Spread the Love Like Mustard

There's nothing wrong with spreading a little love, right? And if the red flags of sarcasm are being waved unintentionally, I suppose I'm flattered. So thank you, Prince.

I mean. . . "fuckin' queer. Boy, nothin I hate more in this world than a queer. Cept maybe a nigger. Babydoll! Bring Daddy a beer!"

But my dilemma is, Prince invited me to be his friend on Myspace. That's wonderful. I feel like a princess (makes the sound of vomiting) that the social elite of California would consider me "five minutes in a broom closet" worthy, but if I allow him to see all of my pictures where I look somewhat less than "ass-tap-able" then maybe the love will stop. And that must not happen.

Gee, what's a heterosexual, married NC resident male have to do to keep a homosexual CA playwright interested in a nonsexual relationship? Aw shucks! (kicks at a rock and pulls up overalls) I cain't never get me sum man love!

*The man in the picture is totally me. Oh, and Prince, If I was gay, single and living in Cali we'd definitely have a fags night out. You're the cats meow!

Get Yo' Hustle On

"Time to get paid. Blow up like the World Trade".

-Biggie Smalls 1994

Spread Love

Fuck Prince Gomolvilas

I read his shit on the d(aily), comment like crazy but he still won't respond like the pedestal he's on is too shaky. I spread a little love, so spread some love back. I was nice at first, but fuck that. If you're too important to deal with lower life forms-then this little peon is about to get cold like Freon, leave you tied up in the trunk of a Dodge Neon. your blogs seem withered like the flowers i breathe on and smells worse then the basket of laundry my cat peed on.

Fuck California and fuck Pork Chop. and fuck asian men who go to playwright workshops.

love always,
micky v.

Bruce Lee or Hulk Hogan

Who would win in a fight? The answer is simple, right? Many years ago I had it out with my sister over this very question. Apparently Mr. Hogan's bleached handlebar moustache would incite so much fear that small Asian men everywhere would just run screaming (including big daddy Bruce). I'm not saying professional wrestling is fake, heaven forbid. All I'm getting at is that just maybe Bruce Lee would win in hand to hand combat. . . if the sun were in Hogan's eyes, of course. . . or if Bruce Lee kicked him in the testies.

But what's all the hype around Chuck Norris about? Yeah, get over it. Bruce Lee already kicked Chuck's ass when he was filming Way of the Dragon. You see, Chuck wasn't even suppose to be in that movie. They were filming in Rome and Chuck Norris just comes walking down the street all pissed off and looking for a fight. So Bruce Lee screamed like a cat a couple times and then broke homeboy's neck. That scene wasn't scripted or anything. Few people know that Chuck Norris died back in 1972. Seriously.

It could happen, too. So if you're ever walking alone in the Coliseum, beware. As long as their are nice, decent people in this world their will be assholes like Chuck Norris.

On the Shape of a Woman (that's where I'd like to be, knowutmmmsayin?)

"Ladies, if you need that pink thong with the little lacy thingies coming off it to feel beautiful, then go ahead and feel beautiful. But if you're hungry for a drumstick, well that's alright, too".

-Mike Valentino

*Yeah, I'm just that cool.

Old Dirty Feline

Blacky is my 20+ year old cat. I've had him since I was five. My dad found him fully grown wandering the streets of Sullivan's Island after Hurricane Hugo back in 1989. I don't know how he made it considering the whole island was covered in water, but he did and he has been nothing but the best friend ever since. I told Bekki before we got hitched that if she marries me she marries Blacky as well.

I took him to get his nails done today. He was in desperate need of a manicure. He also got some calorie concentrated pet food that you can only get at the vet. Hopefully that will put some weight back on him. It feels weird to call him Blacky. Even though it is the name that five year old Mikey gave him, we've called him Dirt or Dirty Dirt for the past five years (a respectful homage to Old Dirty Bastard). I've also named the neighbors cat GZA. For those of you familiar with the Wu, it's funny.

*The pic is from our apartment in Charleston. I have some Mountain pics with him in the yard, but, alas, I could not find them. Trust me, there will be more pics to come.

WTF???

This is some of the best stuff I've ever read. That includes Whitman, Carroll, Yeats, ect. I don't know where this chick's been hiding, but if you like this poem just read the rest at her blog. Is something cooking, because I smell Robert Frost?

Mobile, Alabama: 1960s

He casts the line down toward the green-gray chops of bay,
lets it waft along by the cement pillars of the causeway,
few enough station wagons and Chevys passing
that he can tip a slow straw hat nod at each one
before resuming his watch of the steel sky,
the States sky, so unlike the sky
on the other side of the world--
when something roars through here
it's a passenger flight.
He leans against the sun-fired guard rail,
looks down at the lapping currents
where they slap the pillars from all sides,
unsure where they're going.
He slides open his ice chest and waits
for the tautening of the swaying line.

In the tired sunset heat,
Angie and Charlotte let the screen door clatter behind them,
feet rushing through the soft cold grass
to where the Silverado crunches to a halt,
and he lifts the bucket from the cab. He grins
when they peer in at the wide eyes
and some silver sides still heaving,
knowing this is all they'll ever know,
as close as they'll ever come.
Just as quick the moment spirals off
and they straddle pink bikes one more time before supper.
He clunks the bucket onto the table he hammered together in the back yard
and unpockets the knife that saw Korea,
straw hatbrim casting shadows across his work:
slicing each ragged tendon, all the flesh so precisely
that even as a teenager, Angie will claim her daddy
catches the fish that have no bones.
Hands slick he works them out,
separating deft piles
of wanted and unwanted
in the drowsy, steel heat of Mobile.

By Haley