How Chad Lowe and the Black Hand of Elite Hollywood Short Guys Control the Industry.

My wife Jane enjoys a few glasses of red wine before bed, and she has the cutest chubby little fingers. I love each and every one of them, but they just don't possess the nimbleness required to handle a wineglass. A few years ago, Jane spilled a little vino into the laptop that the book I was writing was on. The data was irretrievable, but I forgave my wife instantly and completely. I never make fun of her fingers, which I call "my nummy widdle sausages" but now I remove all glassware from her hand and serve her her wine in a large-handled plastic safety container reminding her "We don't want any accidents!"

All I have left from my years of exhaustive documentation and writing are these intro passages from the inner and outer jacket.

The journey of research and realization recounted in this novel stems from a very personal experience. I saw Wesley Snipes and how short he was in the D.C. train station. I wasn't taking a train. I was just buying a pretzel. Wesley Snipes was dazzlingly good looking and dapper in his purple hat and on his way to the NCAAP awards being held in D.C. the same night as my cousin's wedding. Wesley Snipes is a good egg for going to that NCAAP awards show. He's great. I love his movies and I once edited some slander out of his wikipedia page, so it is not lightly or with any malice that I tell you: Wesley Snipes was not an inch over five feet tall. I had to actually squat to look at his face under the brim of his purple hat. It was no trick of the light. It's not like you need to have shortdar. It's not like gaydar or toupeedar, requiring skills of nuanced judgment that are not universal. Even children are accurate in gauging if someone is taller or shorter than them.

I saw a little Piven at a baseball game and he was great, but he was so tiny. He looked like a baby with his round head and chubby cheeks. He was a manbaby. I wanted to pick him up, and I don't know, just hold him? I'm pretty sure I asked. You've got to ask the tough questions, sometimes. Hard-hitting, mind-punishing questions. Questions I call "The Noodle Busters." Like why is Wesley Snipes so short? Why are a lot of celebrities kind of short? You ask questions then those questions start asking questions.

I hope this book asks those hard questions, then answers those questions harder. My research has inexorably concluded this worldwide conspiracy of Elite Hollywood Short People goes on right in front of our faces in our movies, our television shows, and our commercials. Piece together the snugly fitting fragments:

  • Movie and TV studio sets need to be locked down because they are designed by a closed cadre of workmen who have taken an oath never to tell the public they build their sets in 7/10 scale.

  • Ask any Director and he will tell you. Directing a movie is largely about one thing: framing the shots so that these tiny individuals don't look as bizarre on camera as they do in real life. It's called "forced perspective" and it's not always possible. In the movie Minority Report, normal-sized actor Max Von Sydow was paired with thumb-sized boy man Tom Cruise and Stephen Spielberg tried to get them as far away from each other as he could every shot, but it still looks like Max could pop off Tom's head and swallow it like a pill.

  • Did you know Tom Cruise is careful never to be photgraphed with any coins or dollar bills or any universally sized item that people could use to get a sense of the scale of the actor?

  • Did you know if Mel Gibson was just an inch taller, he wouldn't be an anti-semite, a heretic, or an alcoholic? Like Robert Downey Jr. and most other short people, Mel just can't process alcohol or major religions.

  • Did you know the average height for Australians is 5' 1"? But converted to Australian (or Crookaroo) that's 5'11"!

  • Did you know Chris O'Donnell used to live in a toadstool like a Smurf? The man is three apples high.

  • Did you know a lot of these short actors like Wesley Snipes have great bodies because it's easier for short people to work out? How far do you lift a weight? An arm length. Shorter arms means you're moving it less of a distance. He's probably got a really high metabolism like a squirrel. That's just science. 

Wesley Snipes is fit as a fiddle and could literally beat me up with one hand tied behind his back. He could beat me up with the hand that was tied up, because his thumb is stronger than my whole body. But I was hit by an epiphanic thunderbolt the moment I saw how short Wesley Snipes is. It all unraveled for me, the curtain flew back and I could see the men working behind the scenes. The Scientologists. Entertainment lawyers. The men who make special shoes for Russell Crowe, who has feet like a Geisha. A petite but sinister shadow conspiracy concieved in Australia and now run by Chad Lowe, a modern day Adam Weishaupt. This is the story of scores of other smart vicious men in the spirit of Napoleon. This is the story of the schemes and plots these gnomes conduct on a massive scale. It is a story of thousands of California co-conspirators and millions of their unwilling, unwitting benefactors -- movie audiences everywhere. This is the story of a Chad Lowe you didn't meet when he played that retarded kid on that show. Subtle and brilliant, Chad Lowe is a ruthless mastermind with thirsts for cocaine and grisly porn and a taste for vengeance.

This is the story of the littlest guys and the biggest lies, propped up by a complex architecture of misinformation and intrigue that spreads to every facet of the entertainment industry. We must out all the closeted short people, to cleanse our society from their lies, and for the common dignity of short people everywhere. It is misogyny to suggest that women, in all cases, be shorter than men. It would improve the mental health of short men to know that their favorite actors are themselves tiny despite mad attempts to avoid the fact. Disseminating this information can stop these little fellows from manipulating our minds and the movie industry. Metaphorically, we don't want them jumping out of the pies they're baked in and biting us on the finger like Jack did to the giant. This is the story of Cinematic Dwarves.

It should be noted that not all celebrities are short. I saw Famke Janssen once and she's about six foot. I saw her lift a horse cart that had fallen on a peasant girl. Then she broke coins with her bare hands in an ale house as the villagers cheered.

03 December, 2008

Christmas in Other Countries


In England they call Santa Claus "Mr. John Claus" and he wears a red deerstalker cap and smokes a calabash. Children are not permitted to sit on his lap but they can exchange brief nods from across the train station as he reads the paper. On Christmas, English kids eat pudding that is not from single-serve containers and a type of duck called "Goose." Good children receive pepper candies and buttered chestnuts and naughty children get the business with a riding crop on their bare bottoms until their buttocks shine striped hot and red.

In Italy Santa Claus is named Rizzo Claus and he wears fingerless gloves and a red speedo, dropping gold chains and dirty comic books into the pointy shoes of little Italian children, who leave out a little dab of hair gel for him next to a potted olive tree.

On the island of Malau it is the oldest unmarried child's responsibility to provide a Christmas feast for the family. They often tell a story there about a Malausi girl who had gotten a moorhen after one year's holiday celebration, promising to fatten it up for the next Christmas dinner. But the girl had started feeding it by hand, and by the monsoon season they were allowing it to walk around the hut like one of the family. They even named the moorhen "Pete." When Christmastime came around again, she did not think she had it in her to put Pete on the chopping block. So they ate the dog.

In Bulgaria it is not Santa who hands out toys and presents but his sinister companion, Lurthamog. Lurthamog of the Fallen Darkness, Slayer of Light! Lurthamog has six rotating sets of horns on his head, both his fangs and eyes are located in a gigantic wolf's jaw, and he is commonly depicted with a massive barbed penis. "Be nice this Christmas," say the old Bulgarian grandmothers "Or you'll get it in the ass with Lurthamog's spiked shaft!" And no one sets out a Christmas dinner table like the Bulgarians: Warm Cabbage Slaw, Cooked Cabbage, Cabbage in Water, Pan Cabbage, Cabbage Mush, Brown Cabbage & Beets with Cabbage sauce, and for dessert, a crisp wedge of room-temperature Christmas Cabbage!

In Ireland Christmas comes for the children one or two days late. On the morning of the 25th, children usually just find the person they suspect may be their father passed out in a "Yule Puddle" near the fireplace. Christmas Day is the one day Irish children are not allowed to say "Fuck" during their prayers. No, it does not snow in Ireland, that's actually dandruff, but it is festive nonetheless.

In Detroit they invented this spurious holiday called Kwanzaa to take advantage of day-after sales at the Zayre's. Santa Claus is depicted as a black man with a white beard, but most black kids know he is really a white. Kwanzaa is a time to wear tall brimless cylindrical hats.

In Texas they start celebrating Christmas on October 5 because there's no law against that or anything else. They string lights around the Christmas Tumbleweed and re-gift the bullets and bolo ties and Bible Books-on-CD they got last year. After a Christmas dinner of ribs and beef ribs, they attend church in an aluminum sided warehouse right off a ramp on Highway 44 to hear Rev. Jimmy Ray's homily on how Christmas didn't matter to Jimmy Ray back when he was in a motorcycle gang dealing angel dust up and down that same 44. It's actually pretty entertaining and worth a couple bucks in the tray -- It's Christmas.


14 August, 2008

If I Was Stranded on an Island and Could Only Bring Four Recipes...

Coconut Surprise

Sandy's Cream of Coconut Soup

Seawater Pot Pies

Gangrenous Foot Salad

12 August, 2008

100 Formerly Private Secret Shames of Loland Kapuchinski (redacted version)





  4. Cold sores that make policemen ask “Are you alright, sir?”


  6. Bushy chest hair trimmed so it looks like I have pectoral muscles under tee shirt






  12. Nancy Sinatra Syndrome


  14. Manifold appreciation for the female form

  15. Allergies

  16. Not actually allergic to anything, just crying


  18. Fountain soda syrup-to-soda mix ratio judgmentalism causing friction between me and Tania, the local gas station attendant.


  20. Motorcycle into pool -- not good for either. I thought it would be like peanut butter and chocolate


  22. PORTION REDACTED …but in my defense, she was super ugly

  23. Saving the world, one me at a time


  25. Proud of being excellent sandwich delivery boy

  26. Fake lower voice still quite high

  27. Seen PORTION REDACTED four times already this year

  28. Pooped the bed at camp

  29. As often as I was able



  32. Tattoo half-done for eight years. I kept falling asleep. Apparently this Vegas scumbag tattoo institution a $75 dollar cab ride away from the Flaming O has some code of tattoo scumbag junkie ethics that says you can’t tattoo someone who is enjoying a well-earned nap after winning $1100. After all, why would I want to sleep through someone coloring my flesh with a vibrating needle? And these scammer druggies wanted to charge us $300 an hour for the time we spent asleep on two of their many chairs. PORTION REDACTED So it says “Mot” and I think I like it that way, because Mom actually hated tattoos.

  33. Vermouth drinker

  34. "Sympathetic pregnancy pains" just vermouth sick




  38. Hate U2


  40. Into radio rap



  43. Easily startled




  47. Know too many Rush lyrics

  48. Mind is not for rent


  50. They don’t call me “Kid Genius” as much anymore .


  52. “Plumber’s elbow” actually “tennis elbow”

  53. “Tennis elbow” actually from pulling it

  54. “Third nipple” actually huge disgusting mole


  56. Pee-hole in penis seems to be frowning. Frowning when I look at it. If you were facing it, it would look to be smiling, but no one faces it.


  58. I used to rap about bowel movements and chewing tobacco with a kid from Immaculate Conception named Pat Flynn, who had no rap name other than Pat Flynn. This is from a rap about using the bathroom, “Bowl Rocker.” “I like to loop it. I eat it then I poop it. When I’m on the mic I get stupid. You poop. I poop. We poop-ed.”

  59. Pat Flynn and I lost a talent show to good-looking lip-syncers, sisters who also did magic tricks, tarnishing the music industry permanently for us.


  61. Ninety-eight year old grandma leaves me a message -- it took me two weeks to even listen -- I don’t sweat it because that bitch will live to a thousand.

  62. Mock ghetto

  63. Faux French

  64. Der baddener German




  68. Hands soft as lilies

  69. Decreasing appreciation for my affected, arty penmanship in digital society

  70. Worst analgrams ever

  71. Anagrams even worse

  72. Hundreds of exactly halfway finished palindromes


  74. Xanadu, man. He roller skated right into that wall. That's love!




  78. Onion did not use my story idea “Kansas Schools to Begin Teaching Deckard Was Not a Replicant.”

  79. Still haven’t decided on weblog name

  80. What month is this? And the year? Help me out on the day while you’re at it. Then I haven’t missed it! Oh, I did miss it? I missed it.

  81. I have never learned Grace, the prayer Catholics say before dinner, or I guess eating, but not breakfast. I never learned Grace because we say it together. I don’t even know how it starts. But my being a lousy Catholic is a whole different breast-beating six-volume list of shames in and of itself.

  82. Hummingbirds and jaguars (I’m still listening to the Frente! album!)

  83. West Texas, then West Allis have bemulleted my person. While my actual hair appears normal, there is a perceptible “shadow mullet” hanging over me.

  84. Summer sausage and sardines in mustard? Pumpernickel pickle-lily cucumber sandwiches? Commit to a comic diet, why don’t you?

  85. Nicknamed roomate's girlfriend with messed-up hand “J.T.”















Phoning the end in...

Who am I kidding? Not one thing on this list brings me down one notch. I am the notch. As same as I ever was. I will remain the quiet storm, while you are just posing like a fronter. Smell my ass at your leisure, fronter.