Friday, July 31, 2009

Mom, Read at Your Own Risk

I had this idea for a story tonight. It is about a guy who has not had a date in over a decade (no, not me), and he doesn't have many friends (really, it isn't about me), and as a result, he masturbates quite a bit (SERIOUSLY ALREADY, IT ISN'T ABOUT ME). Any who, he decides that, after 12 or so years of celibacy, it is probably time to start dating so he doesn't die alone.

You still with me? I know, cliché, but here is the "Kanrei Touch." He is terrified of dating and has personified his fears into two body parts that have developed very distinct personalities as a result of his life so far: his right hand and his penis. His penis, suffering year upon year of the torment that is masturbation (to a penis, the friction alone must hurt) and has decided it wants to be abstinent and, as a result, refuses to perform, even for his hand.

Now his hand... after so many years of pleasuring a man and having no contact with women, has become gay. It is jealous of his plans to start dating as it considering it "seeing other people" and is constantly giving him grief for "cheating on himself."

As his hand puts it "what do I know about women? I have felt exactly 17 breasts compared to over 2000 hand jobs. Yes, they have all been on myself, but still..."

There is always the chance of personifying other objects to compound his mental anguish, such as his computer, which he used to use for sex he is now using to meet girls and it is offend. The idea needs work.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Damned Purple Fuzzy Ball

My cat has become a "fetch" addict. I wake up- purple fuzzy ball in my bed and a "meow meow" to great me as he then rushes to the edge of the bed, eagerly awaiting the toss. I come from work to find purple fuzzy ball by the front door and a "meow meow" to great me as he then rushes a few feet in front of me for the toss. I am sitting here typing this with a purple fuzzy ball by my feet and a "meow meow" coming from an impatient cat dying for a toss.

Some, including yourself, may say "so then play with the poor deprived little kitty. It obviously wants attention" and I would say you were right, except, for example, I have been throwing the damned purple fuzzy ball for over an hour now and the little shit is showing no signs of growing bored with it. I have been throwing it in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes; he doesn't even have to go that far to get it, and he still eagerly hops up, grabs it, places it at my feet and says "meow meow." Always two too. If I don't throw it good enough for him, he does take it away for about five minutes, but he quickly returns and so does the purple fuzzy ball.

My cat is also addicted to going outside as of late. He will sit and stare at the door, reach up and try to turn the knob, meow for a while and finally, smack my other cat, almost as if using her as a doorbell to open the door. He will smack her once and goto the door, wait five minutes, return to her, smack her again, and repeat.

Not sure why exactly I shared this, but such is my life and it is ruled by cats. Be careful what you wish for because I do remember years ago wishing to be controlled more by pus....

Sunday, July 26, 2009

This is what I have so far:

CHARACTERS

Kevin Brittney"KB" Jones and Oswald "Oz" "Shwagz" Schwartz are pizza delivery drivers/ drug dealers. Actually, just KB is the pizza driver while Oz hangs around the pizza shop because the owner lets him sell pot through it in exchanged for a slice of the pie. KB and OZ are room mates and life long friends boarding on brothers.

Bob is a collection agent who uses very extreme methods to collect. His style earned him the attention of the Devil who now uses Bob to collect on souls owed. KB currently owes the Devil one soul.

Officer Nicolas Oliver P'Hune is a narcotics cop who, while friends with KB and OZ in High School and college, as decided they are his ticket to a detective shield and Perseus them constantly. His name has since been shorted to "Officer No Fun."

The Wingnut is a character we have already met, but, to catch you up, he was a chemistry student in college and an old friend of KB and Oz. One day, while working on a combination of Ecstasy and LSD he was going to call "Elestsy," he found the perfect rising high, but got too high to ever figure out how to come down and, as a result, is still peaking on his trip 6 years later.


This is basically going to be a very general outline of the story I plan on writing one day, broken down into an almost "outline" format, but with some dialog and story element. It is as informal as you can get and I will be adding to it as ideas pop up. I am trying to work in some nods to things that influence me so, if something sounds familiar, it very well may be. Let me know if I venture into plagiarism please. I want to pay homage, not steal.

1. THE BEGINNING

Story begins in KB and OZ's apartment. Oz is sitting on the couch, breaking up his latest shipment into eights, or as close as he cared to guess, while KB paces back and forth behind him, "fondling his gun the way a boy who just discovered masturbation fondles his dick." It is clear KB is worried to death about something, and it is clear that his worrying is slowly getting on Oz's nerves. A sudden knock on the door to the tune of "Shave and a Haircut" sends both KB and Oz diving behind the couch is total fear.

"I told you he was fucking coming," KB whispers as he tries to remember in his panic which end of the gun he holds and which he points at what he needs dead.

"Dude," Oz, still unconvinced anyone is coming says, "If this dude is as 'movie villain bad ass' as you say he is, do you think he would knock?"

"What?" KB responded as reality slapped him harshly across the face, but paranoia did not let go. "Then it was the cops man. IT ain't for me, it's for you! Shit man, and I'm holding a gun. Here, take it, they already hate you!"

"It isn't the cops either man," OZ said calmly, the way a mother talks to her child afraid of the "closet monster." "If it were the cops, they would probably just do three hard pounds almost knocking the door off the hinges. I highly doubt they would knock in a jovial fashion."

"A what?"

"Would you not call knocking in the universal friend code of 'Shave and a Haircut' a jovial fashion?"

"Well," KB stalled to try and find some way for him to save what little dignity he had left, but there wasn't any.

"Good, then I'm gonna get the door because it is probably a custie following his nose to the sweet sticky aroma of our coffee table."

Oz lets in the customer and tries to sell some pot, but the customer is distracted and slightly uncomfortable by KB's constant paranoid glances to the door and the gun, becomes convinced he is being set up, and runs out the door. As Oz yells at KB about allowing his paranoia to cost him money, the door almost fall off the hinges from three hard pounds and the fighting stops. One more knock and the house suddenly fills with 5 Narcotics officers.

"I told you the cops would just do three hard pounds," Oz said as the cops sat him and KB down on the couch before the coffee table filled with the sweet sticky digs. Oz could tell by the look on their faces that only half the evidence was going to make it to the station, but it was more than enough to seriously fuck him and KB while they were at it.

As the cops are getting ready to complete the arrest, the door flies open and a silhouette fills the frame as a quick flash sends one of the cops flying back wards, his stomach's contents on the floor for all to see. Two more flashes putting unwanted holes in police uniforms were quick to follow before anyone could even realize how fucked they all were. KB grabs his gun from the table and OZ grabs his bud from the table and both flip over behind the couch as another flash puts a large gaping hole where the two of them once sat.

"I told you he was 'movie villain bad ass'," KB said, momentarily relived his "pants pissing cowardice" was suddenly justified by Bob's carnage. "We should probably get moving. Come on you lazy bastard!"

"I'm coming dammit" Oz said as they both make a break for the back door as Bob continues he murderous rampage on the remaining cops. Being proud of his position in society as a sociopath, Bob couldn't live with himself if anyone, especially a cop, survived his rampage.

Friday, July 24, 2009

So?

My mother commented tonight that I don't blog anymore. That seems to be mostly true. I am active again at my old haunt, Drudge.com, but I have mostly left this blog unattended. I have been refining the outline to my story, but I have not/ cannot start writing it yet. I think nicotine was my creative fuel. I just don't "feel" it right now sadly. I have not officially closed this blog for the simple reason that I have not given up, but I do find myself without anything to say of note. I am sorry to have left you hanging in wonderment about here. I have not left the building, but I am in the bathroom.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Kanrei's Deep Thought of the Year

Every now and then I say something that strikes me as profound, deep, witty, or at the very least, worthy of remembrance. Today I said just such a thing.

Belief in G-d is like the style of underwear worn: If it makes you feel better, great, but I don't need the details.


I am so deep sometimes, I should write for Fortune Cookies.

Monday, July 06, 2009

To the Tune of "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road"

What are you gonna do now?
Did you even have a plan?
You should have stayed out of the spotlight
You should have listened to that old man

Now the GOP needs a replacement
They pinned all their hopes on you
A faulty vision, yes I know
But now the GOP stuck singing the blues

So goodbye Sarah Palin
What will the dogs of the media do now
You always gave a great punchline
You Political Circus Clown

Back to the obscurity of Wasilla
Back to plan your next day
You have finally found your future lies
In the Alaskan PTA


-OR to the tune of "Candle in the Wind"


And can't you see
You ran your race
Like a plastic bag in the wind
Blowing about randomly when the pain came in


I would have voted for you
But you are too stupid
Your relevancy running out long before
Your ego ever did