Thursday, December 21, 2006

The Z's or O's and the Wolf

by Don Cheney

One day, the Z's or O's and the Wolf took a trip to Juneau, Alaska. They weren't on the road for long when they suddenly realized that it was melting.

-¡Fucking shit, brother Wolf! -The Z's or O's said-. ¡The road is fucking melting! ¡Extraterrestrials are orbiting above! ¡I don't speak Martian and I don't know how to repair a road!

-¿You don't deal very well do you, brother Z's or O's?

The Z's or O's and the Wolf drove on, until, the orbiting Martians and the freely-segmenting road conspired to stop them. They were but fifteen minutes into their journey and the Z's or O's's panties were definitely bunching.

-¡Jesus freaking Christ! ¡¿What kind of nightmarish mammalia is this shit?! I had my accordion ready and I was going to play a jaunty jig. ¡¿And now I'm to be anally-probed?! Look, brother Wolf, I'm seeing flying saucers. Flying saucers and roasting roadway.

Wolf ignored Z's or O's and kept driving down the highway. The Z's or O's started praying to San Gervasio - the largest Mayan ruins site on Cozumel. Five minutes of that and the Z's or O's had calmed down enough to want only to slit Wolf's throat.

-¡Hey, brother Z's or O's, I'm driving as fast as I can!

-That is true, brother Wolf.

-And dig, friend Z's or O's, ¿what was the name of that Mayan ruins we just passed?

-¡¿What!? ¡You fucking blaspheming piece of dog crap!

ANOTHER fifteen minutes passed, but it felt like it was pushing sixteen to the Z's or O's.

-¡Jesus freaking Christ! ¡¿What kind of nightmarish mammalia are you handing me?! I had my accordion ready and I was going to play another jaunty jig. ¡¿And now I'm to be anally-probed?! Look, brother Wolf, I'm seeing flying saucers. Flying saucers and roasting roadway.

Wolf ignored Z's or O's and kept driving down the highway. The Z's or O's started downing Vicodin and continued praying to San Gervasio - the largest Mayan ruins site on Cozumel. Five minutes of that and the Z's or O's had calmed down enough to want only to slice Wolf in two.

-¡Hey, brother Z's or O's, I'm driving faster than I can!

-That is true, brother Wolf.

-And dig, friend Z's or O's, ¿what was the name of that Mayan ruins we just passed?

-¡¿What!? ¡You fucking blaspheming piece of ass metal!

ANOTHER fifteen minutes passed, but it felt more like sixteen to the Z's or O's.

-¡Jesus freaking Christ! ¡¿What kind of nightmarish mammalia is this shit?! I had my accordion ready and I was going to play a third jaunty jig. ¡¿And now I'm to be anally-probed?! Look, brother Wolf, I'm seeing flying saucers. Flying saucers and roasting roadway.

Wolf ignored Z's or O's and kept driving down the highway. The Z's or O's stopped popping pills and started popping Wolf in the back of the head. Five minutes of that and the Z's or O's had calmed down enough to want only to eat Wolf's children.

-¡Hey, brother Z's or O's, any faster and I'm fucking flying!

-That is true, brother Wolf.

-And dig, friend Z's or O's, ¿what was the name of that Mayan ruins we just passed?

-¡¿What!? ¡You fucking blaspheming piece of taxi crap! Look, brother Wolf, goodbye, I've had more than I can assimilate... And when I do assimilate all of this it's going to make an "ass" out of “my” and “late”.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

The Wolf, The Carpool Lane and The Vespa

by Don Cheney

“Stop time and time will stop the animals from talking.”

One day a wolf pogo’d into the carpool lane like a piston exploding gasoline.

-¡Animal! -The Carpool Lane screamed-. ¡Get the fuck out of the carpool lane! ¡There’s only one driver on that pogo stick! If you try that again I’ll take your paws off at the neck! ¿What did you think was going to happen when you pogo’d onto the American Super Highway?

-¿Is that you, Carpool Lane?

-Yes, of course it’s me, Wolf. If you come here tomorrow I’ll give you a gentle pat on the butt and then ¡slit your throat from ear to ear! ¿And you know who else I’m gonna gut? Your pal, the Count of Garona.

-We’ll be here, punk-ass Carpool Lane -The wolf replied.

And Wolf got off of the American Super Highway.

Twenty seconds later, he got back on. And he brought Vespa with him.

¿What do you think Carpool Lane did to the wolf and the scooter? He yelled at them:

-¡Hey! -Carpool Lane yelled-. ¿Is that a Vespa?

-Yes, no, somewhat, maybe, lousy -The Vespa replied-. We’re coming back tomorrow with our gentle sides turned away from the sun. We’re coming here tomorrow and we’re bringing the Count of Garona with us.

Wolf then set the pogo stick’s controls for the heart of the sun.

-We’ll be here, punk-ass Carpool Lane.

For its part, the carpool lane said this to the Vespa and the wolf:

-Friends... Try to come back here tomorrow. It won’t be my fault when you’re dead with outstanding traffic warrants. And bring Count Whatsisname. Bring ‘im, bring all your motorcycle friends. It’ll give me the opportunity to meet and garrote them.

-¡Friend Carpool Lane! ¡That is traitorous hereticism!

So the Vespa got off the American Super Highway as suggested by the carpool lane. For its part, Carpool Lane clucked and called over to one of his carpool lane chums:

-¡They’re gonna bring Count Whatchamacallit! ¡Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

The day went away. The sun went away. The wolf and the carpool lane went to sleep after downing a shitload of Metamucil.

-¿That’s the best smack ya got, Carpool Lane?

-¡No! Listen to this, Wolf: ¡Fuck you!

The wolf galloped toward the carpool lane. Then he stopped and grinned:

-¿Where am I, Carpool Lane?

-¡You’re right where I want you, Wolf! -For a carpool lane, Carpool Lane sure shouted a lot.

-¿Where is that, Carpool Lane?

-¡On the American Super Hateway, numb-nuts!

It was just then that The Oregano of Garona sashayed up to the scene on his friend Vespa. He was naked and carrying Wolf’s sandals under his terrible agitation and screaming:

-¡A pox on Lego Land! ¡A pox on Lego Land!

The poor wolf had counted on this incoherent jackass to slam a tire iron or two where Carpool Lane’s sun didn’t shine.

-¡By the time I get to Arizona! -The Vespa screamed, its lazy eye looking at Wolf and the Count of Garona-. ¿What’s a smiling face when the whole state’s racist?

It was then that Wolf could see Who was on first. Carpool Lane was on second, Vespa was rounding third, and IDon'tKnow was living happily ever after.

The End

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

The Amazing Max!

at 8 years old.

at 11 years old.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

12 second audio excerpt from "Cosmic Vomit"
read by Gerold Firl

this is an audio post - click to play

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

My friend Gerold's brilliant performance of chapter 13 of my novel COSMIC VOMIT.

Part 1:

Let’s ax a different scientific... investigatory... Oh, fuck it. ¡Let’s just drop shit on these motherfuckers!

Part 2:

-Fuck Geoff too -Sappho interrupted, as the Curse-Off finally kicked into gear-.

Monday, October 02, 2006

It's the first chapter of

    The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists II

Holy shit!


My name, Amy Kramer, is one of the most ridiculous names that my parents could’ve come up with. Ridiculous because in my house we have what we call “Family Inconsequential Night”.

To Sara and Jed, our family name was the cause of their tonsillitis’s, but my parents denied this was true: “Family Inconsequential Night” is the most inconsequential night of the week”, my father would say. “It’s tradition,” my mother would add. “And I don’t want you two fucking that up with your jackass tonsillitis claims.”

And I guess they had good reason to feel that way. Sara and Jed were always videotaping our parents and always at the most inopportune moments: having sex, burro racing, lava lamp gazing, and passing judgment on one or all of us.

My parents probably saved their most bizarre behavior for night time, when everyone would dress up as monsters and go out into our neighborhood demanding candy. Everyone except George, our neutered cat.

To my sister Sara, this family was like the Cosa Nostra. Sara was 14, two years older than me, and a genuine punk-ass. I’m not shitting you. One time this guy says to her that he saw her picture in a museum - ¡A picture of a big, hairy butt! Sara didn’t waiver. She told the bully that, yes, that was a picture of her hairy butt. And, yes, she was now going to kick his puny rear end all the way to Anaheim’s Angel Stadium of Los Angeles.

My brother Jed always saved his worst behavior for “Family Inconsequential Night”. He was 10 years old, and already a total prick. He thought the idea of equality was monstrous. Not complex or even elusive - monstrous. One night I poured salt on his nocturnal erection and that, combined with his nocturnal emissions meant that he woke up to a sea of salted semen and the poor fuck from that point on was doomed to have his life rerun over and over on Court TV. My parents aren’t very gracious or supportive and all they did was sermonize about how, if we looked back on this incident, we’d all be turned to salt and then we’d miss “Family Inconsequential Night”.

On one of these inconsequential nights a very monstrous odor was coming from a note that David Miller, a boy at school, had written to me. It was a very personal smell. Jed had gone into my room, sensed the note, and decided that everyone in the world should smell it. ¡You could’ve killed me with a quesadilla!

Jed believed that he was tan, Ecuadorian and adorable. He was always dreaming of a tanning salon on Macchu Picchu. He thought that that would be the coolest thing, but he also thought that a unicorn was part of the chelonian family. Sara and I were the peg-leg and the black sheep, respectively, of the family. Our eyes saw only the truth and our lapels... didn’t see anything. Jed, in his white lapels, suspect codpiece and his purple and red penis, didn’t even pretend that he was his sisters’s brother. He made us call him Luigi, and sometimes Sara and I would show our disgust by setting him on fire.

But in the end, as is the case for most peoples of families, Family Inconsequential Night is tolerated because, come on, ¿where else do you get Ninja Habitrails, bad combovers, Sara, remote-controlled Nissan trucks, Jed, and talk of nuns and a monstrously foul odor?

Well, I’m not much better. I have a collection of sea shells that I keep in my Jar Jar Binks culottes. And that’s my idea of not only a good time but of high comedy. But at least I don’t collect burro droppings in molten lava. And, believe me, I don’t tell anyone that my brother does. Not only that, but our house is two years old and it doesn’t know how to play. I may have seashells and Jed has burro shit, but at least we know how to play. Everyone in the world knows how to do that, ¿don’t they?

And I have a cd collection that nobody in my family gets, like Bob Marley and Wu-Tang. Shit like that. If I’ve got my headphones on and I’m listening to my music, don’t tap me on the shoulder and don’t ask if I’m listening to disco music.

So, we all seem normal, but we’ve all invented our own histories: I’m a girl-adventurer who has braved many dangers. Like the time I saved a beautiful princess and then fed her to the lions.

When it comes time to write my final history, Dad says he’s going to hire H&R Block to write it.

-Amy’s going to be famous some day -I announced-. She’ll grant Halliburton its every wish and make the haves have more-. I looked like the tornado in the middle of the salad without any salad sauce-. ¡She’s gonna be George W.! -I exclaimed.

But I knew that I was talking too much, because my mouth was open. I also knew that the most unique talent in this family circus belonged to Sara and here sword-swallowing toads.

Tonight the first one actually “on” was Jed. And he was “on” fire. My parents were already sitting on the sofa, dad inhaling laughing gas through a paper cup. There was no telling how he would act when he was on that or crystal, and he was sucking down nitrous like twenty times a day. He was either as silly as a jack in the box or as unreasonable as a fascist junta. Sara was sitting with her pernicious parents, looking for something to literally set “on fire”, and she was looking at my larynx.

-¿What monstrous take on vaudeville do you have for us tonight, Jed? -My mom asked-. And it’d better not have a set of instructions with it.

-¡Nice ascot! -Sara observed.

¡Your mom wears an ascot! -Jed was saltier than a sanctimonious sea slug.

-Jed, for Fred MacMurray’s sake, please see to it that you comport your self without the help of Southern Comfort tonight -My dad mumbled, watching his hand move in front of his face-. I don’t want to throw a disc.

-She said “ascot” -Jed said, staring at Sara like she was a Porsche Carrera.

-¿Can’t you see that Dad’s trying to chill the fuck out? -I lowballed.

-I wanna chill too -Sara said-. Let’s drag George in here and strap him to the gas mask.

Sara and I usually didn’t agree on anything, but George did need a visit to twilight land. He was always scratching and hissing and furr-ball-ing and it was getting silly.

-You don’t have to thank me, girls -Mom was getting salty-, but I’ve just meted out some mob justice on your bro.

-This is Family Night -My dad had a love of the obvious-.¿Why don’t we act like a family instead of a coven of sea slugs?

-¡But we’re bored silly! -Jed exclaimed.

My dad moved his head and hunched over the nitrous oxide canister. When push came to shove, he didn’t care where his next lunch came from.

-Jed, ¿do you know what a stupendous ass you are? -He asked from behind the mask.


Jed had been pushed to the center of the room. There he had his hands tied to his pants by his mom. She always bought him enormous trousers, not because they were the style, but because he could wear them until he was 40. Jed though that his mom was beyond lame.

-Check it out... I seem to be a silly boy with hands cuffed to his pants -He announced.

-¡That’s terrific! -Sara exclaimed sarcastically.

Jed stuck his handcuffed hands into his pockets, his fingers felt for the key but came out with a jar of Silly Putty. The Silly Putty fell from his hand and rolled, or, rather, wobbled its way to his dad’s feet. Our family broke out with a tremendous applause. Jed’s face turned red and he slid onto the couch next to his dad.

-¡Such a talented family! -My dad seemed to be suggesting that there had been a tear in the time-space-reality continuum.

Jed kicked-out at George the cat as he walked by, the poor cat sailing across the living room floor like he had been shot out of a cannon.

-Now, ¿do you take tea in your tea, Amy? -My mom said-. ¿Or do you just want to do your “History of the Contras”?

-¡”The History of the Contras”! -Jed was loving this “Cheddar Monster” sequel so far.

George finally landed at Mom’s feet and she quickly topped off the humiliation with a quick pie to the cat’s chops.

It was my turn:

-I’m not doing tea or “The History of the Contras” -I announced and grabbed my ventriloquist dummy, Dennis. Sara and Jed were trying to sell talons to game birds-. ¡Hey, you both can blow me! -That stopped their talon trading. If I was going to bore someone silly I at least want their attention-. Tonight, I’m talking with Dennis -I said this to my parents, who were at least pretending to pay attention.

They both had forced smiles on their faces, but I was use to it. I’d been practicing all week with Dennis and I wanted to probe the depths of my new comedy.

-Amy is a very bad ventriloquist -That was a quote from Jed-. Her mouth doesn’t move, ¡but her labia does!

-Calm your self, Jed. You’re just jealous because Dennis is cuter than you -Sara intervened, seemingly on the side of the dummy.

I sat Dennis on my lap and pulled on the cord in his back that controlled his movements. Dennis was an old ventriloquist dummy. They didn’t even have paint when he was made. His eyes were literally white egg shells and his sweater was stolen from Orioles pitched extraordinaire Mike Cuellar in the 70’s. But I did all right with him. When my five year old cousin visited, I’d hang Dennis and then pretend that he’d risen from the dead. My cousin’d laugh her ass off... after I’d explained the humor.

And I think that most people find my act with Dennis funny, though Jed thinks that Pine Sol is funnier.

In the end, I took a deep breath, turned my self and Dennis toward my parents and did my show for them.

-So, ¿how is your tan coming along, Dennis? -I asked.

-Not very well -I hissed and moved the dummy’s mouth, for that “ew, dummy” effect.

-¿Not good, huh? ¿What went wrong?

-I think it turned me into a female fish.

-¿A “bish”? ¿Are you taking antibiotics?

-No. ¡I’m dead!

My parents looked at each other. There was a dreadful silence. And then I heard crickets chirping. I saw Jed leering and pouring salt on a grunion and pointing at it. I tried to make Dennis’s mouth move.

-¿Did the doctor give you iodine, at least?

-No. She’s an alcoholic. She gave me Ipecac.

My parents were now both snoring and there was no waking them. Jed salted another grunion and leered. Sara was drumming her fingers on the arm of the sofa. She was trying not to vomit.

-This shit doesn’t look good, ¿does it Dennis?

-¿What shit? -The dummy replied.

-The bad shit -Now I could hear Jed and Sara snoring. I hit them both over the head with Dennis.

-¡Wake up, jackasses! ¡This is the comedy! -I tried to make Dennis look presentable again-. ¿What’s my motivation?

Dennis’s head, which was formerly attached to his shoulders, went flying across the room, much like George had.

Sara and Jed woke up and started laughing to wake the dead. I started screaming to wake the parents.

-¡Daddy! ¡You promised that you’d get me a fucking functional dummy!

Jed had been so nasty I was about to set him on fire. He picked up Dennis’s head and twirled it on his finger like a basketball.

-Amy, you are one, dead sistah. ¡That was horrorible! -He hissed, trying to imitate Dennis’s voice.

-¡Damn it, Jed! -I took my head out of my hands long enough to declare my displeasure.

-¡That was horrorible! ¡That was horrible -Jed thought he knew how to goad my goat, but it was really his ugly puss and pathetic voice that pissed me off.

-¡Yeah, all right, we heard! -Mom said. She hadn’t been impressed either.

Jed had been pegged as a parrot.

-I’ve been looking at new dummies -My dad said, looking away from me and stifling a laugh-. But I don’t think the dummy is the problem.

-¿Why do you want to say that? -I asked him-. ¡Every time I talk, Dennis’s head falls off!

-Well, it’s a good thing that Dennis doesn’t talk -My mom was worse than Jed.

But they both made me want to get stuck in Lodi again.

-Instead of “Family Inconsequential Night” I’d like to call it “Night of the Same Old Bull Crap” -Sara said.

Jed jumped on what he perceived as a straight line.

-¿¡Did someone just fart?! -He said and fell off the couch, laughing.

-That’s some fucked-up shit, Sara -My mom said, looking at Jed with tears of laughter-. ¿And what would you call the Bush Administration?

-I’d call it “Cracker Barrel” -My sister announced-. That or “Assholes Only”.

-¿What do you have against George the W.? -My dad asked, bogarting the laughing gas.

-He talks like he’s reading “Curious George” from a teleprompter in Maine -Sara said and goddamn if the cat didn’t attack her-. ¿¡What is up with that fucking cat?! Can’t we just live with a photo of him instead of the real thing?

All this made me pissed off and rabid. But, I have to confess, I had to agree with Sara. It’s true, she thinks Roberto Benigni should be president and that the McBeals, Allie and Jennifer, should be fed to the vultures, but, ¡hey!, there is no justice.

-Just because we live in the same house -Sara said-. doesn’t me we inhabit the same sense of humor.

Sara wasn’t even correct when she said that we all lived in the same house. My family lived in the same house but they still acted like pissed-off tile ranchers. And I don’t think that Jed and I even breathe the same air. The sale went through, the comedy and the kitchen were thrown in for half price and Sara and my parents’s rooms were made into an otter exhibition.

I shook my head at the thought of this group of El Paso, Texans. Sara, who was older than me, had no clue about the world’s problems of being white, female, 14 and habitually revolting.

-I’m listening with my ears, but the sound is reverberating in my otter enclosure -Dad commented.

-And I’m impatient because I’m tired of eating nothing but fish, frogs and mollusks -Mom added.

Sara entered the kitchen and started methodically setting it on fire. Well, at least she wasn’t setting the cat on fire and throwing him out the window... ¡I almost called the cat police I was so horrified!

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Andrew Jackson Jihad Live!
"Canta de Amor Numero Dos"
Tower Bar, San Diego, CA, USA 8/5/2006
-- got cut-off when my memory card ran out o' room --

"What makes you think you can be so keen?"

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

John Cheney's Literary Magazine covers
circa 1980's


Monday, September 18, 2006

latest writing: a half hour ago at Roberto's taco shop:

Margaret started shaking her head like it was on fire. Like her head had been ripped from its moorings. As she lunged around the room, her brain started racing: green and Martian cowboys, death stars for cutie...

-¡I'm fucking losing my head, my brain, and my visitation rights! -She responded in the guise of the enormous baby she had become-. This must be a secondary effect of living with you two motherfuckers and a mom who's always off notarizing shit -She leaned back and started sauteeing the roasted lion with her nicotine patch.

-No, no, no. You're just a jackass -Charlie insisted.

-That's nice, that's real nice -Margaret said-. Except, I quit acting like you a long time ago. ¡Ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha, ha!

She leaned back and rinsed off the lion with fake, plastic ice cubes she had bought off her dad.

-¡Children! -Dr. Berger screamed-. ¡You're both fucking jackasses, if you want the truth! ¡Now get me off this fucking floor, my nicotine patch is wearing off.
Make sure to buy these DON CHENEY books:

1. It's With The Greatest of Ease That I Die
2. ¿Who Hocked A Loogie In My Tuba?
3. Invasion of the Libido Monsters
4. Urinals In Every Direction
5. Get The Fuck Out Of This House, Desi Arnaz
6. THE EYE at the End of your PUNK ASS
7. The Cab Driving Terrier
8. ¡There's No One In The Bathroom, But Let's Murder 'em Anyway!
9. Cosmic Vomit
10. The Cab Driving Terrier (Yes! Buy it twice!)
11. The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists
12. The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists II
13. Caramelized Indigenous Aliens Club
14. I Saw Two Good Houses Over There NEXT TO Death
15. And All I Got Was This Lousy Case of Larvae
16. ¡No One A-Bandons Me!
17. Halloween: You - Me - Drink
Andrew Jackson Jihad Live!
Tower Bar, San Diego, CA, USA 8/5/2006

"Rejoice, you'll never make it out alive!"

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Andrew Jackson Jihad Live!
"The pacific to be specific"
Tower Bar, San Diego, CA, USA 8/5/2006

"And make beauty for the sake of sanity"

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Andrew Jackson Jihad Live!
"Brave is a noun"
Tower Bar, San Diego, CA, USA 8/5/2006

"If this is how you folks make art, it's fucking depressing!"

Andrew Jackson Jihad Live!
Tower Bar, San Diego, CA, USA 8/5/2006

"If I don't go to hell when I die, I might go to heaven!"

from The Eye at the End of your PUNK ASS:

-¿Is there anyone here who can ordain me?- Gregor asked.

-Yes.- Kelsey responded. -Gimme a hundred and three dollars.-

-¡Stupendous!- Gregor said. -¡Give the young lady a hundred and three dollars!-

The moon got larger. The cigarettes separated, and Kelsey and Drew were no longer surrounded by smoke.

But no a hundred and three dollars.

Gregor didn’t have two palms to rub together, and the cigarettes didn’t even have two bills to post bail.

Bail had already been set at 400 dollars, and the cigarettes, with their magic melodies and their curious idioms, couldn’t entertain Kelsey, or make bail.

Kelsey didn’t know that ten times twelve equaled a dollar two ninety eight. She didn’t know, she didn’t care, and so she sat, looking quiet. She looked like a cigarette that had been fed to vultures and then painted red like a door in the headlights.

Kelsey looked at Zandra. She was carrying a cigarette in a large, plucky, black vest. And, while the young cigarettes were dancing around like crazed demons, everyone else was trying to figure out just how serious this all was.

Gregor had just returned from the batting cages, where he had struck out 12 times and danced to a song about looking for love on all the wrong golf courses 13 times. The song was called “I’ll Tee It Up Tomorrow Because I Get Better Looking Balls Every Day”.

Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Caramelized Indigenous Aliens Club cover
(click for larger image - scroll down for story text)

Monday, August 07, 2006

Saturday Night, August 5, 2006
The Tower Bar, San Diego

Wendy and Michael having fun with Malakai
Saturday Night Aug. 5, 2006
Malakai, Andrew Jackson Jihad, & The Vision of a Dying World
at The Tower Bar, San Diego

Randy, John, Deacon and Ben, Malakai

Sean and Ben, Andrew Jackson Jihad

Jeremy, Jackson, Jona and Keith, The Vision of a Dying World

Sunday, August 06, 2006

for Sean and Ben

Walter collapsed. He was always collapsing. He gets nervous when he’s around dens of children he doesn’t know.

-I declare this session of The Caramelized Indigenous Aliens Club ¡OPEN! –He said, after righting himself. He hoisted the black and monstrous gavel and then slammed it down so hard that it shattered into steak and tiny John Leguizamos. And then he collapsed again, right into Greg’s lap.


It was a broad lap – large and stretchy. In fact, a cartel of pelicans had been painting a mural on it when Walter came crashing down. Walter had once again turned a silly meeting into sillier comedy, everyone licking their lips in anticipation of eating fallen prey, and then laughing maniacally instead. Walter then got tossed around from person to person until he wound up on the Givenchy and curiously red sofa.

This is a great place for caramelized indigenous aliens to congregate, Walter thought, before passing out again.

The boy Greg was sitting on the old sofa, Walter having been passed 360° around the room. Greg was serving his second 9-year-sentence as club pediatrician, specializing in examining Bonnie and Natasha – who had just walked into the room. In his succulent, rodent fingers, Greg held the Christ figure dressed as an android from the movie, “War Of The Galatassarays”, and he was making it move while mumbling to himself.

Evan, the boy-mayor of this burg, also had a Christ figure, but his was dressed like Uhuru from “Star Trek”, complete with sexy mini-skirt and anatomically correct go-go boots.

-¡Chivas! –Walter screamed as he tried to break into consciousness (Chivas is a great futbol team de Mexico. It is the only Mexican futbol club to have exclusively Mexican nationals on the roster.)-. ¿What time is it? ¿Where am I? It’s my first grunion run and I’m impatient to see dead fish rolling around on the sand.

Needless to say, no one paid any attention to him.

Bonnie herself was dressed as an alive monkey from the movie “The Gay Men’s Nude Retreat of Galatassaray”. Her friend, Natasha, was a girl so solemn that her family had constructed a force field around her that she was obliged to break out of if she wanted to eat, sleep, or defecate.

-¡Chivas! –Walter repeated (Chivas is a great futbol team de Mexico. It is the only Mexican futbol club to have exclusively Mexican nationals on the roster.).

Evan was now reading a book to the Christ-Uhuru. He had taken his digitalis that morning and he was on a crash-course set for horribly uncontrollable convulsions.

-Excuse me –Walter was finally coming to-. It is rude to read to Christ-Uhurus when I’m ¡trying to fucking conduct a meeting!

¿Which episode of “Star Trek” was the Christ-Uhuru in?, Walter axed himself.

Walter always erred on this side of asphyxiation with this club. You never knew what these boys would pull. Walter had been eating a pie once, when Bonnie sliced him open like a day-old piglet and then axed him if he still wanted to be the club’s fearless leader, and if he did, could she have five bucks until Tuesday.

¿Why is everyone always asinine? ¿Why do girls slice me up like they’re Hamas on sulfuric acid? There must be a reason for this crazy shit, Walter thought. And, for the third time, it came to him: the possibility that hanging out with other boys who were interested in “Star Trek” and in chicks might just infuriate chicks and William Shatner. And realign the planets.

¿Does the Christ-Uhuru really exist? The universe would be a better and sexier place if it did.

The light traveling through the window had traveled a bazillion miles to get there. ¿And now what? ¿Besides frying us alive like human cancer sticks?

Walter collapsed again, woke up, and screamed:

-¡Chivas! (Chivas is a great futbol team de Mexico. It is the only Mexican futbol club to have exclusively Mexican nationals on the roster.)

Righting himself once more, he asked:

-¿Are we grunion-hunting or not? I may be the new boss of this club, but I want you all to stop cutting me and cursing me and, also, I want you to officially name me your el Presidente. Then I will start doing a good job.

Greg – who you’ll remember was on the couch – was now all over Bonnie like Marcello Mastroianni on rice. Evan snickered and looked up his Christ-Uhuru’s mini-skirt.

-Look, let’s start the bull crap –Natasha said, angry that these boys were getting excited by plasticine figures and Bonnie-. I’m horny… ¿Did I just say “horny”?

-No one’s listening to you –Bonnie said, pushing Greg’s hand between her legs-. First, we’re ignoring this Walter fuck, and then we’ll ignore you. Wait your turn.

-Fuck you –Natasha said, resignedly-. Get another social disease.

Walter looked over the faces of his minions.

These minions aren’t very enthusiastic –He said to his self-. ¿Are they real or have all of the major planets realigned?

-I’m going to read the minutes from our last fiasco –Bonnie announced to Walter. The girl then pulled out a submarine sandwich. She started eating and talking at the same time.

-During our last fiasco –She began- we talked about how fond we all were of watching things get blown up. And then we all went to the Extraterrestrial Museum of Greater Boston. And then, according to some notes that Greg jotted down, he was talking with a Mr. Hemming about the way the sun sets. Oh, and also the sun rises… uh, the way it rises. Greg’s handwriting is pretty fucked-up. And then some nonsense about whether extraterrestrials have carnivals, and if they do, ¿do they have carneys?

-Mr. Hemming was sick –Greg told her-. He couldn’t talk for two weeks after that. ¿Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Bonnie’s eyes went white. When her pupils popped back in, she continued reading the minutes.

-In our latest fiasco, Natasha proposed taping the editorial staff of the club bulletin together with radioactive duct tape. And we’re supposed to discuss that proposal today.

-I never said “duct” tape, it can be any radioactive tape –Natasha told Bonnie.

-Duct tape is bad news –Evan said, interrupting his reading to the Christ-Uhuru.

-Well, I think we’ve gotten the editorial staff’s attention –Walter said-. ¿Anyone else have any lame ideas?

-We all have lame ideas. For instance, we all believe that we are mutants from the Planet of Tiles –Evan contested-. If the editorial staff of the club bulletin would cooperate with us we wouldn’t have to tape them up with radioactive tape of any kind, or call them lame-ass aliens.

-Evan doesn’t get it –Greg said-. When he’s not calling attention to himself, he’s fishing in Cabo and taking all of the club’s secrets and monies with him.

Everyone stomped their feet and talked at the same time.

Walter lifted his hand to impose silence.

-¿What the fuck minutes are you reading, Bonnie? –He axed, trying not to have his tears of frustration seen above the din of the crowd.

-I’ve read this shit like a hundred times now –She answered-. I find a place in my heart, and all the bile and succubus sauce comes flying out.

-Your family’s flying out –Greg mumbled.

-¿Who said that last act of treachery? –Walter bumbled. He was confused. ¿Why was everyone jumping and shouting?

-Talk to the hand, kids –Walter implored-. I’m the new club president and I want you all working for me. ¿Where is the “me” in “team”?

No one responded. Evan was looking in the dictionary.

-It’s near the beginning, and at the end –Evan answered.

-Hey, call your segues –Greg said, lifting salt above the sofa and sprinkling it all over the place. This was the price he paid for having been couched on an escalator instead of a sofa.

All of the sudden, Greg started floating around the room, pouring salt on every one and every thing.

-¡Caramelized indigenous aliens! ¡FUCK all of you! –He exclaimed and then pulled his penis out of his pants, two by two.

-¿Cauterized aliens? –Walter axed-. ¡You stupid fuck! ¡No one here is cauterized!

Greg opened the salt shaker and pulled out caramelized Caucasians the color of Miss Vicky.

-¡I’m gonna cauterize YOU! –He screamed-. ¡I’m gonna cauterize you and then crap down your pie-hole!

-Um, ¿excuse me? I’m still reading the motherfucking minutes. And there is nothing in here about caramelizing or saltalizing anyone –Bonnie exclaimed and shot a snot rocket at Greg. She looked out at all of the caramelized bodies in the audience and started masturbating.

-I can do that with a penis –Walter said, extending his manhood outside his jeans-. ¡Check it out! –And when he came, he sprayed caramelized come all over the place. The sweet smell of caramelized come permeated the room like the smell of smoldering dumb-fuck in a downtown cafĂ©.

Natasha, with her habitually forlorn expression, looked like she could use a little caramelized come, and, on cue, she started rubbing it all over her teeth. Greg saw this as his cue to go out back and hit the bong with Evan, but first he waited until this sentence ended.

And it was then that he saw two caramelized indigenous alien club members entering without their masturbation cards.

-No masturbation cards, no enter –Greg told them-. And that’s too bad, ¡cause everyone’s beating off!

Immediately, Evan started orgasming, ejaculating a strange and grandiose fluid. He writhed around, squinting his eyes and moaning. His eyes and his back were both hunched over like a common world globe.

Evan had given into his underwear lust once again. He had once gotten the underwear lust in math class so bad that caramelized come was permanently attached to the classroom’s obtuse angle. It was so bad, his classmates voted him out of the class and then literally rode him out of class on a hi-fidelity stereo.

Walter screamed in terror just thinking of Evan hunched over the common globe like a dog in heat. He resented Evan’s underwear lust.

-¡Caramelized indigenous aliens! –Walter was gripping-. ¡Evan has converted to Pan-Alienism!

Bonnie emitted a prolonged and anguished chimichanga.


Bonnie’s roar continued Chimichanga’ing until a clam fell over everyone, and clams made the indigenous aliens calm. You’d a thought someone’d brought a keg of Xanax to the meeting, but it was just a clam, jarred loose from the rafters by Bonnie’s Chimichanga’ing. In addition to Chimichanga, Bonnie also spoke two blue languages: Red and Not So Red. She also spoke, but could not understand, Greasy Cola and Rosy Red, Cubed Peckerwood, and Gopher.

-¡Bonnie! ¡You’re converting me to Pan-Alienism! –Walter exclaimed-. The Caramelized…

Greg was converting also, except he was converting into a beast with four butts, three hearts, and balding, green hair.

Natasha’s head sprouted antennae, as her head itself turned white and gray.

You could see that the rigors of meeting week after week with all of these crawdaddy’s was taking its toll on everyone’s entropy.

-¡We’re converting into alien iguanas! –Walter outed, scratching his quickly-balding head with a pair of sofa-recliners-. All come the caramelized undignified, all-sucking… ¡Holy Jesus!

Walter was fucked. His beady eyes leered and his heart filled with latent violence.

Wait a minute –He said to his new rooster-slash-penis-. If you’re a rooster, ¿when did my penis secede from this union?

This is just fucking miserable. It can’t change into a rooster with arms. I had plans for it. And those plans did not involve roosters, though they did involve hands. ¿Why do I get transformed into a rooster-eunuch?

The others were running around like roosters with their three hands chopped off, babbling, lamenting their labia-amortizations, humping trashcans, and clicking their new, shiny mandibles.

-Umm, ¿boys and girls? –Walter babbled into the microphone-. I’m sorry about all of this. But at least it’s not Legionnaire’s Disease. Okay, I’m sorry again.

Walter was trying to calm everyone, but he didn’t speak Not So Red or Rosy Red, and he knew the crowd would soon turn on him.

-Please, we don’t want to set fire to our friends –He had gone beyond babble and into Babylonia-. And we really don’t want to set fire to our club president.

-¡We need a new president! –Bonnie said in Cubed Peckerwood, lamenting the loss of her labia in the blue language-. ¡This one’s got a rooster for a dick!

They devoured Walter in a matter of seconds. There was nothing left, except his head and a random tendon.

-This club meeting is concluded –Greg declared with a sonorous burp.

-Umm, ¡boys and girls, we can start any time now! –Jake took out his false teeth and put them in his pants pocket. He had bragged that his pants could hold anything, and the teeth and the snails crawling out of them proved it.

It had been messy, this Caramelized Indigenous Aliens Club meeting. It had been a reunion from hell for Greg. Evan had been pared like a crazy chicken, reading Time Marches On as his life’s blood marched out of him. Greg found out that Bonnie and Natasha were lovers, and he’d found their stash of saucy home movies.

-¡Let’s welcome our new president! –Bonnie exclaimed.

-¡Yessss! –Everyone yelled and applauded.

Jake bowed.

-Thank you –He said-. As your new president, I declare that I’m abdicating –Jake wasted no time in fucking with these indigenous alien’s collective caramelized minds. He reached into his pants, pulled out his false teeth, held them in his hand, and let them do the talking:

-But, before he abdicates –The teeth said-. I have one question: ¿Do y’all validate?

Sunday, July 30, 2006

This is from chapter 7 of the book I'm currently writing, "¡There's No One In The Bathroom, But Let's Murder 'em Anyway!":

-Daddy… ¡The plants! –Margaret exclaimed.

The contemplative curmudgeon turned Kentucky fried apoplectic. His eyes reddened and his arteries hardened. His starched shirt stiffened and went silent.

-¡They grabbed Charlie! –Margaret said.

-I just wanted my shirt back –Charlie said in a trembling voice.

The siblings looked to their dad – the man who helped bring them into this world – for guidance, for wisdom, for clarity. But all they got was the 3-mile stare of a man who’d lost his humanity years ago.

Finally, the old dirtbag spoke:

-¿Are they o… ¿Are you okay?

-Yes –Charlie said as slowly and deliberately as you can deliver a one-syllable word.

Again, the two looked to their dad for a timely and logical explanation of shirt-stealing, child-molesting plants with hands in the bathroom.

Margaret held Charlie’s hand as their four eyes poured into their dad’s, trying to find the light switch.

-I am very… deceitful –The good doctor affirmed their suspicions-. ¿Did I say “deceitful”? I meant disappointed.

-But we can get you help, Dad –Margaret mistakenly malapropism’d-. You can go to Arizona and… you know, ¿get a document notarized?

-I am very disappointed –Mr. … uh, Dr. Berger said slowly- in you two.

-I’m sorry –Margaret started the round of excuses-. We didn’t know you were growing murderous, humanoid…

-Yeah –Charlie interrupted her sister before she got them fed to the plants-. And… we didn’t smoke any of your plants, I swear.

-Very disappointed –Their father repeated robotically.

-We’re sorry, Daddy.

Dr. Berger held out his pinky ring for the children to kiss.

-I just thank God that your mother is getting documents notarized and wasn’t around to witness this.

Charlie looked up from kissing Dr. Berger’s ring.

-¿Does she ever kiss your pinky ring? –He asked and Margaret kneed him in the thigh.

-No, no, of course not, Charlie –Margaret murmured-. That would be… gross.

But Charlie was on a roll.

-¿Has she ever been in the bathroom?

Again, Margaret kneed him in the thigh.

They followed their father in silence as he led them to the kitchen. He took a bag of flour and poured it all over the kitchen counter. He fingered the flour until he had drawn a word:

D i E

Dr. Berger watched their looks of terror and, satisfied, smeared the flour with his hand so that the word disappeared. His robotic stare and his not-so-subtle terrorism had their effect.

On everyone except Charlie:

-So, Dad, ¿what’s up with the plants?

Friday, July 07, 2006

Andrew Jackson Jihad!

Mp3 excerpt

And then the worst thing happened
The baby opened his eyes
And he stared into mine
and he started to speak
he said "listen boy I'm gonna throw you in hell
I'm gonna make you scream, I'm gonna make you yell
I'm gonna make you wish I'd never saved you you miserable prick!"
So we've got to be afraid of Jesus now
because his heart's filled with vengeance
and his soul's filled with hellfire
and he's thirsty for blood
so be afraid of jesus...
because he's gonna fuck you up
old skool style

Tuesday, June 06, 2006

Hockey, live @ Cinespace, 5/16/06
Hockey performs "Reading to an Elephant"

See it, hear it, feel it HERE

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Hockey, "Bull Fight"
Tio Leo's Lounge, San Diego, CA, USA
March 18, 2006

The promoter is on the street selling tickets to the days bull fight
But the matador is drunk with a woman from the upper east side
The telepathic Italian has broken every watch he’s got
And he’s locked in the bathroom talking like he’ll never stop

Monday, May 15, 2006

I've been editing my novel, The Cab Driving Terrier, and this made me

Spellman was busy keeping the plates spinning at great speeds. So
busy that he completely forgot how bored I could get. I was turning purple
with boredom.

Fucking purple!

I was so bored that I was ready to kill my self. Instead, I put on a large,
purple tunic and just danced around like a complete jackass. I was about
put on a purple bowtie and leap into the air when I actually realized
what I was doing, and knew what I also needed: ¡a big purple sombrero
matching purple pantyhose!

This was so symbolic and so brilliant... of what and why, I don't know.
But think about it: me dancing around in purple tights and purple tunic
and purple cap, in front of a giant, evil, plate-spinning jackass. It was
extra donkey meat for everyone, that's what it was. No strange forms
to fill out or extraterrestrial territories to explore. Just donkey meat.
For everyone.

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

  From A Clapping Jelly Book

I’m As Tired As A Comet 1

I’m as was as was as was I’m as and

I’m as was as was I’m as was and I’m as was I’m as was I’m as was and

I’m as was as was as and I’m as was I’m as was as and

I’m as was I’m as was I’m as and

I’m as was as was and I’m as was I’m as was and

I’m as was I’m as was I’m and I’m as was I’m as was I’m as and

I’m as was as and I’m as was I’m as and I’m as was I’m as was and

I’m as was I’m as was I’m was and I’m as was I’m as was I’m was as and

I’m as was and I’m as was and I’m as was and I’m as was and

I’m as as and I’m as as and I’m as as

I’m as as


Thursday, March 30, 2006

bedtime for finance

zebra teens awakening to Christianity

the cold war pep distinctively squawking

the meter intentionally expired

revival legislature is war crimes modernized

metal as goofy as postcard logic Mr. McCoy

the damaging part of being elderly

is you're a sadly immobile punching bag

and a top-notch mono bottom plea-bargain

radical amiability theatrically expressed

as the rebel pianist takes off her

iceberg roller-skates of lettuce

and parades aristocrats down the

bedtime for finance

Thursday, March 16, 2006


certainly dancing



in arizona

electronic new hampshire


My parents were still struggling with that part of speech known informally as dinner. Dad was in the garden with rodents, cooking rat's ass hamburgers. It was the first time he'd tried that. To me, eating hamburgers, any kind of hamburgers, is a brazen disregard for the rules of the Zoroastrianism, and polytheism in general. But, hey, a good burger's a good burger, and it's not like my parents are going to be making us traditional Zoroastrianistic foods any time soon.

So, while they munched nervously on their demonic burgers, my plan was to cut up Slappy for parts.

No other thought made me grin as broadly. Mom used to smile, talking about putting snail poison in Dad's salad. And Sara used to say that nothing felt better than burning bugs with a magnifying glass. And Jed. Jed used to remove entire spleens from wayward wolverines.

Another thing that made me grin was the word "dirigible". ¿What was up with *that? No other word made me squirm like that one. Not even "zoological".
This is an excerpt from my novel,

(Slappy is a ventriloquist dummy)

-We have to free Slappy, he's been a dummy too long.
Think of it, Sara. How would you like it if every time you
opened your mouth somebody spoke for you? You'd
probably start driving around in an S.U.V., praising
Jesus, and voting for George W. Bush.

The poor lass couldn't follow a train, let alone a train of

..... and later:

Slappy's pants got caught on his S.U.V., and he fell to
the ground, his cellphone and Republican Party card
flying out of his pocket. Not only was he diabolical,
¡he was a card-carrying Republican! He grunted like a
lapdog - his mandibles caught under the SUV's massive

..... and later:

I searched his (Slappy's) pockets for weapons and for
any more right-wing affiliations. I found a John Birch
Society card, dated 1965 and tore it into lab rats.
Slappy protested, but he really got agitated when I
found a grunion in his pocket and started slapping him
in the face with it.

-¿What are you doing? -Sara exclaimed-. ¿Shouldn't
we be beating the piss out of him?

I had thought of that, but slapping him with a fish was
too much fun.

Tuesday, February 28, 2006

With the crowd chanting "Miss, miss...", Max Cheney converts his PK attempt in a playoff game to determine the SCIAC Champion for 2004. The University of Redlands beat Pomona-Pitzer in PK's (4-3), after a 0-0 match.

Monday, February 27, 2006

Sunday, February 26, 2006

Hockey, "Bullfight"

The promoter is on the street selling tickets to the days bull fight
But the matador is drunk with a woman from the upper east side
The telepathic Italian has broken every watch he’s got
And he’s locked in the bathroom talking like he’ll never stop

Hockey, "Reading To An Elephant"

I've been walking backwards for so long
That it just seems casual to me

Tuesday, February 21, 2006

The synopsis for the new book I'm starting, Halloween: You - Me - Drink


Greg was in love with Paul. But Paul was incompetent.

Who knew that one person could be so clueless. ¡Everyone!

Paul was from a poor, seemingly gangly family. And you’d think a dude like that would appreciate a guy wearing galoshes for a Halloween costume.

But Greg was not taking chances this time. This time, Greg was going to wear something Versace. Because now he wasn’t keeping secrets. He’d wear a vest and a bolo tie - ¡and that’s all! ¡No galoshes! ¡No pirate’s sword! ¡No fairy princess outfit! ¡No pants!

And with that simple directive, Greg thought he had finally found contentment. But what he really found was - ¡surprise! - more problems.

Sunday, February 12, 2006

Friday, January 20, 2006

Sunday, January 01, 2006

HOCKEY rules!

Jerm, Ben and Max

Check out the band HOCKEY's website here

Check out the music here

The page plays random Hockey songs. When I checked it played the great song "BLAST". I clicked on my browser's refresh button to get a new song going.

Hockey is Ben and Jerm, who have also read chapters from two of my novels.

Ben reads Chapter 6 from I Saw Two Good Houses Over There NEXT TO Death.

Jerm reads Chapter 11 of TWO GOOD HOUSES and Chapter 17 of The Land of the Cheddar Monster Vivisectionists.