Cops & Hoochies: A haiku

Cops and hoochies, yo

What brings them all out tonight?

BET Awards

The awesome power of nature. And breasts.

You: Tom, where have you been? It’s been so long since you updated this blogamawhozit.

Tom: There was an earthquake! It shook my office building. Nobody else reacted, they just kept working in their cubicles, like tiny lemmings typing away, ignorant of the certain doom awaiting them. The fools!

You: Oh, no! What did you do, dive under your desk for safety?

Tom: No, I ran immediately to the nearest glass window. There, I saw a building shaking. Not just any building, mind you. It had a 20-foot-tall picture of a bikini girl rocking an iPod. It was a silhouette, but for some reason you could see her bikini top in color.

And the quake made her jiggle.

You: Idiot. You ran to a glass window during an earthquake?

(pause)

You: Wait, so these were 20-foot-tall boobs?

Tom: And wiggling.

You: Are you dicking with me?

Tom: I am not.

You: Wow.

Tom: I know.

You: I had a dream like that once.

Tom: Awesome.

(pause)

You: What where we talking about?

Tom: I, uh, I don’t remember. Boobs?



Imagine her 20-feet-tall and wiggling, as your life flashes before your eyes.

Real men punch raw meats

Looking for an excuse to not write my novel Trolling through a comics blog, I came across a prompt asking, “What’s wrong with this picture?”



Here’s what I came up with:

“That one guy is wearing a pink jacket while at the same time sporting very butch facial hair. Totally ill-matched.

And that Colin Powell clone in back seems rather impressed with Mr. Pink's delts, which is not so much wrong as it is bad timing. Leave it for the barracks, soldier, and don't ask, don't tell!

Finally, is that a woman in the background, or a 13-year-old boy?”

Here’s the answer, according to the blog:

“Such yellow stripes on the ends of sleeves are Navy insignia, not Army. (Though it looks to me like he's alternating between Admiral and Vice Admiral.)

And the general should be wearing some stars, probably four, on each shoulder”

So, the real answer concerns proper military insignia, meanwhile I’m going on about pink jackets and well-developed delts…

Jeez, I gotta start watching sports, eating red meat, punching stuff—something!

Maybe if I watch ESPN while hitting a side of raw beef, then CHEW on the bloody carcass during commercial breaks, that’ll get the testosterone pumping again.

(But, honestly, Mr. Pink’s hair is right out of 1985. Hello, Teen Wolf!)

Emmanuelle vs. Dracula

I found myself flip-flip-flipping through cable last night, trying to find a reason NOT to get rid of premium channels. I pay an extra $30 for “Uptown Girls”? Come on!

Suddenly a movie title stopped me dead: “Emmanuelle vs. Dracula”

(Grin.)

No. Way.

Brilliant! Of course, I had to see what it is. It’s genius, really—the combination of the prototypical slutty Euro-chick with the dark lord of sexuality and violence himself. That right there is chocolate in your peanut butter, ladies and gentlemen.

Unfortunately, five minutes in, it was evident the only good part of this movie is the title. Emmanuelle is dumb as lint and can barely string together a sentence in English. And Dracula is a puffy-faced creep who crashes a bachelorette party. Never knew the Count was such a… loser.

Still, what an awesome title.

I need something like that for my book. Something that’ll scream to people, “Hey, baby, open me up for a good time.” Yet Classy.

Some rejected titles so far:

1. The Candy-Coated Cobra (It makes sense in context if you read the book.)

2. Blow Me Vigorously (No context here. It’s pretty much what you think it is.)

3. Jurassic Park II by Michael Chricton (Really had my heart set on this one.)

4. Hot Lesbian Vampires (Sadly, my story features no vampires, lesbian or otherwise. Besides, the publisher already has a book with a similar title.)

5. Girls, Guns, and Germs (Or GGG, pronounced “guh guh guh.”)


"Bleh. My veekness is garlic. And coherent plotlines. Bleh.

Life is a roller coaster, and then you puke

I just signed my first book deal, for a novelization of one of my film scripts.

That blows my mind twelve ways to Friday. I came out here to write movies and I end up an author. Is that a step up, or down?

Everyone’s ecstatic, family, friends, the lot. I should be over the moon with joy.

And yet, lately I feel like I’m under a rock.

I miss my family in Texas.

I miss my friends.

Most of all, I miss my Katten.

Only now has this city begun to offer up a glimmer of anything positive. But it’s already taken so much. I hope it doesn’t cost me the most important person in my life.

Jeez, I’m bringing myself down. Better to end on a high note.

What would happen if an Amish person had Tourette’s syndrome? They wouldn’t know any good cuss words. What would they blurt out inappropriately?

Churning butter by hand: “My, what a lovely day—Betty Crocker biscuits! Black and Decker! Electricity!—we’re having.”

Riding in a horse buggy: “Hee-ya there, horse. Get a move on—Hummer! Toyota Tundra! Internal combustion! Internal combustion! Internal combustion!—Ah, behold the flowers in the field. Truly God is great… Hummer!”

Questioning their lot in life: “God, why have you afflicted me with these uncontrollable urges. Do I not follow the elders’ teachings? Do I not adhere to the one true way?—Hindus! Buddhism! Zen! Zen? Zen… Must…stop… blurting such obscenities… Pope! Pope! Popety Popety Pope!"