The other night I was driving these idiots through San Francisco (I am something of a cab driver now) and one of them joked that he had a gun to my head in the back seat.

And I said, “Listen, if you’re serious, just go ahead and do whatever you’re gonna do, man.”

He laughed. His friend laughed. He said, “Dude I don’t really have a gun against your head. Is that actually what you would say to someone if they did?”

“Yeah. I would say, ‘There is nothing in my jacket that I’m prepared to die for. My phone is in my left pocket. If you absolutely have to blow my brains out, get it over with. I’m not going to beg for life like some chump.'”

He then took a caveman bite out of his bacon-wrapped hot dog and told me I was cool for listening to Ty Segall.

San Francisco is fucking miserable and I hope it sinks into the ocean as soon as possible.

Apparently I’ve listened to this album over 500 times

Also I’ve emailed Jessica Pratt a bunch of times now

Lord! She’s great

I guess I’ll just go ahead and listen to this album forever~

Sure are a lot of people on this planet who like to sit around and sniff their own farts huh

I’ll tell ya, if they’re not fart-sniffers, they’re cheese-eaters—and at this point in my life I’m not sure which is worse

Charlie Dumpo and Kevin Burpo took turns punching each other in the face; they had been going at it for over three hours. Charlie Dumpo’s face was purple and his eyes were black and swollen. Kevin Burpo’s lip was busted open and he was missing four teeth.

Charlie Dumpo took a swing at Kevin Burpo’s face. His fist landed hard on Kevin Burpo’s cheek. Kevin Burpo laughed wildly.

“Pretty good?” said Charlie Dumpo. “Pretty good? Pretty good?”

“Very good,” said Kevin Burpo. He spit out another tooth.

Charlie Dumpo smiled. He adjusted his posture; he sat upright. His spine was as straight as a witch’s dick.

“Ready?” said Kevin Burpo. “Ready, ready?”

“So ready,” said Charlie Dumpo.

Kevin Burpo wound up his arm like a cartoon baseball pitcher. He spun it behind his back a dozen or so times. Finally he released the punch. His fist smacked into Charlie Dumpo’s nose. It made a sound like a gallon of mayonaise dropped onto a sidewalk.

Blood poured out of Charlie Dumpo’s nostrils. A cashew-sized piece of his brain slid out as well. It dribbled down his face and neck and onto his T-shirt. Charlie Dumpo carefully picked it up with his thumb and index finger. He placed it in his palm. He extended his palm to Kevin Burpo.

Kevin Burpo examined the cashew-sized piece of Charlie Dumpo’s brain. It was grey and wormy. It looked like spoiled meat.

“Nice,” said Kevin Burpo. “Very nice.”

Charlie Dumpo laughed like hell.

Kevin Burpo formed his fingers into tweezers and collected the piece of brain from Charlie Dumpo’s palm. He broke it into two smaller pieces. He plugged his nostrils with each half. He inhaled them violently. They were gone in an instant, were absorbed into Kevin Burpo’s head.

“Yeah?” said Charlie Dumpo.

“Yeah,” said Kevin Burpo.

Charlie Dumpo clapped his hands. Kevin Burpo burped. The two smiled.

“Ready?” said Charlie Dumpo. “Ready, ready?”

“Oh yeah!” said Kevin Burpo. He leaned forward.

Charlie Dumpo punched Kevin Burpo in the face as hard as he could. It made a terrifying noise. Charlie Dumpo and Kevin Burpo laughed like maniacs.

The planet spun on its axis. The planet rotated around the sun. The sun was setting in the sky. The light was fading. The trees were silent. The buildings were dark. The sea gave up the dead.

dude being human is so gross

Recently I redesigned whatever this website is supposed to be, and I put a little dancing skeleton at the top of the page. I did this because I am more or less a dancing skeleton!

Yeah baby!!!!

Perhaps my brains are old and scrambled!!!!

For a while I have been terrified that my imagination is dead, or that I never had one in the first place.

And then last night I had a strange dream—it was a long, dark dream. I was there for many hours. I had made the mistake of eating a potent brownie that sent me on a bad voyage through my own head. About an hour into it I was sitting on 45th Street with my friend Laura, both of us twisted as hell and hating it, and I said to her: “When we feel OK again, we’ll really appreciate it. Because you always realize how nice it feels to be healthy when you’re sick.”

In my head I heard my own voice: “. . . but you’re going to be sick forever.” I tried to say “shut up” but my brain wouldn’t listen.

I went to every place there was to go inside my brain. I flew over it, and sometimes cut straight through it, and there were things in there I didn’t know existed. Some of it scared me because it was so dark (I think I met the Grim Reaper), but I was relieved to discover that my imagination isn’t dead. I saw enough to convince me that it wasn’t, anyway. Some of what I saw was beautiful.

I’m happy to be back. I thought for sure I had finally fried my brain. For God’s sake, I woke up on McCune’s kitchen floor. But I was OK, and I have some things to say now I think, and it’ll all come from my imagination. Lord! I love that thing. Maybe I just had to find it under all that crap I’ve been storing up there.