social

Whacked my head on my helmet.

In my head I want to play soccer. In my heart I don't want to waste sweat on anything more than a header in my bedroom.

Been waiting on Spore for so long that my expectations are higher than the running boards on God's Cadillac.

Bye & Bye gingerale makes me cry & cry.

I've been bowling with Sisyphus for two hours and we're still on the first frame.

Might be late. The drones that bully me are hovering around the bike racks.

My roommates shot a film. Premieres tonight. It’s a fundraiser. Come out and draise some fun. Trailer and info:

John Jacob Jingle Heimer Schmidt, his name is my name, too. Whenever I go out, the people always shout, "Hey... guy."

Wondering if I should ride back and give her my phone number.

Paul Newman, I thank you for dressing my salad days. Wish I could shake your cool hand.

Does hydrofluoric acid really dissolve bone? I'm asking for an accomplice.

Sky Mall should be called The Duller Image.

Getting prepared to migrate to Beulahland for another night of DJing.

This bar is mavericky.

The hot dog presides over the culinary world like a booger-flicking bachelor prince.

If we were in prison, this tweet would be concealed in my rectum.

Listening to the silentist album called house on the hill. Phenomenal.

Attractive people all look the same.

With all of the high heels and bubble gum waiting for the LIRR in Penn Station, you could build another Yankee Stadium.

This croissant is so flaky, it didn't even show up to breakfast.

Using a pencil eraser for the first time in seven years.

Washing my mouth out with hope.

My smoke signals bill doubled last month, but only because I upgraded my signaling blanket. Now I get free migrating and unlimited strata.

Been awake 22 hours. Welcoming delirium and hysteria with open arms and droopy eyelids. God help me.

There should only be one World's Greatest Dad mug. It can change hands when the top father dies or overcooks a steak.

At a downtown bus stop. Was offered Xanax by one guy. I declined. Another agressively tried to sell me the largest brick of hash I've seen.

We have complex slang for covertly discussing drugs. "Fuck this multicellular eukaryotic organism ish. Let's define like Carl Woese."

Sorry, kid. "Her intestines burst liverwurst" is the grossest rhyme I can write on an empty stomach.

Go-go dancers should be called come-come dancers.

Picked up a hamburger from Christopher's. Chewed it so hard that one of my earbuds popped out.

Actual window shopping makes me feel like a neo-luddite after all the hours I've spent on ebay. Same temptations, different windows.

Twitter, I'm cheating on you. With Tumblr. Remember when I said I was at Lou's, watching the game? I had my blog in Tumblr's whore mouth.

My main problem with skateboarding: Suddenly I have these two arms I'm not using, and I have no idea what to do with them. Any ideas?

Sitting at the Stumptown Annex, holding it down. Trying to figure out how to fit fifty things into one day without taking any speed.

High school reunion? No thanks. Instead I'll drink a glass of Sudafed, drive through the wall of a yarn shop, and spill bongwater on myself.

Twitter got blotto at the Roller Rink last night and woke up sick next to some total bitch named Desiree who can't even cook a damn omelet.

Yeah dude. That hat is so rap-metal, it wears you backwards.

Too tired to do anything productive, not tired enough to go to bed. Where are narcotics when you need them?

This must be where you buy party poppers in Oklahoma, 'cause this gun shop is packed.

"Coming up... it's magician against high-powered rifle." It'll be magical if he loses.

We accidentally pulled into an In-N-Out parking lot in Arizona: proof that good burgers happen to bad people. Animal style.

Never use condoms on Fathers’ Day. It’s disrespectful to dads.

Not downloading pornography.

Gotta be honest with you. Every time I post to Twitter via text message, I'm phoning it in.

checking out the wonders of twittervision.

If you're fishing for compliments, don't be surprised when you catch my boot.

I often guzzle cough syrup until I'm able to high-five God and low-five Satan at the same time.

Remember me on this computer.

Fortified by a tumor-sized HoneyCrisp apple and 2.5 laser-etched glasses of H2O. If I cut myself right now I'd bleed mulled apple cider.

Stuffing the chimney with razor wire so this year isn't a repeat of last year.

Octogenarian just stood up to get off the bus and I realized he's wearing Nyquil-green leather pants.

I'd kiss Walt Whitman. But only so he could act as the tongue of me.

Georgia Bold Italic is on my mind map.

Sometimes I look at my legs and wonder what things would be like if they had kept growing. Sometimes I look between them and think the same.

Coughing up Claus.

Anyone who tells you that "laughter is the best medicine" doesn't have access to opiates.

The immutable lust for biscuits and honey consumes me. Again.

Sometimes the locks just don't hold.

If any of you BarCampPortland guys need something to do after the events tonight, stop by Moloko on N. Mississippi and Shaver. I'm DJing.

This subw y is so p cked th t every swe t droplet from my brow hits 7 people before the floor. Sorry. Wom n's eyelid is blocking my " " key.

After I rubbed my chin raw in the day's gravel lot, my lady says, "Buck up. We're Zeus and Hera. Thunderbolts! Swan rape!" And all is right.

This rain is a Thor in my side.

I opened a root beer and my girlfriend, without looking, said, "Bless you". Next time I sneeze she's going to want a sip.

BBQ, joint.

Can we please strike "bling" from our culture's nomenclature? It lost its shine in '99.

In Oklahoma, moving van and all. Jesusfuckwhathavewedone.

Art imitates strife.

Christmas is a lie. Rainbow candy canes are cherry.

revising sample sentences.

Thanks to the Internet, you've seen more naked women than Hugh Hefner.

INCREDIBLE SAVE. Firstborn will be named Kevin Durant. (My dad gets all the credit.)

Drinking whiskey in a bar and doing a crossword.

Cooling at Hanukkah Miracle's joint, watching kids hustle history.

On Long Island, trying to watch the Met game in a bar full of drunk Yankee fans. I've got so much balls, I should've walked by now.

Said goodbye to a friend visiting from S.F., saying goodnight to the rest of the world.

Cartoons are complex. Popeye is a vegetarian, but he doesn't recycle.

The man at the information desk at this Barnes & Noble can't tell me whether "rimjob" is one word or two.

While Twitter was down I had a few terse phone conversations, wrote mundane-activity haiku, and bought a box of fortune cookies for solace.

My college experience was predatory. I majored in minors.

Reefer sadness.

I listen to Suicidal Tendencies, so I totally know what you're going through.

I'm currently following 187 people. You know what that means. If you don't, it's time you invested in hardcore rap. Start with Biggie.

Today I'm going to ask my dentist if I can have a love canal.

I'm so short, even my tall tales are on the DL.

Google Video Chat means that now I have to shower, shave, and clean my house every time I call my parents to say hi. The future is hard.

I asked the wind to sign my yearbook. It flipped through and scrawled "fag" over every photo I appear in.

getting back to work before I forget what my computer is for.

DJing drags. The equipment is too heavy. Wish I had taken up the flute instead. It might have given me a shot at the "Oval Office."

I have so much red meat in my stomach that somewhere in the world, cartoon Disney animals are weeping Aquafresh tears.

Mic gets checked. So does my patience.

If my girlfriend were any more difficult, I'd mistake her for calculus and flunk out.

Must find a new place to live by March 1st. Keeping fingers crossed for a geodesic dome or a hidden lair with a swivel-bookshelf entrance.

I bet Quasimodo hated when people said "humpback." Call it a hunch.

As you should. Ask him what color his light saber is. If he says, "flesh tone", jump him. But save some for me.

Out here we call sweet tea "jug juice." Then we call the dentist.

Remember when we used to call it "hydro"? Neither do I.

Freelancing is the 2nd best way to make money in bed.

Trying to figure out which part of my body to sell.

At the Thunder game with Dad. This is the first sports event we've attended together. There's not a place in the world I'd rather be.

When you're a skateboard-plowing sidewalk farmer, undetected dog dung is fertilizer for the faceplant.

Good taste is for meals.

Looking for a red pen. Need to make corrections to my roommate's diary.

Do you suspect that people who wear glasses feel intellectually superior to those who don't? Are these words coming out too fast?

If it's true that "life ain't shit but bitches and money", I'm going to spend today focusing on the bitches.

The scariest thing about Halloween is the cavities you'll get.

I eat so much sugar that my tears attract hummingbirds.

Deejaying the Nike Christmas party. Wearing Adidas.

Waiting for the bus for so long now that I'm beginning to hate the people driving by in their warm cars.

There's no remote control for cats, but a laser pointer is the closest thing.

Kids these days are growing up strange. If we'd had iPhone apps that ate our Brussels sprouts for us, we'd be cyborgs too. #inmyday

Giving a Blue Jay the bird.

I'm so pale, I moonlight as the moonlight.

Never call shotgun in my neighborhood. It means something entirely different.

Vampires are light sleepers.

Inventing a roach whistle. It's edible, of course.

I like New York in June... how about you buy me a plane ticket?

Doing my best to keep all balls levitating.

Woke up with a brain-bisecting headache. Now that the pained has waned, a burning desire for biscuits has taken over. Too busy, too broke.

Ordering a steaming plate of ambition with a side of gumption, to go.

You know what's incredibly painful? Broken glass. Especially when propelled into your cheek while observing a nearby car wreck.

Mitch Hedberg died in 2005 and was reincarnated as Twitter in 2006.

This one is by the same writer, and might be even better:

Haven't shaved in so long that I scratched my cheek and an ex-girlfriend tumbled out. No, that's a tape worm.

Our parents wanted us to become doctors and lawyers. We want our children to become software engineers and UX designers.

Mo' funny, mo' problems.

Paying debts with baby oil, sweat, and humility. Probably also getting some, so fuck it.

Bathroom is too far away. Wish I could leave my brimful bladder under this pillow for the Pee Fairy and go back to sleep.

Michael Crichton's angel wings bristle every time he sees how many strings there are on David Foster Wallace's harp.

Joke I designed to offend you -
Q: How many AIDS-infected African children does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: Bono.

NEW DEAL: Rappers, please stop writing skits. Saturday Night Live, please stop writing raps. And skits.

Just got called a fag by a frat boy. He was wearing a shirt that bore the name of a gay designer. Irony is justice enough.

Trying to decide whether I should be going out to the bar when it feels so cold out there that frost is forming on my cerebral cortex.

Next time you see me, ask to see my key chain.

Each time you say, "LOL," I pretend it stands for "Languish Out Loud."

Listening to two friends talk about not having sex with one another and giving a woman "pearl barrettes".

Typical Portland: this cafe is playing an album from the band Of Montreal. Next door, a former member of the same band is slinging coffee.

On lunch, watching the 1993 World Series. The Phillies ingredients: snake, snail, puppy dog tail, jaw muscle, chewing tobacco, and mullet.

I just flew in from Portland today and boy, are my arms tattooed.

about to go to the Horse Brass to celebrate a friend's birthday with the irresponsible consumption of alcohol.

You're so pretty, the movie about your life will be better than the book.

If you’re secretly living in someone’s walls, don’t wear cologne.

No matter my expectations, pizza places deliver.

Woke up to Responsibility making a mess of the sheets. This is what I get for sleeping until noon.

Today I learned what TIL means.

Okay. How ya been?

In a serpentine line at the New York State DMV. The four horsemen of the Apocalypse are stuck behind us, renewing their licenses.

I use hyphens too-much.

Braised by wolves.

Disappointed to discover that Ignite Portland has nothing to do with setting actual fires. Now I have to find a use for all these matches.

Baseball is all about stats. I'd love to track MLB spitting percentages. How much saliva clears the lower lip? How much clears the cleats?

There's an orange Starburst on the floor of the bus, fully wrapped. Resting the toe of my sneaker on it so it won't slide away. Score.

DNA clears JonBenet Ramsey's family of everything but being creepy stage parents.

I was going to try out for American Idle, but I slept through the audition.

Nurse sharks exist to mess with your head.

I yell "hollow back" to my crew because I'm afraid of them.

Trader Joe's is the NPR of grocery stores. It's always a pledge drive and you can't turn down the volume.

"Is it windy out? I couldn't tell, 'cause my geodesic dome is fucking indestructible."

Wondering if I should really be crushing so heavily for so long on the same girl, when she clearly has a boyfriend.

"I engineer a jam-out into every song I write."

Trim pulls 'em in.

34 is a tough age. Too young to be the president and too old to be the Messiah.

Rap Fact: Gucci Mane moonlights as a paleontologist. He studies Cretaceous-period mosquitos trapped in ambrrrrrrrrrr.

Reading about zombies. Hoping to have something better than brains for supper.

Won the dominoes game. Closed out the local bar and then went to an after party where a girl tried to pick me up. Not into leprosy.

Rap sent a telegram asking 2 questions: Will you use words to resurrect me? Will you listen to Kanye? My answers: Can't. STOP. Won't. STOP.

The only big decision McCain is fit to make is which direction to pass the green bean casserole.

The Butthole Couch Surfers' albums weren't very good, but they toured a lot.

Watching the Olympic women's gymnastics floor routines in HD. The picture is so clear I can make out the acne and the therapy bills.

I broke up with Siri. She doesn’t understand me.

Nosferatu always shaves by feel.

Apparently I don't know the difference between an "arc" and an "ark". God will smite me, for that and many other (more valid) reasons.

The minor celebrities of today are the reality show stars of tomorrow.

Just had the best sashimi of my life. Blue Ribbon Sushi in the West Village. Everything from here on out is going to taste like raw dick.

This alphabet soup tastes like P.

I volunteer at the Manipulation Station. Stop by sometime, if you really care about anything I do.

This is the only time of day that my shadow is longer than my penis.

Using this hammer to play Freeze Tag with that kitten.

Buying a helicopter from some shady guy on Craigslist.

The sun is a goddamn politician today, smiling brightly but cold as cubes. Wish it needed my vote.

The only way I can get through a dentist appointment is by pretending I'm a saber-toothed tiger fending off extinction.

Ass crack of dawn. Will Rogers Airport (yawn).

A pessimist's bed is half empty.

Every time I see someone with dimples I have to resist the urge to stick a finger in there, see if I can get knuckle-deep in cheek.

As I skated by a group of older women waiting at the bus stop, one of them told me to "skateboard for the Lord". I rollerblade for Him.

Playing "Groove-Time" by Monguito Santamaria. There must be a dozen people here now. Getting crowded.

Spent all morning writing before I realized that this stone tablet lacks USB ports. If this mountain were taller, I'd save it in the cloud.

At an AA meeting, needing to PP.

I don't know anyone in Oklahoma anymore. The wind came through like Jesus' morning breath and swept them away.

Stacking paper like a freelance copywriter.

Go ahead, pinch me. I dare you.

I wish that I found myself awake at 3:18 for a good reason, like rehanging the moon or bringing ice cream to the Human Torch.

Really, emcees? Another verse about your fiscal abundance, while others are starving out here? I don't rub my imagination in your face.

Whenever somebody compliments you on your child, say, "Thanks, I just stole it."

Coach, stop screaming. You said to take a knee. You never said I had to give it back.

If you see something, Shea something. Let's go Mets.

Once dated an epic poem. (Long story.)

There's a group of kids on this bus wearing clothes that scream, "Look at me!" while their faces say "Mind your own business."

I wish I was a little bit taller.

Went on a vision quest and lost my glasses.

I'm attending Pun Intended: Literary Devices Through Rap. Who's coming with me?

About to go drop some delectable donuts for dollars. Just have to take a cab all the way from here to there with a cavalcade of records.

Coming out bloody.

Nothing makes me want to be invisible more than these camouflage headphones.

Domain Name Game attempt #934: toastube.com is already taken. WTF?

My dad has Pediculus corporis and all I got was this lousy tee-shirt.

Playing bones.

Knowledge is powered.

On Long Island, and it's blizzarding. About to take the train to Manhattan, where it's also dumping snow.

Popped collars make me want to pop collarbones.

Can't find the search party.

We short boys rely on our penises for growth, spurts.

I'm sitting in the Alliteration Station parking lot and eating a King Size Nestl? Crunch Ice Cream Bar while the rest of Portland sweats.

They make slingshots with laser sights? Next you're going to tell me they make skateboards with motors.

At my age, balancing a checkbook and balancing on a checkbook are equally impressive.

According to Last.fm, I listen to Bill Withers ad infinitum. Hasn't scrobbled proper in days. My jealous turntable musta analogued its ass.

Real gangsters write documents with bullets.

Only an idiot would try to quit smoking candy cigarettes when it's cold outside.

“’Galoshes’ is a wet word,” she said dryly.

"Debt is now following you on Twitter."
That's because it follows me everywhere.

Socializing the butterfly.

Camouflage only fails once.

If this growth on my leg gets any larger, come autumn, it's going to need school supplies.

I can open windows when I leave, even if shady characters are outside. Where do I live?
A) In NYC.
B) In a fantasy.
C) All of the above.

Explosives: fun. Explosive diarrhea: not so much.

Don't think it's snow. Trucks everywhere. Cops too. Too warm for snow. This is eerie.

"Some people need their dicks punched in. Not just you."

Crunching words at downtown Stumptown over a mug of mud.

As a child I did science fair projects so indiscriminately, I got visual AIDS.

I woke up with something in my eye. (It's still there.) Then I vomited, fell *up* some stairs, and started a grease fire. Avoiding objects.

Dear OHSU School of Dentistry: Please answer your phone, I have a mini 9/11 in my mouth. Too soon? Not for an appointment.

A high-priced Portland speakeasy? Um, booze is legal. In 1931 they didn't have TV on the Radio, just radio. Can't bootleg in skinny jeans.

My laziness outweighs by need to climb out of bed, walk barefoot to the bathroom, and pee.

Who do the Joneses keep up with?

My birthday suit needs a good dry-cleaning.

I had the idea that Noah should put a phone booth deep in his heavily-wooded property. He's calling around to make it happen.

"Touch base" is my least favorite baseball expression. "Rush the mound" is my favorite.

Interviewing a young pro skater over the phone is like trying to catch a hummingbird with a lasso.

Just finished first meeting of writer's bloc. Now having drinks at the Aalto.

After three weeks of frenzied anticipation, the new glasses I ordered on the internet landed on my doorstep and promptly swallowed my face.

So tired of robots on the dance floor breaking into "the human."

Sweating bullet points.

Throwing down records at Holocene for happy hour. Stop by, say hi. SE 10th and Morrison.

Proof that monsters are more afraid of you than you are of them:
They hide under the bed and in closets
They avoid you unless you’re alone
They scream and try to kill you

The two sports with the fattest athletes are sumo wrestling and darts.

No guts, no glory hole.

This canary is all mine.

I only go clubbing with cavemen.

Occupy Jason Street.

Eating ramen noodle like the king that I am, finally buckling down to work.

If you feelin' like a chimp, go and comb your shoulders off.

Just ate a late dinner of stolen penne and a jar of "gourmet" sauce. Too much pasta. Stomach ache has me almost doubled over.

Please don't yell "OH MY GOD" unless you've just severed a limb, or next time you hurt yourself I'll assume you found a pic of a pirate cat.

Paying rent with a turn of phrase like Vanna White.

Lap dogs disappear when they stand up.

About to eat a Hot Pocket for the first time in a decade. Never realized before now that "Hot Pocket" sounds somewhat naughty.

If life were a side-scrolling game, I'd fall into an 8-bit pit on the first stage of the first level, three times in a row.

First you didn’t like rap because it’s not “musical.” Now you don’t like rap because it’s not “lyrical.” I don’t like you.

Hopping downtown on the Trimet Express.

Sharpening my tusks.

Out to DJ in North Portland at a little bar called Moloko+ (it's modeled after "A Clockwork Orange). If you are in Portland, stop by!

Skateboarding in the rain with a wireless router under my arm. Ladies know.

About to feed the hungry beast who hangs from the tarry stalactites in my lungs.

Waiting in a serpentine line to get patted down at the RZA show. Surrounded by kids trying to be anything but white.

If I were a fencer *and* a bee keeper, I'd worry about showing up to work in the wrong uniform.

You set 'em down, I knock 'em up.

Hey, girl in the Ramones t-shirt, I want you to be sedated.

"Bed-Stuy: do or die" is too abrasive and foreboding for the white kids moving here. We've changed it to "Bed-Stuy: bluer sky."

The qwerty keyboard on my beloved Sidekick is making it impossible to verify my phone number to enable text-message Twitter love. Any help?

No, Mom, I'm not famous. But I do write self-involved fortune-cookie-length blog posts, and strangers have _totally_ read them. Be proud.

Every parent seems to have a long explanation for their child's name. To save myself time, I'm naming my first kid "Whoops."

Praying for my knees to stop bruising.

Organizing my records for my DJ excursion in a few hours.

I hate my own Twitter redundancy. I also hate my own Twitter redundancy.

Z is the last letter in the alphabet because it overslept.

Note to self: Don't be so self-deprecating, you stupid asshole.

I'm up so early that I get to peel the layer of crust from someone else's eyelids.

Although we are exultant that the kitchen table has become the nucleus of our house, we wish the cockroaches weren't its whirring electrons.

I'm the kind of ugly that makes children excited for Halloween.

Santa Claus really lives in China.

Throwing a kissing party. You're not invited.

We buy belongings to feel like we belong.

Aaron supports Stare Hard like underwires support your mom.

Retire the term "douchebag." Say "tote bag" instead.

Sometimes Wu-Tang requires revisions before it resonates with me: "*Lack of* cash rules everything around me, C.R.E.A.M. get the money."

Dearest Cloudy Sky: I slept with your sister yesterday. Everybody did.

Raccoons talk trash.

Mom is getting into rap. She likes Enemy of the Public, The Tang Clan, and Naughty by Nurture.

Ain't no half-schleppin'.

Thirsty. I wish Cmd+T would open a new Tab.

You wouldn't believe the size of this regulation football.

Bo knows retirement.

The bus I am on just ran a red light. Drivers honked and cursed. The driver has already apologized to us three times.

I ate so much meat and veggies, I feel like I might puke entire farms.

Homophobes can suck my dick.

Skeletons skateboarded a lot more in the eighties.

Going camping in the rainforest while it's raining. Hope it washes away my sin.

If a cop stops you for speeding and asks if you have any priors, don't say, "Richard." You'll need to pay the ticket and explain the joke.

Blood is thicker than water, as long as we're not talking about the water inside this glass I just found in my closet.

Driving out of Yreka, California. No wit here, just snow.

Just got twitterific running, trying to figure out how to kill more time before the cavalry arrives.

English-major muffins can't get a jam.

Working out isn’t.

Two men about to fight outside my window. "Why did you call me out in front of her?"
"I don't remember."
"Then why are we out here?"

Man outside the cafe, yelling "ASS-HOOOOOLE!" repeatedly at passing traffic. If I had tusks, at least one of them would be in his chest.

Politicians! New rule: if you say, "nuke-u-lar," your children get raised by an underpaid evolution-teaching Biology prof.

Saying farewell to all of my Christian friends.

If this were a Pixar movie, all of these ants would be making my lunch, not taking it.

Playing the Domain Name Game, in which I think of the most clever and original domain name ever, and Godaddy says another thought it first.

Scheduling an interview for tonight with Monkeytek, an expert on the frequencies spat forth by woofers and tweeters.

When a client doesn't pay, I close my eyes tight and imagine their organs getting chewed up by nightmarish parasites while they sleep.

Overheard in someone else's bedroom: "These panties are not practical."

Life is all about making sure you fill the correct ovals.

We are not allowed to transport Christmas trees with our U-Haul. That is the only thing that was made clear to us.

It's not that I disapprove, it's that my head is oscillating. I'm your biggest fan.

Just wrote a hair designer's bio on my Sidekick and took it through three drafts on one bar of battery juice. My thumbs put grub in my maw.

Back in NYC. Feels like I've been injected into a hummingbird's bloodstream.

I rent swag.

So addicted to last.fm that I'm considering methadone as an alternative. I'm "paragruff" on that service, if anyone wants to share the ...

Going to the Aalto Lounge to not drink.

About to throw down in my writing workshop.

Billy Mays is dead? I'm not buying it.

Yo mama so fat, she at high risk fo heart disease, Venous Insufficiency, breathing problems, Type 2 Diabetes and Deep Vein Thrombosis.

Got a Grundig mini300 shortwave radio in the mail. It smells exactly like my first walkman, a Mickey Mouse tape player, 1983. Disney-fi.

Skateboards with soft wheels are so goddamned fun. Jeeeeeeezus.

Both my computer and my iPod Touch died within an hour of each other today. Can't make my appointment with tech support. Going luddite.

Day 4 of The Cold and I feel no better than I did on the first. I'd throw in the towel, but the mucus makes it stick to my hand. Bless me.

Cueing up "Better Change Your Mind" by William Onyeabor, from the Love's A Real Thing comp. Whole record makes my BVDs effervesce.

Friends called me, in a panic, looking for drugs. I reminded them that I'm 21 Jump Street. Unless, of course, they find some and share.

My broken, dead tooth is getting its last bus ride. Not even the Tooth Fairy wants it anymore.

I'm sore in places I used to play hide-and-seek.

Recipe for fuckyeah: Mulatu records in a basement, chin-ups off an I-beam, brainstorming, snorting crushed vitamins between reps.

Big L rhymed for your sins.

Wishing my neighbor's internet worked so i could steal it and send some emails.

feeling very strange after a productive all-nighter. Now I'm off to play some records at an art opening. Hip hop!

Woke up sweating, wearing only my faded Uncle-Sam Army shirt. My armpits smell like duck sauce. DJing the OHSU graduation today.

In Louisiana, collecting Who Data.

Wanted to attend a conference on exclusion, but it was invite only.

I like David Axelrod's 1968 solo effort, Song of Innocence.

I slipped a flattened Colgate box into the inner band of my New Era. It keeps my crown from falling down and helps my brow stay fresh.

Flew to Oklahoma to surprise my mom. Tornado just touched down a mile away and surprised us. Good news: Oz has excellent barbecue.

Doing my best to expel the hell.

Broke up with Golem because he wouldn't stop pressuring me for a ring.

My house looms ominously. The difference between my house and Boo Radley's is that the kids next door to mine don't have a good father.

I don't go to sleep. Sleep comes to me.

When I die, bury me in my milky Stan Smiths, pockets empty except for the math of the girls I never called. Asses to asses, bust to bust.

Without typos, we wouldn't have Sharkspeare.

In a hardware store on MLK and Shaver. $1.50 True Value painters' cap is advertised as a "Break-dance Cap".

Californians are allergic to turn signals.

Woman at this coffee shop was staring at me, so I switched to the part of my brain that I use to survive in NY and stabbed her in the face.

DJing is like directing porn. You facilitate pleasure, yet in the end you walk away unfulfilled, with a few bucks in your pocket.

Must see a T-rex. Too poor to fill my time machine's tank, so just visiting Jurassic Park. Expect a postcard trapped in amber 17 years ago.

The fastest human in the world is a sprinter named Usain Bolt. Sounds like a comic book character. Only, faster than you can flip pages.

Sitting on the tarmac at DFW for so long that my seat neighbor's farts are starting to smell good. I'm going native.

Milk, milk, lemonade, 'round the corner fudge is made. And across the street they sell crack to children.

Dear marketers on Twitter: You can catch more flies with honey than links to your vinegar site.

If I got in that Guinness book, I'd go on and on about it like a broken record.

Your best teacher peaked in high school.

Symptoms to mention when you call in sick:
- artisanal cough
- mustard eyes
- stool pigeons
- reverse sweating
- crip walk
- infectious breath
- rain lung
- historical migraines
- a watery heart
- hypnohippocampus
- shoe horns
- halloween hands
- a fever

Virus. People are Dropboxing like files.

My comprehension of infinity is limited. Plus one.

Like plutonium, a little Otis Redding brings them to their knees.

At the library, checking out _Your Mom_.

My roommate was just arrested at the airport for trying to fly with two pairs of brass knuckles. They were wedding gifts.

Arrived at Moloko for my gig and walked in on a guy getting tazed by some cops. Played Leadbelly to send the guy off appropriately.

In the OHSU Dental School waiting room again. Guy here in his seventies has a waxed Dali mustache. Incredible.

I love coming up with ad ideas, which I suppose means I'll be growing horns and cloven hooves any day now.

I cure my pigeon jerky on the radiator.

I would happily put my penis inside an Aphex Twin song, but they all move too fast.

Nothing's more thoughtful than a Hallmark card. Except maybe everything.

The sales clerks at REI don't know if they make a 3-season revival tent.

When your "Last Lecture" is mostly anecdotes about how awesome you are, some of us are happy it's your last.

Remember the media coverage.

Just bought we are the world on forty five.

Twitter seldom notifies me when I have new followers. The world doesn't tell me when I have new people lurking outside my window, either.

According to the local news, all the sexual predators are still on Myspace. Hey molesters, Facebook has hot youngsters AND Scrabble.

Just returned from DJing in North Portland. Going to bed until my hair turns red.

Feel like I've got a Spanish-American War reenactment intensifying in my stomach. Wish they'd go easy with the swords and cannons in there.

Brendan Hay, our friend from college, wrote an episode of The Simpsons two years ago. It airs tonight. Watch and learn.

Reading a lot of forums discussing the n800 and trying to figure out why many programs won't install properly. I need someone to show me th

Chest unrest.

home from the bar. Going to bed.

Scaling the treacherous summit of Mt. Wednesday, wishing I packed the tank of oxygen. Whoops, there goes another Sherpa.

Wish you were queer.

Waxing philosophical until it shines.

Skateboarded over a slug. The guilt is coming on slowly.

I hope all the screaming babies on this plane have peanut allergies.

Thank the holy virgin, my night is almost over.

Palin is shaking. Biden is shaking his dick off.

I'm such a nice guy, I buy Valentine's Day gifts for my ex-girlfriends. Anyone know where I can get poo engraved?

The Dental School waiting-area walls feature evenly spaced grease spots from people's heads.

Forging fortified phrases for faux fame, fortune. Fulfilling.

Shower with clothes on. Never do laundry again.

If an armadillo gives birth to more than one pup, those pups are always identical. Mother Nature is one crazy bitch.

Just sneezed on a box of Kleenex.

Went to a flea market and pig show. The pigs that win get purchased and made into bacon, which doesn't sound much like winning to me.

Pedophiles shave with Razors.

Wondering why the gmail server is giving me problems during my time of duress.

Hanging out with brad at the smallest coffee shop in Portland. Drinking the black stuff.

Watching guitars get molested. Poor instruments.

My apartment is above a bodega called The Meat Palace. The coffee costs 50 cents but tastes like it was filtered through the whole wallet.

Just finished DJing a horrible gig at a craft fair. Been waiting an hour to get paid.

Just dropped off at a coffee shop by the cops. Thank Christ they found me. Would've had them take me home but I can't remember my address.

Either OHSU gets a few more phone lines and offers more appointments to the uninsured, or I find a way to get health insurance. Obama.

You can identify a risk taker by the scratch-off silver beneath his fingernails.

Stomping the yardstick.

Filtering french press coffee through my clenched incisors, then spitting it into hipsters' mouths. Like well-dressed baby birds.

Learned today:
A watched cast-iron pot never seasons.

A Facebook scammer superpoked my identity and became a fan of Fucking With My Friends.

Dual monitors are cool, but dueling minotaurs are cooler.

She's the Casanova of sleep. (Fucking dreamy.)

Jaw feels like I chewed up a locomotive. Self-medicating. If you come to hear me DJ tonight and I play nothing but RZA, that's why.

Eating the wriggling grubs off my roommate's back while she forages for berries. She needs to bathe. She's getting gross.

Going to a Frito Chili Pie party. This kind of food makes me homesick for Oklahoma.

I'm an adventure capitalist.

If you're going to call someone "faggot," at least spell it correctly. Even bigot YouTube commenters should pen a meritorious suicide note.

Learning basic terminal commands so I can install Flash Player on this Ubuntu box my friend is letting me borrow. Confusion is sexy.

Neil Peart charges double time for Rush jobs.

"We're motherfucking indians. What do we care?"

Poll: "Duck and cover or stop, drop, and roll?"

I'm deejaying some couple's wedding today. Just by glancing at the clothes I have out on the bed, you'd know I'm going to be That Guy.

Showering's empowering.

Kottke is liveblogging the Oscars. See? You can follow, even if your TV was stolen. www.kottke.org

In the shower, mowing my lawn.

Fluffing my pillow talk.

Yo, Twitter Friends: Will an event as tech-savvy and geek-laden as BarCampPortland be useful to a freelance ad/tech copywriter like myself?

Beneath Bed-Stuy,
Below the streets
Crawl bugs and rats
And unread tweets.

Wiping sleep from my eyes and combing dog hair from my mustache. Mornings are easier when they happen closer to afternoon. Ah, freelancing.

Advice: When broke and hungry, avoid ducking into a mall's food court to get out of the rain. You'll want to waste teens for wasting fries.

Each time I open a new window, my computer says "new window" in that short-bus Hal voice. One more sign that the robot apocalypse is nigh.

Next time I move into a 5th-floor walk-up, I'll bring balloon furniture.

It's good to feel like you're a part of something much larger than yourself. Be proud. You are the righteous fingertip of Vote-tron.

Listening to black metal at a low volume is like operating a chainsaw sober.

Listening to the new Girl Talk. I walked in on my mom's music groping my girlfriend's music behind the roller rink.

My mouth moonlights as a garbage disposal.

That fabulist who said "God doesn't close a door without opening a window" apparently had enough rent money for windows.

Same shit, different gay.

Commercial on a NY sports radio station: "We've got 27 great holes."

Eating "oriental flavor" ramen. Loving life.

It hurts to Wii.

Ate my weight in skillet-fried hate. More stuffed than an old man's shirt pocket.

Getting to the point in the evening when I begin to wish I had stuffed my pockets with bagels and M&M's at #barcampportland.

Just finished a day of writing for money. Visiting friends briefly, then off to DJ tonight. I just want to stay in and watch movies.

The only way this DMV waiting room could be more depressing is if most of these people were sober.

Fell in love with a drudge-metal jazz band named "Stiff Wiff" today. Don't know how I'm going to tell my rap records.

Forget copywriting, we can't find any work. Instead we'll pursue a new business venture: hi-fi porn. Company name: Surround Mound.

Drinking whiskey with jeremy and eric. Talking about grown up stuff.

Breaking fast and lining up all of the day's ducks.

Listening to a Guilty Simpson/ Jay Dilla remix of "Man's World". Hot. Wish I could find the 12" in time for my next set.

Watching _Stand and Deliver_ on the laptop. Edward James Olmos' face has an abundance of dead pixels.

Remember all of that pro-pot rhetoric spat by Chris Tucker in Friday? I don't.

Massaging elbows with some New York rap luminaries. No Biggie.

Throwing up gang signs. Need somebody to hold back my hair trigger.

Within mere heartbeats, a legion of tiny black ants found my popscicle stick.

My dad fries Cajun-seasoned turkey like your dad watches football.

Sitting in the sunshine and watching the world go by.

Just bought a girl's letter jacket. Fits me perfectly.

I can't even handle Bono in mono.

The Norman Public Library is in desperate need of a makeover. Evidence: their logo is a burning book.

Everything I eat wastes like shit.

Standing outside the library. An old man just returned some large-print books to the trash can.

Rediscovering the simple pleasures of sweatpants. Also, boners.

Waffling on whether to whip up waffles for dinner. Wishing I had a mouth-watering Wellington.

Dude with the woodgrain tattoo, I'm sorry I punched your arm. I need my luck to change.

Tap is the dance for impatient people.

The Ford Tempo is 42 bpm.

I have a useless project and you haven't seen it yet.

Fell asleep last night with all my clothes on. Woke up this morning to Dad making fun of me.

Beautiful people are boring. Homely hombres make the parties pop off.

If you don't believe in equal rights for our gay and lesbian brethren, please unfollow me. Your hatred is making this cock taste horrible.

Don't get your panties in a brunch, either.

I'm putting sexy back.

Call me a bigot, but gay people dance better than straight people. Breeders suck dick on the dance floor.

I used to be a little bit smaller, I used to be a staller. I used to have a girl who looked good. Never called her.

If you invite me to your band's show, saying,"bring earplugs!" I'm hiding that handbill where the sun don't shine:

This woman is so beautiful and so annoying, I'd pay to watch a panda eat her face off.

Fuck superfluous profanity.

Craving caffeine and carcinogens enough to pry my ass out of bed. Why is all the cocaine gone from our sugar bowl? Where is my dog?

There's a train yard deep in the woods where graffiti writers puff poison ivy blunts and write Rusto manifestos on beating butterfly wings.

Either the neighbor's son hit puberty, or he French kissed a beehive.

Diving into the pillow like a drunken, narcoleptic Greg Louganis.

My housemate asked why I drink so much Red Bull. I didn't have the energy to explain.

My dentist always gives me Payday candy bars, and today I realized the payday she's referencing isn't mine.

Driving to the beach. Just witnessed cops chasing a car, ending in a bombastic wreck just behind our car, at 70mph.

# Acceptable Names for Your Son
- Jackz
- Samathy
- Obama LOL J.K.
- Whatevan

This guy standing in front of me should have bought his enthusiasm a ticket to the show.

Overheard snippet of the week: "Nuh-uh! I haven't done meth since prom!"

No guts, no gory.

Starscream demanded wheelies, but Optimus Prime was too tired.

Sitting in the mall food court after buying overpriced stationary, getting sized up by teenaged thugs.

She says that she's psychic. She means that she's psycho.

My mouth angered my girl this morning, my skateboard angered a dog this afternoon, and my penis is going to anger me this evening. Happy?

I wonder how much the hand model for the iphone got paid.

Oh! I forgot to go to church! For the last thirty years.

putting a penny on the tracks.

Does the Hard Rock Cafe still exist? When I was a kid I thought the t-shirts were cooler than bikini-clad time travelers. Now, not so much.

Spent all day playing Nethack, trying to ascend, then had my ASCII handed to me by a kitten. He nibbled my telekinetic barbarian to death.

The bar never gets noise complaints until I start playing rap. One Biggie track and the phones light up.

Your egotism reminds me of myself.

The only way I'll condone Steve Jobs wearing more of those effing turtlenecks is if he's covering up a dancing-bear neck tattoo.

Starting a group called the Hemophiliac Support Society. Membership requires a blood oath.

That yoga mat is going to be in a landfill for a long, long time. Om, hombre.

Rescuing a baby seal from the toothy maw of a great white.

CAPTCHA would have made _Blade Runner_ a much shorter movie.

Just got home from the wild blue yonder. Checking my email and going to bed (but not simultaneously).

(A lousy day for bananafish.)

I'm smash-face in love with my pillow. We're eloping tonight, don't tell Mom and Dad. Don't you dare.

I'm at Eischen's, the oldest bar in Oklahoma. Here for a friend's fried-chicken bachelor party. Stop by and have a heart attack.

There's a shirtless guy doing pushups in the middle of the crosswalk on MLK. Cars honking.

Going to eat steak for the first time in six months.

Hey. Hey. None of you people are holding the conch.

When the Greater Depression comes, I'm probably going to be standing in the soup line with a fork.

If you see my girl, swipe left.

"I was going to say something to you, unrelated to you being an insufferable cunt. What was it?"

My glasses are so enormous that the curvature of their lenses is identical to the arc of the earth. Every time I blink, the sun sets.

In April, pizza constituted 83% of my total diet. I'd show you the pie chart, but I ate it.

Swamp Thong would have been a much better movie.

Scratched a freckle clean off my arm. Bleeding.

Seeing how many butter packets it takes to induce a heart attack. White bread for comfort. From the warm knife to the cold ground.

If I wrote a rappers' guide to sex, it would be titled: How to Come Correct.

The astronaut left me because she needed more space.

Dear muscles in my pelvis: please don't atrophy, please don't atrophy, please don't... f*ck.

Cold lampin'. At least until the bulb warms up.

Every time someone tells me that bad stuff happens because of the full moon, I quietly hope they get eaten by a werewolf.

Wedding DJ rule of thumb: If both the geriatric ladies and the very young girls like your music, you're golden. No one else matters.

Every day a dozen people recognize me and approach me and I swear I've never seen them before.

Guys with 5 o'clock shadows are always getting off.

My generation is maturing. We puff blunts and read The Economist.

When you're a guy and you don't wash your hands after pissing, you're telling the world you want to indirectly touch it with your penis.

Finally leaving the warmth and comfort of my house.

I know a guy named Art School. He's a better investment.

Quitting cigarettes is the hardest thing I've ever done, next to saving those blind children from that orphanage fire.

I just scored an Eames Aluminum Series Executive chair on Craigslist for $150. Cheaper than the knock-offs. I'm sitting beyond my means.

"T-Mobile Turns Off Twitter." That explains why only my 140-character smoke signals are getting through.

Look at it this way: when the economy crumples and China takes over, we'll all be able to get jobs writing cookie fortunes. (In bed.)

Little Debbie's mom is a tart.

After watching Be Kind Rewind, I want a sweded girlfriend.

Sorry I didn't reply to your email. I had a meeting with sunshine. Must revise these breeze reports so I can submit some bliss by deadline.

Opening a typography-themed baseball cap store called ALL CAPS would be bold. Especially in Georgia.

Sometimes I eat on the toilet and pretend I'm a Play-Doh Fun Factory.

Plugging in at Vendetta. Going to play an all-nude east-coast battle-rap DJ set. Drive by and look for the moon.

My watchdog bit my wrist again.

The owner of Hannah Bea's just mentioned that Portland was the first city to feature all-nude dancers.

"The password is 'loser', with two O's."

Can't stop, won't stop.

I inadvertently erased all the "F" contacts from my cell's address book. _uck.

My iPod Touch just picked up a network called "PAINCAVE" from within my bedroom. Since when does my ex's vagina broadcast wifi?

Cooking pizza while organizing records in chronological order. Ah, sunny afternoons at home with a looming deadline.

I don't like the way my new neighbor looks at me through his rifle scope. His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Making some label copy "less poetic and intellectual" for a client. My previous copy had "too much imagery". Life has too much imagery.

You know you're at a bar in New York when you can't read the bathroom graffiti.

Just finishing up the script for a 30-sex TV commercial, sending it off to the client.

Oklahoma, sometimes I love you. But right now I want to strangle you till you're blue in the state.

Feeding the butterflies bourbon.

JFK's airport security lines make me want to shoot myself in the motorcade.

If you want to know what a $9 lollipop tastes like, ask a sucker.

Portlanders! Tonight at 8PM I am showing a movie at the Aalto Lounge (SE 34th and Belmont). Movie is called "Crank" and is video game style

Issue one: I'm a proud McLaughlin Groupie. Bye bye!

On the bus, you hear conversations you'd never dream of having in public. Woman behind me: "Please let me put my hands on that white girl."

I’m a writer, so obviously my favorite Metallica song is Ampersand Man.

The wonderful Pine Street Biscuits kids love my slogan for their restaurant and will use it: "Put your mouth down South."

Debris in da breeze.

Another bike ride in this weather? I'd rather eat a lava sandwich. Fuck the environment, I want a car.

Don't go fishing for compliments. You might catch a boot.

Having sex with a girl who's wearing diaper ointment is unnerving.

The only thing more American than apple pie is the diabetes you get from eating too much of it.

Flying in to New York, and boy are my underwing pylon-mounted turbofan engines violating FAA directives.

Getting on the bus. This all-Latin-bumps DJ gig is going to get the turntables so hot, I'll have to cut them with whole milk.

My favorite human reflex is the "pee shudder." It's almost like my body anticipates my bladder exploding, then tries to shrug it off.

Okay, although you doctors might make your careers by saving lives, your use of glow sticks on the dance floor is killing me.

Twitter is great. It's easier for me to make fun of something than to take the time to understand it.

The worst part of waking up is Folgers in your athletic cup.

On a slow boat to Chinatown. Glad to hear that most of you are safe and dry.

The most frightening thing about Halloween is that rent is due the next day.

Thickening my middle thing with pan-fried chickening. (Please pass the pepper.)

Testing my sexual suspension to see if it still works. All the dust is making her sneeze.

Recovering from last night's poor decisions regarding my liver.

Vanity looks good on me.

Post-surgery, my maw feels like the universe is collapsing on my gums and the only thing that will save me from Armageddon is ice cream.

The vacant house down the street has 5 homeless people on the porch taking shelter from the rain. They said hi and offered me a cigarette.

Tea for two: 2.40

I bake the best humble pie in five counties.

Wrapped up 4 print ad concepts for a restaurant in Chicago, now I'm going to get some food at a restaurant in Portland. Next up: bouldering.

PRESENT DAY

Everyone cries when an onion dies.

Detoxing from phonics. (It's as bad as it sounds.)

Can't tell if my to-do says "run" or "rum." Either way, gonna be sore tomorrow.

My favorite thing about sex is that it sometimes involves me.

"I came hard, like I RSVP'd your dick."

I let my tape rock till my tape popped, smokin' weed and Bambu, sippin' on private stock, way back when I had the red & black lumberjack...

Playing Bloody Knuckles with a moose.

My Eames Aluminum-Series office chair just snapped under my gargantuan 110 lbs of man meat. Guess at 100 bucks, it wasn't such a steal.

This spicy mustard burns like tongue VD.

My dad turned 63 this week. He receives LAARP benefits. He gets a +3 resistance to ogre magic at cafeterias and golf courses.

Found two peanuts in my pocket. Life is tits.

I've got a big wood desk. So. Big.

Luck be a lady tonight, but a full-bore bitch by morning.

I keep my britches in stitches.

Looking for an apartment feels like dating. Lots of disappointment, even more rejection. Then you'll glipse a sliver of hope. False hope.

Optional in Oklahoma: turn signals, recycling, birth control, tolerance.

At the mall, getting mauled.

I can look at any spot in my bedroom and see ants. Turntable? Ants. Spine of my dictionary? Ants. Half-eaten cake on the floor? Yep.

Perfecting my scheme to get rich Bisquick.

If Ogden Nash had been born 70 years later, he might be an emcee. "Bitch makes me eat ocelot, then I have tuh floss uh lot."

It’s called a kid because it’s mostly id.

The radio always sounds better when it's sitting atop the toilet tank while I shower, blasting batucada.

Not feeling the need to ever leave my house again. As long as the internet keeps pumping.

Drawn to the flame.

"You're intense like a rocket made of barking dogs."

Becoming obsessive about researching a laptop I can't afford. Making the hard but necessary jump from Mac to Linux because I'm sick of DRM.

Drinking beer and devouring black eyed peas at the Bye & Bye. Happy New Year.

Put me on the guest list for the Elementary School One-upmanship Showcase as "Infinity +1."

Watching "RAD", a movie I haven't seen since the 3rd-grade YMCA after-school program. I still can't do those bike tricks.

Deejaying at the Holocene. It is a hollow scene. A girl just asked if I had any Blink182. Ugh.

I wish someone had told me the other meaning to "We gotta make paper" before I invited C-Nate and Digga Dug to the craft fair.

Dear frat boys & yoga teachers: Bob Marley made more records than just _Legend_. Try _Talkin' Blues_. Smells less like you smoked a cliché.

Some mornings just feel like dirty-southern-rap-for-breakfast mornings. I'm having a Goodie Mob omelet.

You'd be surprised how much hair you can fit inside an envelope.

I lost my Jobs.

You're going to Disney World? I'm going to bed.

Spotted: a whale of a man riding a mountain bike and wheeling a mower alongside him, with a leafblower and cooler stacked on top. Portland.

Most cobra clinics have sliding scales.

It's been a night for rapping with old friends while befriending old rap.

Stan Lee stumbled. Spider-Man would be much cooler if his alter ego were Charlie Parker.

Back in Oklahoma. Like falling into a cowboy-themed abyss.

Client has a mansion and drives a BMW, yet tells us that pay is tardy because "money is tight". Invoice the client's face with a razor.

Girlfriend thinks I'm chopped liver, bugs think I'm In 'N Out Burger.

Horror movie gore often makes me crave Italian cuisine.

Walking to procure coffee. Warm and drizzley day.

As a native Oklahoman, nothing makes my panhandle swell with pride like knowing that "Jim Thorpe" is now following me. He sure can run.

The Rose Festival is a thorn in my side.

This slogan crafting is not unlike a haiku battle.

Driving to Texas to marry my cousin.

The “it was all a dream” narrative choice is never satisfying, unless you’re Biggie Smalls.

Good weddings end with good wettings.

There's a mouse version of me somewhere, worrying about cheddar, avoiding pussy, and feeling trapped.

I've been addressing a good client of ours by the wrong name all day. If you need me, I'll be over here, hanging myself with my mouse cord.

Eating coffee cake and scratching my left knee, which itches like hell.

A lil' teenage thug on Alberta just offered me cocaine. I politely declined.

Wanting ice cream.

Talking about motherboard power use. If we were all into popcorn, we'd be talking about his microwave's power consumption.

You're one of those guys who clutches your girlfriend's neck? Cool. Hopefully you're also one of those guys who breathes under water.

It's almost noon. I'm still so new to the world that I'm tripping over segments of my dragging placenta.

Facebook teaches us that everyone from our past has a wife, kids, & a mortgage. I've got a mouthy girlfriend, a fast bike, and you slags.

Washing my feet in a puddle.

My favorite part of a woman's body is the ball-gag.

We've got the unlit torch and Vancouver has the lighter but she's telling a really long story and we don't want to interrupt.

Just finished and sent off some print ad scripts for a local restaurant chain. Feeling good about being productive while looking sharp.

last-minute tax whirlwind because I am the sultan of slack.

Sitting in the sunshine, 'cause Daddy needs a new set of freckles.

I'm more tilted than the world before V8.

To those who responded to the rumor that I am getting my follower count tattooed on my neck, sorry to disappoint. Putting it on my chest.

Keep eyeing me, Newt. Your face is a voodoo curse I need to break.

Mama, thanks for poking a constellation of holes in that correctional officer's condom. I love you. See you in 16 to 20.

Beer the feared. (Thunder up.)

Staying up late always feels better on a school night. Think I'll eat those that half chicken I saw in the fridge last week.

When they broke up, Rage Against the Machine should have changed their name to Rage Against the... Meh".

Is T-Mobile ever going to release a Twitter client for the Sidekick? No. Why not? Because it would birth nebula-eyed kittens in my heart.

Apparently I'm the absolutely last person on the internet to jump on del.icio.us. Fortunately, I'm not the last person to jump on your mom.

I refuse to buy free weights.

Damp after a rush hour bike ride to the Bye & Bye. Spicy gingerale, I'll make you my bride. Our children will be damp, effervescent.

Wishing the rain rain would go away.

Minutes ago I ordered an anchovy pizza over the phone and the woman asked, "Anchovies? You sure?" Obviously I tackle life with wild abandon.

During the colder months, coffee might take precedence over God and country. Especially Stumptown coffee. It's the nectar of necessity.

I'm so hungry, I could eat a horst. (I like the crust.)

Molar extraction is like pulling teeth.

Life's hard. Fortunately, your health plan covers southern rap. Take 400mg doses of UGK, Goodie Mob, and Big K.R.I.T. (with soul food).

Waving. I meant waving. Can't edit and wave simultaneously.

So many people in SF pretending to be Giants fans for Halloween.

"Like" is my generation's vocal tic.

I thought I discovered something about antimatter, but it's nothing.

Reservoir Dogs couldn't take place in New York. No guys can walk six abreast in slo-mo without blocking the sidewalk and catching lead.

How did rap go from being the black CNN to the white UPN?

I miss my mummy.

I can easily date a photo of myself by the hat I'm wearing in the shot. This one of me in the thorn crown is from around 33 A.D.

The Oklahoma City Venom is my favorite Little League baseball team. Their slogan: "There is no anti-venom."

Most double agents are single.

pushing down daisies, then pulling up the covers.

Was fired as manager of my fantasy baseball team in reality.

Director T. Malik refers to dusk as the "Golden Hour", and only shoots at this time of day. I could shoot at twilight too, just not film.

Nabbed a job writing copy for the Lorem Ipsum ad campaign. My best tag line: "Vivamus hendrerit quis." This stuff practically writes itself.

Creeped out by the realization that all these words on this screen are from our fingers talking. Oops, almost pocketed your lighter.

Watching my lady STOMP a friend while playing her first game of cribbage. Her pegs are way up his ass. Y'all think you know joy. You don't.

Not being John Malkovich.

Sweating on a spreadsheet. Spreading sheet around.

If Jesus made me in His image, why aren't I well hung?

This sky is the color of armpit stains on a once-pink used-up Hypercolor shirt. Or the inside of a seven-year-old's lung.

I disgusted myself so much with my last tweet that I'm giving up Twi--
Hold on, there are Girl Scouts at the front door.

To maximize space in our new house, we're replacing the pilot light with an astronaut light.

Oh my Lord! Have you been outside? Sweet Jesus it's THE SUN. Without puddles to step over, how am I supposed to know where to step?

Rock jocks call me "agate."

The Yankees win my penance!

Just agreed to DJ a wedding for strangers on my 30th birthday. Seven hours of work on my special day, but I need the money.

Those boots were made for mocking, and that's just what I'll do. One of these days those boots'll kick the hip right out of you.

Pushing through a hangover. Going to breakfast by myself. At a gay bar.

I scheduled my photo blog to auto-post a satellite view of Manhattan just as my plane landed at LaGuardia. It's amazing I'm not a virgin.

My discovery of japanesebugfights.com is akin to the prepubescent epiphanic revelation of masturbation. Only with more clawing and poison.

Lusting after expensive headgear while wearing inexpensive headgear.

Cry "Hammock," and let's flip the dogs some more.

My keyboard's so sticky I can hardly Fn.

In a disco dance-off, nobody wins.

Photos of my dad in his thirties could be glimpses of me in a parallel universe where drugs do unspeakable things to your hair and wardrobe.

Until I left Portland and its ubiquitous free wifi, I didn't appreciate the luxury of checking my email without giving Satan a rimjob.

The worst part of a root canal is the smells. First the stench of tooth decay, then grinding bone, then my own urine. Kids, brush yo teef.

By the way, "hip hop" is the culture, four elements: emcees, b-boys, DJs, graff writers. "Hip hop" is the culture, "rap" is the music.

I'm heading to the new Ristretto cafe on Williams, just S. of Failing. Got to caffeinate my computing. Join me and I'll buy you coffee.

Anyone in Portland, OR: I'll be spinning records at the Adidas store downtown from 2pm to 4pm today. Stop by and say hello.

This tennis elbow has me in agassi.

Struck by lightning bugs.

Rich Crips are just blue bloods.

I only moved back to NY seven months ago, yet my middle fingers are remarkably strong.

The last time I painted the town red was when red paint contained lead.

Appalled. Alabama didn’t integrate zebras until 1966.

The best place to skate on Sunday morning is a church parking lot. So much to grind on.

Only 24 hours without a cigarette, and I'm already confident I could remove a human face with a yank, no problem.

Listening to "Glassworks" by Philip Glass makes anything you're doing seem significant. I'm currently folding underwear dramatically.

Playing records at Vendetta tonight. Come out and level up. I'll provide the saucy soundtrack to tomorrow morning's regrets.

Don't assume I'm a revolutionary simply because my wig's over-powdered and my tricorn's tilted just so. I don't even own a musket.

Nollie (fs) heelflip to switch 360 pop-shuvit. I think I'm getting sick.

R.L. Burnside gives me more goosebumps than R.L Stine.

Chest feels like I'm perpetually about to start an exam I'm ill-prepared for, jaw muscles tight like a bus commute during rush hour.

Finally raking through Google Notebook, trying to implement it in my research techniques.

If I had health insurance, what would I do with this staple gun?

HER: Do I know you from somewhere? ME: Do you dream? HER: Yes. ME: Then probably.

Found some openings.

There are no Biggie Smalls parts, only Biggie Smalls actors.

Scraping for work to fill the rest of my day.

I'm now 31, yet I still look for validation from strangers. "Ooh, look! So-and-so just followed me on Tumblr!" Fuck you, self. Fuck. You.

Been gone from my house for so long, I forgot where the light switch was. Took ten minutes of groping before I realized it's on my penis.

I used to work at Planned Parenthood. I was fired for being too productive.

Two, four, six, eight, why do we enumerate?

Just posted an article on how Krylon is the original Adobe Illustrator for the real world. Please let me know what you think!
...

This tree in my front yard keeps taking cheap shots at my head with its lowest branch, like the bitch that it is.

The adjectives "hip" and "edgy" are only used by people over 40 who are neither.

T-Mob SMS access to Twitter is back. No explanation. Like every other pay-by-month woman in my life.

Bad porn is hard to come by.

Looking for a player to blow on my cartridge. Be warned: I'm a princess.

PB&J Experiment, Day 3: End of wheat loaf, so I took advantage of the extra crust and layered more jam (purloined from roommate) than usual.

About to do the push–ups where I don't push or go up until 8 to 10 hours after I've descended. The best exercise in my arsenal.

Guzzling so much coffee, my third eye can barely focus.

Shaving my elbows.

This houseplant is how I tell our apartment to go fuck itself.

If my life were a website, it would mostly be zombo.com. Right now, it's FAILblog.

A five-year-old head-butted me in the testicles on the F train, then stared me down until I looked away. New York, I've missed you.

I think I just got hit on by the guy slicing the meat for my brisket sandwich. Medium hot.

Can't figure out how to add newly offered apps to iPod Touch after firmware upgrade 1.1.3. Never got a prompt after I updated iTunes. Help.

Glass bottomed boats are the assless chaps of the sea: no one wants to see a crack.

Today is already one of those days. I feel like e. e. cummings with a stuck CAPS LOCK.

Feels so good to be back on the bike. Like scratching that hard-to-reach area of my youth.

Forget Mumia. FREE WIFI.

About to fix myself some bedtime cereal

It's easy to spot a bad kid. His fingertips are stained powder-white from candy cigarettes.

Giraffes think your high-fives are hilarious.

The single click suddenly seems so lonely. twitter.com/pagecrusher/st…

Woke up at 6AM, next to an empty bottle of Martinelli's Sparkling Apple-Grape Cider and a half-eaten bar of marzipan. Must have been a w ...

There's an extra-fiery place in hell reserved for people who make holiday-themed radio commercials. Ho ho hot.

"Vegans are this generation's Protestants." - Noah M., pugilist-scholar.

When I turn on my heartlight, the sun dims.

At age 4 I was Lightning Boy, a superhero I invented. I never struck my foes in the same place twice.

Stocking up on sun tan lotion for summer. Alternate use for SPF40: UV-blocking lubricant.

Up too late. Morning comes, swift and silent, sword drawn.

Going to wander around an army/navy surplus store and try on hats.

About to leave the coffee house because they are blasting NOFX, and I can't concentrate with whiny pop punk in my ears.

Grabbed the Animal Collective cd I'll be reviewing for Plazm. It's watermarked and if I attempt to copy it the entire world will collapse.

I constructed David Allen out of 3x5 notecards and binder clips, using deadline-dried adrenal glands for eyes. Getting Creepy Things Done.

I'm the only DJ in town who discourages dance parties. As soon as people start dancing put on a slow record.

Skate and die.

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house, not a creature was stirring, because mice can't hold spoons.

If shoes revolt, they'll bronze our babies.

This sock has seen more action than the Foot Action it came from.

Urinal cakes are abrasive.

It's official. My new house has ants. Hundreds and hundreds of tiny black ants circling the rooms, sniffing for the Cadbury egg I left them.

You downtown already?

The problem with DJing hip hop is that beefcake guys like to come over and assert their rap expertise by screaming, "play Kanye!" at me.

Deejaying at that bar Vendetta in North Portland, if anyone wants to come out and hear some Indian thug melodies. Bring low fives.

Behold the Rainbow Demon. So epic, you'll have to retire your understanding of irony for good.

Looking out my window, watching a man smoke crack. His camouflage jacket isn't working so well.

Video games are much more violent than when we were kids. Playing a new one called Organ Trail, where you don't even settle your stomach.

After 5 visits to the Dental School for one root canal, the tooth split and now they've got to take it out. Might as well have tried meth.

Urban planners should moonlight as set designers, or movie alleyways might abruptly dead-end forever.

Even your pronouns are amateur.

No way would I take my kids to see the Muppets movie. Fisting is a subject for adults.

Flight delayed because there are "tornadoes surrounding LaGuardia." New York, I won't accept this behavior until your barbecue improves.

My DIEWEAK bracelet just broke.

Payphone sex is difficult, even after you've knocked the phone booth over.

I just killed three ants with an unused Band-Aid.

Anything worth doing is worth doing while frenzied with anger. Especially when that thing is naming resort-town markets for money.

Matzo ball soup is chicken soup for the Saul.

Tossed from the Burp Castle because we shared our beers and blunts with the homeless. The bouncer must've skipped kindergarten.

I was disappointed to discover that Self Magazine has never had a mirrored cover. Am I the only one around here who's Self-deprecating?

If you give me another ultimatum, I'm out of here for good.

We're playing this because it features hardcore rap attitude, east coast rap roots, poetic rap delivery, ambiguous lyrics & modal harmonies.

The OHSU School of Dentistry should tie one end of a string to my heart and the other to a door knob, then get this ordeal over with.

Was just introduced to a guy wearing a Widespread Panic Tour 2007 shirt. I'll store his name in the Antarctica of my brain.

Prepping for my mega-large birthday blowout. If you're in Portland, stop by 3310 SE Yamhill. DJs in the kitchen, tons of people everyw ...

I make my living with my imagination, yet I can't picture a life without you.

There should be a law against birds seeing Hitchcock movies. Just in case.

Attending church, otherwise known as Mississippi Records. Hope to find God on a cumbia record.

Anger is your body's way of telling you that you shouldn't own a gun.

_Growmeo & Juliexxx_ is a touching story about star-crotched lovers. Parts of me wept.

Fried chicken is my spirit animal.

Sheldon is probably saying, "When you flap your angel wings constantly, without soaring, you feel more connected to the cloud."

How does a clear sky turn to hail as soon as i step outside?

Powering through frustration.

The packaging of Wheat Thins looks like my 8th-grade creative writing teacher lifted up her mandala-print sun dress and shat it out .

Tough enough for cookies, too weak for tea.

My shrink told me to stop making appointments with her. Everything is small enough.

Cursing these ectoplasm stains in my ghosthide sheets. I blame my boo.

Couldn't finish reading an article on information overload. It was too much.

At the hospital, visiting a friend. The art here makes me sick.

How do you become the Pied Piper of Twitter? Children, follow my atonal anthem to your coda. Or at least to the bars.

Moving to Brooklyn. Have to break my heart-shaped bed in half. Sleeping on the jagged edge is going to hurt.

Asked a guy in the hardware store to give me change for a dollar. He was about as friendly as leprosy. I hope he gets scowl cancer.

Dropping my cigarette addiction before the cigarettes drop me. Going through heavy withdrawal. Ironically, I feel like I can't breathe.

My parents will listen to rap before I'll listen to my parents.

This is a date which will live in winfamy.

Jimmy Buffett is mom jeans for the ears.

What aren't I doing?

Just passed five hippies playing with a footbag outside Bank of America. Pinko capitalists.

Overheard somebody without health insurance saying, "If my ribs don't stop hurting, I might have to go to that place with the doctors."

Saran Wrap as contraceptive: FAIL. More clingy than my ex.

Never trust a dog that isn't startled by his own farts.

Sisyphus HATES the Rolling Stones.

Read wonderfully detailed accounts of the daily struggle at my favorite new blog. jerkethic.tumblr.com.

Pushing down daisies.

Portland is getting too big for its bridges.

Nobody's feeling my Braille jokes.

There's a moth in here, slapping drunkenly against the bare bulb. I'm naming him Icarus and building him wings of bus transfers and earwax.

The best thing about Franzia is that it won't roll off the roof.

Need to scrub my tusks.

I was the first one to look at this fucking hipster.

Avoid New Jersey today. A black cat just crossed the PATH.

Cleaning up the drink I just spilled on my crossword.

There's a school bus parked in front of Sassy's, the strip club. I want to see the permission form for that field trip.

Loosely speaking, diarrhea runs in my family.

Lent Albert Hoffman my bike. He spaced and didn't lock it up. Got lifted. No visuals.

Once things start to turn around he lets down his guard a bit. Enjoying a pastry, he discovers his bicycle tire still won't hold air.

"Ever since she lost all that weight she looks emancipated."

Getting paid to write about historical figures who would make good skateboarders. Nostradamus could predict ankle injuries.

Pagecrusher is over capacity.
Too many teats! Please wait a moment and try again.

Lil' Wayne signed to a record label when he was 11 and accidentally shot himself in the chest later that year. Kids do the darndest things.

The weather in PDX is a bad relationship that you won't be able to get out of for the next 8 months. Wear a condom and hope for the best.

Time traveling and lost my pastport. Stuck in 2019. Stomach full of butterflies.

Driving to Timberline Lodge to get a Shining.

Learned from my dream: If you're invited to a "sushi" dinner party, DO NOT GO. The hostess' basement is a shark tank and you are the nigiri.

Riding my bike to the Italian Joint, I passed by two different people crying within a few blocks of each other. Didn't stop to help either.

All of my accessories come from AllThingsCrowned.com. "Because everyone deserves to be a queen!" Except you.

I bit into a cupcake and the housemate's dog ran up two flights of stairs to beg at my feet. This dog can smell the horizon.

Dodged a high school reunion three thousand miles away. Now I'm sitting in my home, stealing internet from the neighbor. Don't tell anyone.

An explosion is just science quoting your mom's butt.

You’re an adult. Don’t use a bong without a coaster.
When you’re a guest in someone’s house, don’t use a bong without a coaster.

With the number of soldiers at the airport, you'd think their uniforms would be camouflaged to look like long lines and overpriced water.

Writing for advertising is a blast until the moment when you have to remove your subtle references to the Bavarian Illuminati. Jeeeeeeeze.

Mattress in the middle of the road. Ladies?

I'm about to grab some Oklahoma barbecue. I'm styrofoaming at the mouth.

I've become one of those people who checks the weather forecast before making skateboarding plans. Not so punk rock.

My new bike light is really working out. It illuminated the parked car just before I hit it.

Oklahoma would make a lot more sense to me if Jesus had played football.

Sure, we'll be at the _Twitter Wit_ release party tonight. You'll find us in the ladies' room, snorting slang and fingering euphemisms.

Eating cold pizza is the suburban equivalent of returning to the kill after a late autumn freeze.

My psychoanalyst is professionally obtuse, but what he really wants to do is direct.

There are few things in life more satisfying than firing a shotgun into a twenty-three pound frozen slab of Strawberry Mountain beef.

My roommate's pug smells like he's showered more recently than I have.

You Sneetches think you're better than me? Check out my star belly.

Soda with tons of high-fructose corn syrup makes my body temporarily forget it's getting sick while my teeth lose footing on the front l ...

This is a test to determine whether you can detect sarcasm through the written word, because I care. Really, I respect you.

I watch Pornhub for the comments.

finished a book, starting another.

I need to move. Just discovered that my roommate picks through all of my trash bags to ensure that I didn't toss any recyclables.

I could never be an astronaut. I'm too much of a space cadet.

Best part up waking up in a new house is the first brief moment when you have no idea where the hell you are.

Favorite Viking proverb: "Take a village to raise a child."

Hey, mamacita. My dream journal reads like your unauthorized biography.

There are three things I hate beyond anything else in this world: ignorance, violence, and the Mannheim Steamroller Christmas album.

The plot thickens better with cornstarch.

Spilling ant blood with one hand and misfiring concerned texts with the other. Haven't even brushed my teeth yet.

The wind took my hat. Not cool.

Jolly Ranchers just won me over again, ten years since our last affair. Sweet, sweet liaisons wrapped in cellophane, you floor me.

If I ever reach the point where I can rationalize the purchase of a Snaplock holiday-wreath storage case, please sever my balls of holly.

DJing in a crowded bar. This crowd features all four flavors of foreskin. Time is passing like a kidney stone.

Took Mona Lisa on a date. It went horribly. She smiled condescendingly at my jokes, didn't eat a bite, and a SWAT team chaperoned.

Don't use the food pyramid. Pyramids were built by slaves.

Islands on maps should be maroon.

If Confucius twittered, I wouldn't follow him. "Riches and honors acquired through unrighteousness are to me as the floating clouds, LOL."

Flava Flav parties 'round the clock.

Every pizza bagel is less than the sum of its parts.

Send me a photo of you and your friends snorting lines of coke off your iPhone 3G, and get a limited-edition loan request!

This year, vampires don’t frighten me unless they’re disguised as bats.

staring at the sun soaked street.

Haven't driven once in almost five years and I'm about to pick up a 14' Uhaul and drive it on icey roads. See you in the obits.

Sitting at stumptown with hazel, discussing the proliferation of bikes as fashion accessories.

If life had autocorrect, I'd be hippy.

So jacked up on coffee that a meth addict just asked me where he could score "the good stuff". I directed him to Stumptown.

My superpowers are information absorption and manipulation. If only I could learn to control them.

Drunk white guy sitting by yourself: Rapping every word of "Ain't Nuthin' But A G-Thang" along with the juke box somehow makes you whiter.

Cannibal Ox's debut "The Cold Vein" may still be the greatest rap record of this decade. Rusted beats, aerated rhymes.

New York City is a dense bricolage of odors. Most of them have been sourced to this hairy guy at my gym.

Twitter ain't shit but prose and quips.

Just bought a loose cigarette from a 7-year-old boy. “For you, a dollar.” They’re normally 75 cents.

I can't decide what I enjoy more: physical fitness or driving. Either way, I'll have to decide soon.

Santana? Really? Glad Dad isn't here to rub it in my face. They're still no Cymande.

Just arrived at my DJ gig and they have a fog machine. A FOG MACHINE!

Hasn't science figured out insoluble gum flavor yet, so my spit doesn't make the artificial mint wane? Get on it. Hoverboards too.

If you feel the urge to play your acoustic guitar in public, please try crystal meth instead.

There's a 50-year-old man voguing to the Mobb Deep I'm playing. No thanks necessary.

I like some sunflower seeds on my salt.

Who spilled tea all over his brand-new laptop that he can't afford to replace? Hint: it wasn't you.

What's with Obama's victory-speech sneeze guard?

My dad doesn't show emoji.

After 4 months my lifestyle finally snapped the chord on the high-end ear buds my pops gave me. This is why we don't have nice things.

Sitting outside, farming freckles.

Until just now, I thought hash tags were drug-related.

My hand fell asleep again. Clearly, the honeymoon's over.

At the parents' house. This sofa reeks of sex.

My hands are always cold because I regularly slap Death on the ass.

I lost over two hundred followers in ten minutes. I feel like Jim Jones. Anybody thirsty for more Kool-Aid? Guys?

Goodbye Portland. Goodbye good coffee. Goodbye Mississippi Records. Goodbye skinny jeans. Goodbye rain. Goodbye cheap drugs. Hello world.

Even great men must wait in line.

Life ain't micro-surgical vasectomy reversal. Only get one shot, no time for rehearsal.

At Hannah Bea's on MLK and Shaver, about to burrow into some sweet potato pie.

Chopping copy. Popping Advil in Adville.

Riding swiftly and silently over to an art opening featuring a portrait a friend painted of me. Feeding the ever-hungry ego. Then my tummy.

Early rise, late start. Sitting at Stumptown on Belmont and sucking down some black liquid beauty. Cutting and pasting my way around words.

Oklahoma hired me to write a new state slogan. The winner: "Hail, Satan."

Shouldn't born-again Christians have to die first?

If I had cancer, this rhubarb pie might cure it. My fork is so hard.

Childhood bullies: thank you. I couldn't fight, so I used humor to deflect. That same humor gets me work and women now. Hope you're swell.

Neighbor gave me some raspberries grown in his front yard. "They're God's gift." Funny, since I'd just given his wife a mouthful of heaven.

Finished DJing after five hours of sweaty spinning, and this guy is standing over me as I pack up, telling me about his first Phish show.

When the highlight of your day is buying a notebook, it's time to take stock of your life and reconsider an addiction to heroin and/or meth.

DJing at the Aalto last minute with two crates of someone else's records. Physical challenge.

Phone returned by cab driver with a tilted halo. Wish I had seen him come in, I would have bought him a drink.

Plane I'm on sounds like it's barking. I'm hoping that's normal.

I carry a different set of keys when I visit Oklahoma, for storm shelters and liquor cabinets.

This couple holding hands and blocking the sidewalk needs to be in love a little faster.

A blind guy on this bus looks exactly like Moondog (the composer). He even has the typhoon-swirl beard.

In Ditch Plains, Long Island. No cell reception or precious Wi-fi, but plenty of beach. When I return, I'm tracking sand into your blog.

Musicians who cover "Imagine" have no imagination. Y'all need Help.

Haven't we suffered through enough shoulder pads?

Skate or try.

Speaking Old Lang Syne language.

Facebook's suggestion to me: "Try Superpoking the earth!" Sure, FB. Right after I do the dishes and organize my records.

Zombie actors get nervous when you ask for a headshot.

My Aunt Gwen passed away. She was the Southern Queen of Hugs. She welcomed challengers to the crown with open arms and plates of food.

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipisicing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua, ROFL.

I've been clumsy for so long, I taught Albert Hofmann how to trip.

At Bible Study. My apartment-in-the-Tower-of-Babel jokes are falling flat. Aiming too high.

Going to get beer and waffles at the new beer and waffles spot down the street. Who knows, it could be love.

I wax poetic, touting community radio's virtues, right up until a horrible song comes on. Then I want to throw my radio in the DJ's bathtub.

"You didn't tell me you were going to write about the hooker! It's something we could have done together!"

Got my bb into guns.

Helvetica is Swiss, but paying more for a product because it features that typeface is as American as Apple i.

Short detectives can't wear trench coats because they're always dragging fabric through evidence.

Hippie kids break my heart. I want to tell them that Bob Marley's "Legend" isn't reggae. I want to buy them steak, Twinkies, and cap guns.

My dreamcatcher caught an old boot.

This pawn shop doesn't have any chess sets. Confused.

My exes play hard to get rid of.

Bone China sounds like a terrifying place.

Genetically predisposed to seeking out the sweet stuff, an ant tried to lick my eye. Attempted to kill it by winking, but not sexy enough.

Waiting for client to call for weekend phone meeting. Eating leftover pizza.

If I'd changed my name when I was 7, I'd now be Kaboomerang Odin. Everything would be different. The other Navy SEALs would call me Boomy.

The only way the condos in this neighborhood could go up faster is if they were doused in gasoline.

Misinformed by wolves.

Moved in with Sisyphus at the top of a hill. Pretty much have the place to myself.

Started listening to rap at 14, lyrics all about peace and tolerance. Now I bump rap about 'tussin and pussy, and consider myself evolved.

Buying apples and razor blades.

If you aren't a large man with a high voice, don't talk to me. It's just going to be disappointing.

Coffee is the only girl for me.

Sitting at the coffee shop, I met a professional whitewater kayaker. I asked him what it is like and he spit in my face.

In activity limbo. Exceeding my expectations on how low I can go.

My lady ran into an ex-girlfriend of hers from NYU. I wanted to ask if her bits tasted as good back then, but they were too busy making out.

Loose lips sink quips.

My girlfriend just told me I taste like butterscotch. She's a vegan. She's also in A.A.

Arrived at the theater to see Dark Knight, and a teen told me I had to check my skateboard outside. What, no kickflips through the screen?

Eating an After Eight mint after eight o'clock makes me feel like a line-forming lamb, docile and obedient with my yuppie chocolate wafer.

Someday my prince will come (on your face).

Today is the meteorological equivalent of the rose cliché. It's beautiful and vibrant up top, but the thorny wind sure does bite down here.

Your 20s: Check out this band.
Your 30s: Check out this bandwidth.
Your 40s: Check out is at 10 AM.

I'm shorter than average. This morning I high-fived a woman's handbag.

Shit. Twitter has become my friend Sean.

Plagiarism is robbery at ballpoint.

The new NIN is everything you should be: inexpensive, high-quality, instrumental, and wholly without DRM.

Every time a bike bell rings, a vegan eats hot wings.

You are what you tweet.

We wouldn't be in this whole mess if the Garden of Eden had grown a rib tree.

If you're the world's best trophy craftsman, who makes your trophy?

Yeah, I could go to your art opening, but I'd rather you show me "the beauty that's inside" by gutting yourself.

[Pagecrusher is now following you on foot!]

Daredevil sucks. He can't even read his own comics.

I've spent so much time masturbating, I'm now aroused by ceilings.

At my glass home, training my pet rocks to attack.

I've been in New York too long. A stranger held the door for me and I gave him my wallet.

Updated from Gutsy to Hardy, powering up Songbird for the first time. Oh my God. Songbird really is better than iTunes. DRM can suck it.

"Your penis is all neck."

Feeling the breeze.

Halfway through my root canal, my dentist mentioned she cancelled her subscription to Empathy magazine because she "wasn't feeling it."

About to DJ at Moloko. Picking out the appropriate pair of white gloves.

My dentist loves Palin. She told me all about it before she gave me the shot of epinephrine from a helicopter.

keeping abreast.

After an low score of 37 at a PA bowling alley, Obama pledged to replace the one at the White House (built by Truman) with a b-ball court.

So lost in this html clusterbomb that I can't get any breathing room without typing <a.

If I ever die in a car accident, it'll happen because I'm Twittering while driv

This thinking cap is too tight.

This Holmes-brand space heater couldn't even warm a glove compartment. Nice engineering, Holmes. Way to drop the ball.

"God is sled." -Citizen Neitzsche (1941)

It's my last week of my twenties. I'm making every drug binge memorable and every prostitute count. Last one counted to 150, then she split.

Aluminum foil looks like T-1000 skin. Leftovers? No thanks.

The sky is Sinatra-eyes blue. Most assuredly a bicycle day.

Frisbee golf should be called "penultimate frisbee".

Text testing....

Eating out.

Woke up to more freelance work. Life is good.

Orbiting the coffee table, sipping on a lemonade.

Just received a DM informing me that I single-handedly broke Twitter with the hyper-use of hyphens. Finally.

Speaking from my fourteen hours of experience, being 30 years old is a whole lot like being 29, only with more blowjobs.

Fast Company wrote up Design Business Review, the magazine we helped word! Keep your Pantone-pushing pantalones paunchy.

Toothache. Coffee wake.

updating my site, www.ministryofimagery.com. Check it out.

Why aren't martini glasses shaped so that they don't spill so easily on the bus?

Just got back from DJing in N. Portland. I'm so tired that I'm seeing double. Oh wait, that could be double vision from being drunk.

You, with the handkerchief in your back pocket, blowing your nose into a dozen tiny napkins. Um... nevermind.

The bike locks used in Oklahoma are a joke. You could easily cut through them with Carrot Top's wit.

Hurricane's coming. Float to the Bronx Zoo. Collect beasts, two by two. (Should be simple. Yankees fans are eager to step on ferries.)

Your hashtags would be a lot cooler if they were hash brownies.

Sometimes life acts like I owe it a handjob.

You know how when you're lovesick, you can't eat, you can't sleep, you want to die? Being carsick is a lot like that, only not for pussies.

Even Jason Street runs more than the L train.

Checking out Mud Hut Computing.

The top three buttons on Dennis Leary's shirts are almost always defective.

Your mouth bone's connected to my dick bone.

Running on empties.

Had a snowball fight with a homeless guy, then came back into my warm and expansive apartment.

Some days I feel as though my life is falling apart and all I've got is stale Bubble Tape.

Just now landed at the home base where I have a stash of television shows to keep my brain distracted while my body reads 18th-century lit.

You love her, but she loves him, and he loves/ Puppies and rabbits too tightly with gloves./

Surfers don't high-five, they catch waves.

The girlfriend: "Aphex Twin sounds like the electronics department at Lowe's."

It's the kind of day here in Portland where you look out the window and say, "Wow, it's sunny!" but when you step outside your spit freezes.

Children should be invited to play that toss-the-ball-into-the-cup game with Bozo's open grave. Clowns: never too soon.

My sixty-year-old housemate asked me if I had time to take a few photos of his ass, "for reference."

This day isn't working for me.

Dreamt that I devoured the best sandwich of my life: salami, spinach, red onions, pepper, oil and vinegar. Jughead wove my dreamcatcher.

This day makes me want to drive a rusty railroad spike through my own eye socket, film it, then send it to all those who believe in me.

Being crushed by time.

Good morning, moonshine.

The term "no-brainer" is pro-zombie propaganda.

I had to bend over backwards to get us into this limbosine.

Had the draft for my fantasy league. I nabbed Merlin (old), Achilles (injured), Astaroth (hot-headed), and Sisyphus (can't move the ball).

Cannot remember the last time I touched a cat. Must have been sometime in middle school.

I'm a self-made procrastination guru. I'll tell you all about it later.

If, when entering my house, you detect the sickly-sweet stench of decay, it's not me. It's my roommate. He hasn't fully dissolved yet.

Overheard on local news: "Think you're pretty knowledge-savvy about hybrid cars?" No, but I am knowledge-savvy about changing channels.

Dad's Generation: fast cars and fast women. My Generation: fast food and fast Internet.

My feet are gonna drop off at the ankles like overripe pears. This sapling's seen sunnier days.

My Twitter account has apparently been infected with emoticons. Someone posted in my place. Anyone else getting weirdness? Thoughts?

I'm desperate for a ffffound invite, more than I've wanted access to any web service before. Please, if you've got one to spare, send i ...

These days it's feast or freelance.

Just polished off a plate of brie and baguette slices. Loving my n800 and wondering why I didn't get one sooner.

Trying to find an invite to Pownce.

The New Age Movement should be called the Middle Age Movement. If you disagree, write in to NPR about it.

If I could get a llama to fall in love with me, would it swallow instead?

Playing Bob James' "Nautilus" at Moloko. Sounds like an underwater fight between Herbie Handcock and Captain Nemo. (They both drown.)

There's a huge difference between peeing in a public pool and peeing into a public pool. That difference is typically measured in screams.

I don't need to read it. _A Tree Grows in Brooklyn_ is obviously fiction.

My characters runneth over.

I'm looking at a baby cute enough to make a Nazi's heart turn into a stuffed bear.

#hashtags #oversell #your #joke

I'm moving back to NY in an hour. I'll finally have an endless supply of recruits for my cadre of writers and rats.

Found a credit card on the street. Still works.

There's cheddar on my Adidas, but it's not the hip-hop kind.

Signed up for Brightkite. My username is moi. Please find and add me. Profile photo coming soon, along with stalking.

Drop the Christmas tunes. Listen to some truly uplifting stuff, even for heathens like myself. Mahalia, take it away:

Made a bunch of new friends at the Fresh Pot on Mississippi because they like the hand-painted graphics on my skateboard. They're twelve.

My favorite tale of horror is the one about the guy who works a thankless job, grows old without anybody really knowing him, and dies alone.

These fries taste like heat lamp. Supersizing my nausea.

Somebody needs to explain to this kid why it's bad to shirk responsibilities. 1-2-3 not it.

Every actor in _Wolfman_ is telegraphing it in.

I'd go to more country bars if they had lion dancing.

It's a terrifying, bottomless moment when you realize that the key difference between you and these schlubs is the way you wear your hat.

revise, revise, revise.

You can't teach an old dog gnu tricks.

Happy birthday, Mom. Surprise! You can bake your cake and eat it too.

**Rule of Thumb** If your bong is tall enough to play in the NBA, you'll never play in the NBA.

About to lay down some African funk records at Beulahland. NE 28th, just North of Burnside.

At the batting cages, sipping blue raspberry slushies and belting softballs. Wish y'all were here.

You winsome. You loose some?

I can keep myself jogging if I wear all black and a ski mask, carry a TV, and look back every block or so, as if I'm being chased.

Every team I choose to follow ends up losing. Hoping my luck will change. Going to watch the Generals trounce the Globetrotters tonight.

Twitter is allergic to my text input, which doubled up my troubled pup. Tonight's technology tastes like scabby foreskin.

Ate swordfish for the first time. Delicious. Had a "sword fight" in college, but that tasted much different.

I would love to come see your band when they open for Coldplay, but my doctor said absolutely no dry heaving.

Sleep drops in like a brazen neighbor.

Riding my bike on Tilamook behind the slowest driver I've ever seen. Cartoon slow. I'm texting this faster than he's driving.

Looking for a nice box and card so I can give you the finger.

Styrofoam still dominates in Oklahoma. Drinking sweet tea and eating chicken out of a container that will last longer than me.

My people use every part of M. Bison.

It's amazing I spend so much time on Twitter, especially since I can't even see your breasts.

I'm not myself today.
[This tweet was ghostwritten by accredited professionals.]

These two bubblegum-pink tire levers were probably designed for Tuffy Bear, the bicycle mechanic Care Bear who trues wheels and hearts.

Experiencing an erection lasting longer than four hours. Unfortunately, it's not mine.

You say, "Jump."
I say, "How high are you?"

In the original "Cinderella", her step-sisters come to her wedding & get their eyes pecked out by crows. Want birdseed at your nuptials?

Surrounded by well-fed cattle. Drinking club soda.

Finding _Martha Stewart Living_ in Bed-Stuy is about as likely as finding Martha Stewart living in Bed-Stuy.

Verifying verb endings over a tall tumbler of tea.

Stress is ejaculate in the eye of your day.

Watching five moms in their thirties bob heads to 50 Cent at Opposable Thumb. I should be boycotting this place, but I'm sick and need wifi.

Meeting some friends from my writing program at NYU. Spreading my love of Portland like the Herpes Simplex Virus. We need more NY in PDX.

The weather in Portland today was perfect. When the sun hit my skin I felt as though I was growing freckles right there on the spot. Spring!

I only carry books for girls who do light reading.

A bush outside my window looks like Kid from House Party 2.

If idle hands are the devil's workshop, my dick is where he gets his wood.

Private school taught you to roll your R's.
Public school taught me to roll my eyes.

I'm reaching the age that my knees buckle more easily than my belts. When I get a walker, it's going to be one with awesome graphics.

Don’t trust anyone who uses the word “gratitude”.

Took the sheets off my bed so that I could wash them. Found bona fied debris. Then I found a sign that reads, "trailhead: 0.4 mi."

Dominating somebody with my non-dominant hand. High-fiving with the other.

After visiting its restroom, I vote we rename it "the Norman Pubic Library."

I think today is some sort of holiday, but I can't remember what it is.

I have a problem with commitm

I was bored in the U.S.A.

Was just offered 4 free cheeseburgers and a fish sandwich by a disgruntled McDonald's employee. Respectfully declined.

At the Aalto, filling up note cards with ideas for work.

I'm like King Midas, but with blood.

We can't afford another Holocaust? But I've been saving up!

Put your fingers in a lady, then go directly to the Apple store to try out a bunch of keyboards. The quick brown fox likes lazy doggy style.

In college I dated a girl named Apostrophe. We broke up because she was always high and very possessive.

Shit. How do I know if these raisins are old?

The only thing worse than a pandemic is a pan flute.

Fawning over flora.

Sitting in the Fresh Pot on Mississippi Ave., shaking down the internet for work.

Trying to fill my life with hard quips and soft hips. Fuck money. I hope I die counting backgammon pips.

Head empty.

Since arriving in Oklahoma, we've received so many thoughtful gifts. Some gentlemen just left a beautiful cross burning in our front yard!

growing crushes like orchids.

If it's not an oval, nobody's high enough to be in the drum circle.

Make rent, not war.

Dinosaur meat gives me gas.

"live hip-hop" = vegan cowboy boots

Hover your cheek just above your laptop's keyboard. The heat you feel is from the dirty words waiting to be typed.

New housemate (who is gay) came into my room while I was working to tell me my sweater is "really faggy". So be it.

The road to swell is paved with good retention.

Some Irene bitch is teaching me to turf surf tonight. Broadway's swell.

Now that Scrabulous is dead I want to shoot myself in the Facebook.

"If we go to war with China, we'll have to fight them naked."

Flexing your biceps and quoting Charles Atlas are the fastest ways to calm a hysterical woman. Bonus points for flared nostrils.