Pepperoni Karaoke

Don't go softly into that good night. Don't eat at Karaoke bars either. I love Pepsi, when I'm not drinking Coke. Remember what it was like when Bi Lo was Red Food? They had the best frozen pizzas then. Big stupid pepperoni's that just made your mouth raise its hand and say, "Yes, I am a mouth, I remember what it feels like to be alive." They were cheap too, not like a dime store hooker, but, y'know, inexpensive. Like Dylan Thomas. And the Talking Heads. Sufjan Stevens once said, "Damn, I'm hungry." I wasn't there, of course, but the point isn't the credibility, it's the timing of truth. Everybody gets hungry. Shouldn't we unite somehow. Red Food knew about this years before this silly war in Iraq. They knew good food at low prices helped bring a new kind of freedom. Freedom to eat. Oh, those pepperoni's were so stupid and big. Nothing tastes better with frozen pizza (when its all cooked and stuff) than a nice glass of Pepsi (with ice) unless it's Coke, and then that's the best taste. So, to end this thing in sand land, why don't we bring back Red Food. Pizza too. Nobody eats pizza anymore. Nobody cares anymore. People are too busy making blanket statements. They're always wrong. Blanket Statements. Always. Karaoke!!!!

Hello Clint Eastwood. Hello Death. Goodbye Apple.

I'm waiting for you, Clint Eastwood. You're coming down the hill, and I see you. It's only natural to be afraid. My finger is resting on an apple. It's firm, but it gives a little if I squeeze it. Don't want to bruise it now, though. Not before you get to my porch. Oh, Clint, it's been too long. You look tired. I wish we weren't aiming to kill each other. All I have is this apple, but I'd say that it's a good enough piece of fruit, I wouldn't mind staying alive long enough to finish it. I washed it myself, kept it in the fridge too. That means it's going to be crisp. I'd be happy if I could see long enough to swallow the first bite. You're not sure you can wait, though, are you, Clint? You want to do the job and go. Hell, you might even take the apple. Right after I told you it was all I had. That's like sleeping with a man's wife, Clint, it's all I have - I told you that. It's silly for me to get upset. You wouldn't ask, and I haven't really told you anything. You're still coming down that damn hill. Like an older, deadlier Laura Ingles, but this ain't no Little House on the Prairie, is it Clint? I'm no Michael Landon, either. Haven't got time to develop the drinking problem or become a guardian angel - not like Michael, anyhow. It didn't have to end like this - you coming down the hill to my porch to finish the job you started 23 years ago. You're a bastard, Clint Eastwood. You're the yellow bird I've been waiting for. This would be a sight easier if I didn't love you so much. I feel like Abraham, I'm watching myself sacrifice the one thing I love. You're getting too old, Isaac. I hope God spares you. You're a good man. I'm ready to go. I don't need the apple, it's been getting warmer in my hand since I saw you. It won't be crisp anymore. I'm ready for you, Clint Eastwood. You'll be here soon - no ram around to take my place. Stories all mixed up, isn't it? I hate when I do that. Goodbye, Clint. Enjoy my apple.

TV Got it Wrong? Trailmix in the Eyes? Is it Thursday Already?

Do you like it when people shove trail mix in your eye? Neither does Mr. JonnyPantz. In fact he, wait, what was it he said last night? Oh, that's right, he "hates it." Whatever. What a lame-o. Do you ever want to have a cigarette at work? Sometimes I do. I'm the only one here, though. Who would answer the phone if I went out to weather the elements in a cloud of nicotine? Nobody... that's who. Remember that old Anti-Drug commercial where the announcer says, "Nobody ever says 'I want to be a Junkie when I grow up'". I wonder if that's actually true... I mean, I knew these guys in high school... they seemed like that's exactly what they used to say. I'm no mind reader, and I'm no telemarketer, but I can rememberize. And that seems to be exactly the conversation I remember over senior lunch. "Man, when I get older, dude, Junkie! That's what I want to be when I grow up... a Junkie." Weird. TV got it wrong. I'm out of Trail Mix. Score 1 for JPantz's eyes. You're lucky, buddy. I think I'll step out for a bit... if anyone reads this in the next 7 minutes, don't call the office. You'll only get the machine. Seriously. Don't. Trailmix. Eyes.

Bariss the Joke Master

Have you ever walked into a bar and seen a little man with a little pad jotting down descriptions of anything his little beady eyes may find? He's the joke master. He writes the jokes. Evan doesn't like people that underestimate his knowledge. That's why he hates asking questions. He wants to know exactly what he doesn't know. He doesn't want someone making a bunch of assumptions that he doesn't know more than what he actually may or may not know. They are always awkward conversations. Always. He's sleeping now, though. Daddy's left the office, and he's napping. So, steroids. Weird, huh? I could buy some for like $400. I could get big and mean. That would make up for... everything. People like big people. People also like mean people - girls especially (though they rarely admit it). I'd be both. They'd give me a cool nickname like "the machine" or "Bariss". A cookie I'd be one tough. Evan woke up. He's on the phone talking about rollovers and file-what-have-yous. Tax forms. I wish I could be the joke master. I'd finish that joke in the Breakfast Club. This Naked Chick walks into a bar with a poodle under one arm and a two foot salami under the other. She puts the poodle and the salami on the bar, and the bartender says... (sound of ceiling breaking) AHHHHHH! Yeah, if I were the joke master that would be my Everest. I'd wait for years for that naked lady to come in with her poodle and salami. It would be amazing. I would be amazing. I'd Benchpress tables to stay big, and I'd eat raw meat while I waited to stay mean. That way after my time as joke master was served people would still like me. "Bariss," they'd say, "You've been gone awhile, you've written some amazing jokes, and I still like you."

The Plan

"Bob?" Mike asked, sipping his coffee in front of my cubicle. My break wasn't til nine, the bastard. He knew my name. I hate it when he said my name in a question. Sonofabitch. "I'm gonna need you to move your office space to make room for a new employee," he said with that damn-bastard-crapface-smuggy look on his face. "I'm not sure that's going to be a good idea, there, Mike," I said, the smile plastered across my face. I was respectful. He was my boss, the s.o.b. that he was. Mike was still grinning, "Sounds great, I'll tell Ronnie to get his things, and bring em' on over, kay? Bob?" and then he was gone. He didn't have to tell Ronnie anything. Three seconds couldn't have passed when the cup of water on my desk started to shake. ... What was that? There it was again. A vibration. And then the fluorescent light went black. It was enveloped by a giant orb... I squinted, and I saw it, Ronnie's goatee. "Hi, there fella," he gasped - apparently it had been a tough walk for big Ron. I moved my stuff over, but if felt pointless. There wasn't enough room. When he sat down my chest jammed into my desk, my left lung collapsed. And then the Fritos. Ronnie loved the Fritos- all the time. There should be a law. I've got to walk down three flights of stairs, walk around the building, and stand in a friggin' wind tunnel to smoke a cigarette, and this fat ass ruins his health wherever the hell he wants. I wish I could prove I got second hand fat from Ronnie. I gained three pounds in the first two hours. There should be a law. Mike came back to check on us. He laughed. "Bob? Cozy?" he said, hiding a smirk. Ronnie looked up with glassy eyes, he was thinking, "Cozy? C'mon Mike, it's me, Ronnie!" and then the most horrifying sound I have ever heard. Brute Laughter. It was like open mike night at the sci-fi convention. Shatner was killing. Beam me up, fuckers. Ronnie turned to share his amusement with me. I caught a Frito in the eye. It was soggy with Ron's spittle. I turned to Mike, coffee was coming out of his nose. He coughed up, and spat it out on my chin. "Mike?" I said, "Mike? I quit. Got that? Got that, Mike? huh? Mike?" and that was that. Ronnie ate me before I got to the door, though. That had been the plan all along.

Unrequited Flower Cow

I wanted to say, "I love you," but I knew you wouldn't understand. We speak different languages, you and I. Maybe we could connect some day far away, in a land that's built for two, near a sea that came from one. I thought that we could make love in the alley of our building, you'd be there with me, next to garbage and a bum. We'd be free together, we'd do what ever we pleased. But you don't speak my language, and I don't know you well. If I could feel your tongue, I'm sure we'd get along, if I could whisper in your ears, I'm sure you'd see me through. Every time I see you I want you near me, close at hand. I feel as though a leaf may blow through the wind and knock me down. Your eyes tell me that story. Your smile brings me home. Pick me, my lovely, pick me above the rest. I will sit inside your mouth and wait for you to hear me. I will be the one that lulls the day out of your eyes. Sleep with me, my foreign cow, I am your rose.

Dino's Blown Date

The new neighbors moved in. I went over to say hello. Then, he opened the door. His hair was blowing in the slight breeze caused by rocking back and forth on the door. His shorts were riding up to his crotch. I was disgusted. How could someone like me, a mere simpleton, be allowed to see something so fabulous. His name was Tino, and I wanted to become him. I didn't say anything as he stared out those baby blues. I turned and walked away. I walked straight down to the local tanning bed and laid back for an hour. I got highlights. I cut all of my pants to my buttcheeks. I went to Babies R Us and bought some new t-shirts. I got some white gloves to go with my Keds. No laces. No problem. I changed my name to Dino. People knew I was cool. They could smell it on me. They smelled that, and the peach cobbler I carried around constantly. It was a gimmick. It was mine. "Hey who's that cool dude with the short shorts and the cobbler? He's cool. Is that peach?" I started talking with an accent. "Hallo, m'name iss Dino." I talked in third person, and I started to carry a man-purse. Then the most beautiful girl in town stopped me. "Dino," she said, "I was going to ask you out, but I realized you were ... well, I dunno. Unavailable." I was too pretty for the most beautiful girl in town? Well, I had to put an end to that. I went back to my neighbors house. I knocked on the door to say hello. Then, he opened the door. Tino. I killed him with my bare hands. That's what my dad had always told me to do with peer pressure. Take it around the neck and break it. That's what I think about Tino blowing my chances with the most beautiful girl in town. You know, it's funny. A little piece of Dino died in that doorway. I laid him down to rest right beside Tino's body.

Oskar's Fish Heads

"Oskar's 'as th' best shiat," Jar said, wiping the dust from the top of the tin can. "Gimme tha' fork behin' ye," he bellowed to the woman behind the counter. She was a stone faced woman, not much older than Jar. They were probably 68. Both of them. "M' wife," Jar said, explaining to me, "She's don' hear well... def I thingk." I hated Jar. I hated his toothless grin, and the way he ate his Oskar fish heads. He was my father, though, and I had just met him. I had to be nice. That's right old man, eat up. How do you explain to your dead beat dad the fish heads he eats every day come from the ship yard of his exwife... my mother. I'm Oskar. My mother named her fish head company after me. Look at him stuffing his fat face with the fish heads his son chopped up. By the look of it, I'd probably held those same fish heads in my greasy little hands fifteen years before. The can looked that old. Everything about "dad's" new life looked old.This was the great escape he came to. It made me happy to know he liked Oskars. Not because we were somehow connected. Nothing that sentimental. No, it merely validated my satisfaction for pissing all over those damn fish heads. Every day. Every fish head. A little Oskar special sauce. Take that old man. Take that as a Christmas present, you sick son of a bitch. From Oskar.

Sweet, Sweet, Yeah

"Wanna-go-to-prom-with-me," Tony muttered in an exhale. He wasn't really asking, he was merely stuttering through a declaritve sentence. He didn't honestly expect Chanese, the smartest girl on the mathletes, to actually go with him. Reggie, Tony's best friend said he didn't have a chance. What was he bringing to the table? Sure, he'd won the Northshire Science Fair eight years running, but what does that prove? Chanese was perfect. She was starring at Tony, that cool and calculating stare that made all the boys in the Honors program cringe with ecstacy. Tony felt as though he had stopped breathing, and yet he could hear his mouth emitting the soft panting noise that had gotten him slapped in a crowded line at the Shop-N-Go. He could see Chanese's soft, blonde bangs swaying in the warmth of his breath. "I'd love to go with you, Tony," she said, pulling herself back out of his breath's range. "Sweeet," Tony said greedily, "This is totally awesome." Chanese quickly wiped the droplets of spittle off her face from Tony's exclamation of joy. Neither of them spoke to each other for a minute. Tony couldn't believe it. He was dumbfounded and didn't know what to say. He simply stared at her, thinking of all the fun they were going to have and what an idiot Reggie was. After two minutes of this Chanese rolled her eyes, "Okay, Tony, you can go and sit down now." Tony smiled, "Yeah, okay," he said, but he didn't move. In fact he hadn't heard what she had said. They stared at each other for another five minutes. Chanese finally left, and Tony did too, three hours later. As the weeks went on, Tony never got the courage back up to talk to Chanese again. He actually spent most of his days avoiding her - his asthma began acting up, and his nerves were shot. He was actually so caught up with avoiding her, that by the time prom rolled around, he had completely forgotten to rent a tux. Chanese showed up at his house, decked out to the max, and Tony simply smiled. "Sweeet," he finally said, staring at Chanese, looking so ravishing. "I just dropped by to tell you I'm going to prom with Reggie," Chanese said bitterly, "He at least talks to me." Tony didn't move, "Yeah, that sounds good," he said, but he hadn't heard her again, "I'll set up the camera." As Tony set up the camera, he thought to himself, "This is going to be the best prom ever... I'm so glad Reggie showed up so I can rub his nose in it."

Wednesday, November 31 1984.

Dear Diary,
Today I noticed a piece of me was missing. Not like a finger or a toe... a piece of my soul. I'm not sure why it suddenly hit me, maybe I'm going through some sort of midlife crisis, but when I looked into the mirror this morning, I only saw half a troll. Yeah, I know, my life is amazing. I've got a jewel jutting out of my tummy, and beautiful, vibrant hair... still, I feel empty- dark even. Sometimes I look around my room and just stare at all the other figurines and wonder, "Are they satisfied? Do they question existence? Are they..." dare I say it, "happy?" Sure, I've got a smile on my face, but inside, I'm a troll full of tears. I feel as though maybe I understand why we trolls have hidden under bridges, and stolen babies throughout history. Maybe we all get to a certain age where simply being beautiful isn't enough. I caught myself eyeing my master's newborn the other day... and last night on the Discovery Channel they had a special on goats and I was suddenly famished. What's getting into me? I feel as though I'm changing every day. I hope I get to the bottom of this, Diary, I really do. Who knows what I'll wake up and notice tomorrow.
Goodnight,
Trollie

[shortly after this diary entry, Trollie the Troll, a.k.a. Dixie the Bandit, a.k.a. Trevor the GoatHerder, was found with 32 newborns, 58 goats, and a young girl he had abducted. They were hiding out beneath the Thompson State Bridge in LittleRock Maryland. The children and goats were returned to their owners, but Trollie escaped through a drain pipe. If you or anyone you know has any information surrounding Trollie, please don't hesitate to call: 1-800-I-KNOW-WHERE-TROLLIE-IS]

Crazy? Crazy to me.

"Yeah, he looks crazy to me," John said to Jon. It was Hal's tie, of course, that caused such an upheval at the office. He didn't where his Tuesday Tie like everybody else. John and Jon were very concerned. "Dammit," Hal thought, "I knew I should have gone with Tuesday." It had been a long Monday night at the office, and Hal had stopped off at the local diner for some coffee. He got a cup to go, but when he brought it back to the car, it of course landed all over his dry cleaning- spilling particularly dark coffee all over his Tuesday Tie. He washed it as soon as he got home, and got all the stains out. When he woke up, however, he wasn't feeling very Tuesday. He felt more like Saturday. So Hal did a very unHal thing. He went to his closet and picked out Saturday's Tie. "Let's kill him, John" Jon said to John. "Yes," said John, "we must protect the rest of the pride." Jon looked at John, tears welling up in his eyes, "Oh, my babies, my babies... John we really must think about my babies." John patted Jon on the back, "It'll be okay," he said, "I'll do it. I'll do it on Saturday... it'll be easy, he'll be the only bloke wearing a Tuesday Tie." Jon smiled, "You're right, of course, you're always right," he said and then he passed out. Jon had gotten too excited. John passed out shortly afterward, but only because he had just done a whippit. Hal was still standing there wondering if John or Jon knew that he had been listening to their conversation. As he stared down at their passed out bodies, he also wondered what their chests would look like if they were deep fried in butter. Then he laughed. "Maybe I am crazy," he thought.

What's going on inside our computers?

Walk down the road a bit... no, go a little farther. Did you fall off the edge of the world? Was it a short trot, or did you go the distance. Stop listening to Cake. Short skirt and a long jacket... who are they kidding. I'm going the distance. I'm going for speed. I wish I could steal lyrics from the old Charlie Brown Christmas special... but I can't... I have morals. I have ethics. I have values... in that order. I know a lot of you out there want to have your Cake and eat it too, but you can't. Not on my watch. And believe me, I watch. I watch all of you. Back in aught six they called me the old yellow dog. That's because I was faithful... to a point. That's right, we all have our limits. Mine was bad music taste. So help me, if I caught any of my subjects rockin it out to Superman, I'd come down on them like the Karma Police. D2 radio, Hitler hairdo and all that lot. Crash the party, yeah. I'm about thirty three and half pounds over my peanut butter cracker intake. That's all I've got pumping through these veins. Crackers and Pepsi, that's what will be fueling the rage that will come down on you if you cross me. That is what you get if you mess with us. Phew, for a minute there I lost myself. Radiohead just made my hit list. He can't write cause of the war on terrorism. Crackers and Pepsi... he's in for it.