this women is diebolicely friagthenaing. shes a robot. ppl liek taht are always robots. one a theas days the maskll come off an youl be like 'oh wel yeah i awys knew she was a robit like totly' but youl be lyign. because u were fooled.

forcafuly raject the tyreny of coolnes standrads! let a thuousend tipjarrs contend!

update!

harry huten says,

By the power vested in me by P. Diddy, I declare this blog uncool.

p didy himslef?! jesus i had no idea it was taht serous! but at lest its not fiddy sent.

the wrod 'grooviness' first appeard in pirnt in 1867 in the pall mal gazate: 'teh grooviness and insinceraty of westren diplomecy...'

didn mean teh same thign bcak than tho. it ment 'like stuck in a groove'. which kidna sploils it.

grobian, n: "teh type of borishnes ... a clowanish slovanly persen" (oed).

its saposed to be form teh german 'grob'. i wondar if mike roykos grobnik fambly is related. slats grobnik by the way has sperung to life!

so ther was this graet and fersome clowan in a cave in teh wods. an he et the viligars form time to time. one day he adbuctad a fare made form a givan vilage an some a the rude swains of teh localety setald on a plan to get er back! but whan tehy hoave in view he grabd teh frist one an the othars ran. which was just as well cause hed alredy et teh chick anyhow. not bein hugry he wrang the kids neck an stuck him in a tree for breakfast an setlad down for a good nights sleep.

the next moraning he went out an a bear had eatan half the body! but he was of a phiasophecal dispositoni so he just shrugd an said 'oh well half an oaf is betar then none'.

port knocker? what abot er starboard knocker?!

so i was tlakin to my dad an i says 'im not as dumb as i look dad'. so he says 'oh dont sel urelf shrot. of cuoarse u are'.

[The story begins here.]

I came to in a bed, gently rocking, my head squeezed in a vise at every motion. They'd put me on a train. My skull felt like a rotten melon, my face was numb. I crawled out of bed and fell on my face. My face was too big and my feet felt wrong. My toes weren't where they belonged. I knew the feeling: Somebody'd slipped me a needle while I was out. No way of knowing how long I'd been in dreamland. I looked around. Pullman berth. Pitch dark outside the window, but... too dark. It was painted black. I'd scrape it off, if they gave me time. Meanwhile I needed water.

I scaled the sink like it was Everest, and it took about as long. Finally I got a look at myself in the mirror.

And screamed. And screamed and fell to the shifting floor of that Hell-chamber and screamed again.

My face was stark pure white. And my nose: A sphere the size of a golf ball, bright red, matching my hair. And on my feet... CLOWN SHOES!

—

"So that's how it happened, kid. That's how I got into this line of work. You asked, I gave. Mighty white of me, eh? Heh heh heh. No pun intended."

I could tell my personal history had touched his heart, but in my business you can't be too sentimental. The worn old GI .45 still felt good in my hand, whatever shoe size I may happen to wear now. I worked the slide and let him have it.

The shot echoed around the old warehouse. I checked my watch: 1:07 am. The kid's eyes went dull and flat and he'd never see anything ever again. Outside, it was raining.

"Nothing personal, kid. Nothing personal."

[ previous | begin ]

[The story begins here.]

The worn old GI .45 felt good in my hand and I slapped her across the temple with the barrel and made for the door. I never did like to shoot a dame, and this time it almost killed me. Her first shot went wild but the second caught me in the ribs low on the right-hand side. Then I had to shoot her after all. I staggered out into the drumming downpour, cursing myself for a fool.

I walked until I could hardly stand, going noplace but away from there and looking over my shoulder with every step. I holed up in an alley til I could walk again but still my head wouldn't settle down. In another alley I shared a quart of Dago red with a rough old bum who couldn't speak. The wine cleared my thoughts and I set out for the edge of town, to find a place out of that relentless rain. The next alley I passed I heard a sound just a hair too late. The sap caught me behind the ear and all I knew was a moment of roaring flashing obscurity as I fell.

[ previous | begin | next: the gripping conclusion! ]

[The story begins here.]

"Buy me a drrink, sholder?"

"I'm not a soldier, sister. Not now. Not any more."

"Well, you don' look like a sailor."

She laughed like a wood-chipper eating a pint bottle of rotgut bourbon. She was loaded to the gills. Just another worn-out bottle blonde on the wrong side of forty in a lonely town, scraping the rent together with her shopworn carcass, the only way she knew how. That's what I thought, all right. Yeah, I'm a real judge of character. I was a fine old judge of character as I let her keep leaning against me because I didn't have the heart to push her away. I was a real smart fella. I knew it all, I did, right up until the moment I looked down and saw her shoes. Shoes two feet long. Bright red, turned up at the end. And then I felt the muzzle of a .32 against my ribcage.

[ previous | begin | next ]

[The story begins here.]

I walked down the steps and out into the storm, rain coursing off my hat brim. The driver remembered me and didn't move to fetch the bag he knew I didn't have. They don't like the kind of men who travel without luggage. He didn't love me for it one bit and he stared me down with hard stupid narrow little eyes under his pointed hat. I flipped him a dime and said "Thanks for the personal attention, Jack. Bread upon the waters, Jack. A hundredfold." He didn't like that any better but by then I was walking away, making for the one lighted doorway on the street. "Ernie's Grill", the sign said. Not too much light inside. My kind of place.

I walked into the dim little taproom with water-stained walls and one old man behind the bar, and one sad old girl on the other side of it in a too-tight dress, waiting for her luck to change. I didn't care to change it, myself, but she thought different. She stumbled down from her end of the bar and collapsed half-leaning on me on the stool next to mine.

[ begin | next ]

1. 'a is teh new b' is hte new 'in: a; out: b'.

2. 'pachinko' is the new 'cooze'.

3. it is my firm an setled baleif taht 'holy fucking fuckola' is or uoght to be teh new 'OMGWTFBBQ'.

4. 'cradulity' is not teh new 'credibility' ragardless of what ppl thikn.

i have spokan.

1:07 AM. Oblesburg.

The Greyhound jerked to a stop in a driving rain, tossing me out of a warm dream of a time that'll never come again, a time before the war. I rubbed my eyes and looked out through the crazy rivers on the window glass. A shabby rotten little corner of a shabby little city, a city full of shabby decent people who just want some peace and never seem to get it. A forgotten place to jungle up for a while until Kroc's boys back on the Coast forgot my face.

I looked at my watch. 1:07 AM. This was the place, all right.

[ next ]

update!

MNK said...

Catn umrstnad a bluddy wrd, rite ni Egnlich mna.

tihs form a guy who cant splel 'bloudey'.

ive been geting a lota rusian spam latley. it goes thruough gmails spam filtar like gras through a goose. i think their rasorting to rusien for taht very reason. but thares a flaw in they're plan.

update!

i hoap taht hedline dosnt say anythign dirty. if i geta buncha angry driveby posts refered by google serches sayin 'WHER ARE GURL IS UNDER WARE! YOU ARE CHEAT!' then i gues ill know somethigns amis.

anothar update!

welcome to teh good ppl of kirovskaya oblast! thakn u for ur patiance! its all a terible misundarstadnning!

cavalcade of updates!

imtrepad reder soumichris ofars hope! "I'm pretty sure it doesn't say 'pachinko', so you at least don't have that to worry about."

update again!

vague says "They're advertising 'Shengen' Visas from 100 U.E." she knows rusian? thats prety cool.

one a my nabors useta be maried.

one night theid hada partked the car six bolkcks away bafore cause that was teh nerest they culd find. then teh next day she an her husban wlaked outa teh house an thare was a empty parking spot rihgt there! well so she stood in teh space whiale he wen't to get teh car. but teh funy thing was he had one of thoase momants that mareid ppl sometimes have an hejust kept drivign. so she wiated thhare for an hour an than anothar hour an then all night an finely the next day aruond lunchtime she strated to relize somethign had gone very wrong. so she got a chiar an put it out there an went inside for a bath an a nap.

he sent her a letar form new mexaco six monthas later askign for a davorce. shed kept the parkign space taht whoale time — out thare day an night — so ti was a bit of a blow but what culd she do? so shhe worote back an said 'yeah sure if thats what u feel u gota do but if u evar come back here an thikn ur getin taht parking space back ur outa ur mind.'

its funy how u can go alogn for years not givign somhting teh slightast thuoghat an than sudanly u sit bolt upright an relize it rely needs to be adresed. i refar of cuorse to teh fact that wilim butlar yates is whildly overrated. what ware they thinkign whan they took im seriously? jupmin jesus! what asshats. an we still sufer for the chowderheaded jugemant of his comtemperaries to this vary day.

thares only one thats evan halfway wroth redin.

dowm by teh sally garnads my loav an i did sneeze
she blesd teh snailey gradans whit litl snowwhite fleas.
she bid me quit my howalin an swingin form teh trees
but i bein a pompous chowderhead with her wuld not agrea.

in a yada yada my lofe an i did snooze
an then got good an stinko on a quart a snow-white booze.
she bid me take love easy as the drunk fals off teh stool
but i grabed her boob er somethign an i guess that was uncool.

aux barricades, readers! its long past time for teh verdict of histary to bop that punk-ass bum right in the snoot.

might wana take a shot at sean o'casey too. whata loser.

update!

reders bystander an vague have both raminded me of teh secand coming. which i hafta admit that ones prety damn good. but i stil maintain he was a craphead on teh whole.

weather.bostston.com has a shiny sun icon for teday an cliams its gona be 'mostly suny'. well thats a loada crap. its gloomy. havent seen teh sun all mornign.

WHO R THEY WROKIN FOR?

update!

an hour after i psoted this teh sun came out an they changed the forcsat to 'Intermittent Clouds'. ovbiously tryna covar they're tracks. somboddy musta relized im onta em.

i bean muterin so much about chowdarheads i dacided to have chowder for diner. so i thot id share my recipy because lets face it im alitle short on clowan stories today.

arlingtons scalop chowder

this is abot as simple as u can get an still call it chowder. also if some asshat form new yrok tries to feed you tomata soup an calls it 'chowder' i sugest you shoot im. an if some asshat form boston tries to give you pumpernikcel an calls it 'dark rye bread' i suggast u shoot him. a pox on both of em.

igrediants

• 1/2 cup fish stock¹
• 1/2 cup whole milk
• 1/4 cup minced onion
• 2 tablspoons buttar
• one mediam red potater diced 1/4 inch or so er a bit moare. i mean for gods sake dont get al o.c.d. abot it ok.
• 1/4 tespoon salt
• 1/4 tsp frech garound black peper
• mabe 1/3 pound a bay scalleps or so. or sea scallaps i guess.

melt butter in pan. add minced onion. keep the heat low! u just wana soften em not cramelize em.

at teh same time put the potato an fish stock in a pot. cover an cook real slow for fifteen minutes or so until the potaters all soft an the stock is starchy. stir real good several times as you go along to get some starch off the taters and make sur it all dont stick. u want it thick whit lumps. if u dont like lumps in ur chowder u can just go to hell for all i care.

when the potato glops ready add the mlik to it an stir it. then crank up the heat undar the onions a bit. when thats goin good an sizlin add scllalpes to onions. cook em one minute on either side (er maybe two if theyre sea scallaps). youll want em slightly browned but watch out u dont wana overcook em. they turn inta superbals real easy.

at two minutes on teh dot (er 4 if sea scalps yada yada) add the milk/potato glop an the salt an peper an let simmer real low for two minutes.

its done! eat it! crusty bread an beer! decent beer whit some balls not budwiser or whatever crap liek that. i thikn ipswich nut-brown is ideal with this one. er reguler ipswich ale. but HA HA U LOSE if ur not in new egland ur probly s.o.l. on ipswich! but siera nevada i.p.a. is ok. er hey even sam adams. just not schlitz for gods sake. i mean it.

this makes one hefty servign. multiply at will.

¹ ppl say botled clam juice is a tolerable substituate for fis stock but i nevar tried. i use kichan basics sefood stock myslef but i dont especily vuoch for it. im waaaay to lazy to colect fish bones an all taht crap an make my owan is all.

mesurmants for all teh weird foraners: a cups 237 ml. a teaspoons just shy of 5 ml. a tablspoun is three tespoons. a puond is 2.2 kilagrams. HAR HAR HAR ok its teh othar way aruond.

kiler fact!

in rode island they put chorizo or linguica in theyre clam chowader an also red peper flakes an olive oil. lotta portaguese in rhoade islend. also cape verdeans more recently.

whan i frist lived in bsoton the first place i livd in was so small i culdnt fit all my stuf in it so i hadda keep some of it in the trunk of my car. wel itt turns out taht cloathes are bendy and you can stuff em in oddshaped places prety good so tthats what i kept thare. which was kinda inconveniant havign to go out to hte sidewlak to chagne but aftar a whiale the naybors got useta it an realy overal id haveta say it was sorta libaratign. on the whole. but cold.

update!

asshat is the new chwoderhead!

ppl tlak abot cows 'lowign' or 'mooing'. an those nuetral terms are al vary wel in teh relm of the absteract. but when u actuly lisen to em it suonds moare like moaning. or groaning:

aaaaaawwwwww shit. im a coooooowwwwww... a goooooodddddd dammmmmmnnn coooooowwwwww....

usuly this is news to em cause their not real briaght.

but anyhow. 'contantmant'? 'contentmant' my ass. its despair.

update!

thats a 'w' u sick freak!

this funy lookin guy just wona contest or somethign in englend. congeratulations dude.

saw this door in teh harvrad square subway statoin in cambridge (the real one in masachusats. not teh one in wales er whatevar):

ok!

for resons which i persenaly find reprahensable but also funy vogue of zemblen garmer is consarned with her gougal rankign whan ppl serch for the wrod "pachinko". shes lowar on teh list than one of the wrost sogns teh pogues evar recorded. i ask u is this justice? no. it is not justiace.

wel are u a man er a muose? or a women or a mouse? i mean ur not a mouse right? right. me nether.

pachinko!

update!

this is aparantly cald 'goggle bobbing'. dunno why.