HOW BOUT THIS: Let’s create Blade Runner officers and Voight-Kampff empathy test machines. The test is not to weed out Replicants, but psychopaths and Republicans instead. We’ll funnel the entire population of Earth, all seven billion of us, into Empathy Test Centers and put the machine on them. The test must be fool-proof! If the results show that you are an unfeeling psychopath, you will either be retired or sent to an Off-world colony where you and all of the rest of the psychopaths can remorsely kill and rip each other off I guess.

Hmm. OK maybe this is a bad idea. Well how the hell else are we going to save this stinking planet??? Also I wanna be a Blade Runner~

this little thin green spider built a web between my two bookshelves and has been living there for the last month

it has never occurred to me to move her

she just hangs out there

i like having her around

i’m going to let her be

ADDENDUM: my beautiful great friend hali palombo, who loves insects and knows a whole lot about them, ID’d this spider for me. she says: “It’s a Pholcus phalangioides, aka a ‘skull spider’, or a ‘long bodied cellar spider’.” whoa! hali thinks this is a female because they’re noticeably larger than the males

in ‘blade runner’, rachael has an implanted memory of a spider who lived outside her window when she was a girl . . . and in ‘do androids dream of electric sheep’, j. r. isidore, who lives alone in a huge dilapidated building surrounded by the san francisco wasteland, finds a spider crawling around the ruins one day and keeps it. he’s never seen a living spider before. one of the androids hiding in his building takes it from him and, because she can’t feel empathy, cuts four of its legs off just to see if i can still walk. he is sad and horrified by this and mercy kills it in the kitchen sink.

so, hey, i’ve been thinking about spiders a lot!!! and now i have a new roommate who is a spider. well all right! go right the heck ahead and live in my house, dude. i ain’t gonna bother you~

Hmmmmm. I’m realizing now that I’ve only ever truly loved another person In That Way twice, which makes the handful of other times I thought I Felt That Way null and void. I’m sorry. I will not inform the affected parties because that’s rude as hell and also I think they never want to talk to me again anyway lol

Last night I was feeling rough as hell, so I walked down to the corner store and bought a $10 bottle of Bulleit. The lady beneath the counter, who was middle-aged and seemed like she was someone’s aunt or something, asked for my ID. She held it up to the light and said, “You look cute here.”

I said: “What??”

And she seemed embarrassed but she said it again anyway: “You look cute here.”

I said: “Lady!!! Get outta here.”

Look how bad my haircut is (sup McCune):

Can I still shop there??

JOI ADVERTISEMENT: You look lonely.
ME: Yeah, duh. I’m extremely lonely. Do you want to be my friend and live in my house forever please.

I just want to go on record and say that, yes, I would date a hologram or a Replicant if I lived in a neon-lit dystopian hellhole called Los Angeles in the year 2049. I mean, who cares? Hologram People and Replicants are lonely too, man. If they are designed to mimic and learn from humans about being human, then they would feel lonely too, since that’s one of the defining characteristics of our doomed awful species.

In ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’, Deckard and Rachael (spoilers) totally bone all night in a hotel room. And you know what? They seemed to have a good ol time doing it. The few inhabitants left on Earth are all dying of dust-lung and eternal sadness, so who cares if a lonely android and a lonely human love each other, and occasionally get down and sloppy. Who is that hurting??

Hell, just go ahead and cut out the whole intimacy thing for me, why don’t you. I don’t even necessarily need to date one of them. I’ll just be friends with Hologram People and Replicants. I totally would, dude. We could get a house and live together. Not to sound like an asshole or whatever, but humans have wholly predictable boring behavioral patterns, so I don’t see what the difference is except that you know the person you’re chillin with is artificial (so??) . . and hey! maybe they’re also connected to the internet so they can tell you cool stuff. We already know they’re extremely strong and have an above-average intelligence. That sounds pretty good to me.

I would affirm their realness to them, because I know that would be a constant insecurity they would have . . . especially in a world that created them and also hates them. I would just like . . . hope they have hobbies and shit. If they didn’t, I would encourage them to find one. That seems like a healthier relationship!!!

Yeah so bring it on~

(Because I can’t resist commenting on the people who shared the theater with me: There is a scene in ‘Blade Runner 2049’ when something, uh, “emotional” happens between Officer K and Joi, his hologram girlfriend. It is very sad. All three times I saw the movie, a bunch of people in the audience laughed during this scene. Man, come on.)

these are my big Weekend Plans:

  • buy a punching bag from a guy who has since abandoned his New Year’s Resolution to buy and use a punching bag
  • obtain acid and tune out by myself in Berkeley
  • ignore my programming which screams at me ceaselessly to destroy myself
  • maybe accidentally destroy myself a little
  • finish a novella I’ve been writing about a super-soldier who lands on an asteroid made of marshmallow to take a piss, and who uncovers a secret reptile factory in the asteroid’s core via a huge sinkhole that opens up behind a Waffle House
  • watch ‘La Jetée, which inspired ’12 Monkeys’, which I watched again last night because that movie rules a lot
  • tie 50 lb. weights to my feet and jump into the San Francisco Bay??

stay tuned

OK: I have been working on a doomsday pamphlet. Yeah. I am finally that sort of person. Don’t worry: it’s pretty funny. I mean I think so anyway, which might mean it’s not actually funny at all. (That’s why you come here, right? Comic book-level doomsday predictions? And self-loathing? The end-times prophet with low self-esteem nobody asked for?)

Years ago my cousin were talking about a thing called “THE FUTURE, IF ANY”. We never finished it because we both developed drinking problems and he fell in love with a fully grown woman who self-identified as a “nihilist” (Uh Oh) and I become obsessed with my haunted police car. I haven’t seen him in three years.

So: I have decided, for all seven billion people on this planet, that there probably isn’t any future to speak of. I don’t consider “limping along into a mass grave” to mean much else than that.

I know a good street corner near my house where I can hand these things out. I’ll do it right outside the coffee shop there. My friend Hannah gives me free coffee all the time, bless her little heart, and let me tell you: I’m going to need all the black magic I can get.

(Maybe this is how I can recruit for my doomsday cult. . . .)

Hmmm. I wonder what my parents had in mind for me on that January day all those fuckin years ago (lol)~

Wait . . . no I don’t! Sorry, Mom and Dad, for being this thing.

LOOK FOR MY LITTLE PAMPHLETS in my LITTLE STORE soooooon. I’ll charge a buck and ship em free. You can feed them to your dog or wipe your ass with them I guess.


here’s me n laura n gayle posing with our server at some restaurant in LA back in may

she promised she would follow us on instagram and never did!!!

she was pretty cool though~

we took a bunch of pictures

i guess i never posted them

it was a good trip

thank god. i was wondering when luxury was going to be redefined for me

Maybe you didn’t know this, but I am unlicensed private investigator who has never solved a case, and who has, on more than one occasion, made cases unsolvable by accidentally destroying crucial evidence, compromising crime scenes, and alienating key witnesses.

See here, a business card I never printed:

(I need to actually finish these (there should be more space between my two godforsaken occupations~))

Well, wouldn’t you know it, I’ve decided to launch an official investigation. I want to know


What happened to what? To the whole god damn world.

Years ago, when I was still wet behind the ears, and possibly an even worse private investigator than I am today, I got a table in some awful bar in downtown Berkeley and alone I wondered: Who killed the world’s balls? I spent the next month, night after night and never sleeping, investigating the Bay Area. A few leads here and there, but not enough to build a case on.

It is clear to me now, as it was then, that something has gone terribly wrong . . . maybe in the last twenty years, maybe in the last twenty-thousand years. At any rate, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. I’m doing it pro bono: my gift to the human race.

As you might imagine, most of the details pertaining to this case must be kept confidential. If the lizards knew exactly what I was up to, they would have me crucified to the Statue of Liberty in the blink of a sideways-blinking eye. Or maybe they’d maroon me on Alcatraz Island with a tub of vaseline and a pair of binoculars, where I’d be forced to watch the world burn. Those sons of bitches, I swear.

When I first began to wonder, I had a partner. For all I know, the poor fool is dead now. I guess I’m gonna do what I always do, which is to go it alone. The stakes are high . . . can I succeed at my task? To find the parties responsible for the greatest crime ever committed?

Time to hit the streets, old man. Time to find the squealers and make them squeal. I’ll get it out of them, and then I’ll expose the psychopaths behind this nightmare machine . . . or maybe I’ll ruin everything and wind up dead. I’m going to count on that outcome, but I’ve got to try anyway. All I know is that it’s gonna get dirty before it’s all over with. Well, Jesus. Someone’s got to do it.