i wish every day was halloween.

for me, halloween was better than christmas and my birthday rolled into one. my friend gail and i bought alien mask kits together. we worked on the masks for several days in preparation for halloween. we planned to make it the biggest candy haul yet. the anticipation was unbearable, we raced through dinner, donned our alien outfits and hit the streets.

a costume-less man answered the first door. he seemed irritated. he looked gail and i up and down with a furrowed brow. at nine years old i was freakishly tall. gail was small for his age. the man reached into a mixing bowl, grabbed a hand full of tootsie rolls and dropped all but one into gail's extended treat bag. he looked into my giant glowing alien eyes.

"yer kinda old for halloween" the man said in a scolding tone.

he flipped the single remaining tootsie roll into my sack.

i tried to tell him that i was actually younger than gail, but the door closed before i could. this scenario repeated itself at several doors. each time it hurt a little more, i felt like a freak. gail thought it was funny. his bag weighed twice mine.

a small green alien heart was breaking. under the mask, alien tears silently trickled down my cheeks.

the international association of angst ridden art directors (iaarad) has mandated the use of physical force as response to specific client requests.

the client request, "make it sexy, we need more sizzle" warrants a three stooges two finger eye poke.

the client statement, "I know,... use the "shaking hands" (one white, the other black) clip art!" warrants a swift punch to the groin area.

the client request, "can you make the logo spin (or rotate) in 3d?" warrants a boxing of the ears.

the client demand, "the logo needs to be bigger." warrants a wet willie followed by a titty twister.

the client statement, "maybe if you combined the cutting edge comp with the conservative comp..." warrants a double fisted wedgie.

the client statement, "I'm going to run this creative concept by carl our night shift custodian, he took some adult-ed art classes." warrants a bare handed disembowelment.

the client request, "can we go back to the way it was when..." warrants the use of a sack of door knobs about the head and face.

local law enforcement has been notified of these exceptions to the laws regarding assault and will not pursue legal action against any art director forced to execute any of the above actions.

several urinals were available, but he choose the one next to me. he smelled of smoke and rotting fruit. our shoulders were separated by only an inch or two. he began to urinate. then he turned his head towards me and nudged my shoulder with his.

“hey, watch this!”

his grinch like smile revealed an equal mix of furry yellow teeth and empty slots where teeth used to be. his voice was both high pitched and gravely. he threw his head back and began thrusting his hips forward and back. he groaned as he simulated a sex act with the urinal. he continued.

“oh yeah, that’s it. take it bitch.”

he kept glancing over at me to make sure i was watching. his dirty talk continued (much to evil to print here). his free hand reached behind himself and slapped his own ass.

this caused my flow to stop, even though i was not finished.

after reaching an artificial climax, he laughed maniacally, zipped up and walked out of the bathroom without washing his hands.

i believe this incident to be the impetus for my “shy” bladder. so disturbed was i, i now find it hard to pee when standing shoulder to shoulder with other pissers.

in the 3rd grade, i learned that monkeys and dolphins are the smartest of all animals. when i was 8, i was fairly sure monkeys (you know, the whole opposable thumb thing give them a distinct advantage over the dolphins) would soon rule the planet.

so, here i sit many years later, fully prepared. I have my monkey slave name picked out (oo-oo-ah-ah), i bought a lighted helmet to work the banana mines, and i had the ridge above my eyes surgically enhanced to fall in favor with the monkey queen.

i am still waiting, and they have not even formed a union yet. they just seem to sit around their cages masturbating all day.

hey, maybe they are smart.

driving into the office this morning, a lone road side coyote starred me down. i don't remember that type of thing ever happening when i worked in detroit.

hmmm,...

conversely, i have not seen indecipherable smoldering wreckage occupying multiple lanes since i left detroit.

i love my wife's naivety.

we went to the sideshow of the absurd, an excellent show by pamela joseph in the MAC gallery. the show has some sexual under currents i knew the kids would never pick up on, but neither did my wife.

she took this picture of the boys (at the least sexually subtle piece) because she likes cats.

saturday i realized i am inadequate and unable to satisfy my wife. my tool box is pathetic. in a very unorganized manor it contains a few random nails, 2 metric wrenches that are never the right size, a bicycle spoke wrench, and a very old hammer with a loose head.

my wife has a honeydo list a mile long. i am lucky if i can satisfy a single request on the list. it always takes me too long, and it is always a little anti-climatic when i finish.

i am often forced to ask the neighbor (henceforth referred to as fabio) for assistance.
fabio's tools are top of the line and he takes good care of them. each having an outlined spot reserved on a peg board wall in the garage. my wife goes on and on about how fabio's wife can't even keep up with him. he is always suggesting projects around the house. fabio, fabio, fabio, it's always about fabio. the man is destroying my marriage.

in an attempt to rectify my inadequate tool box, i went to home depot. it only made it worse. the testosterone drunk clerks and customers gather there to brag about their home projects. erecting tree forts, laying soaker hose in the wife's garden, or staining her jewelry box. when the clerk asks me about my project, i explain that i'm trying to hang a picture, but am unable to find a stud suitable for mounting it.

making it worse is my wife's unhealthy obsession with HGTV. how can i compete with those men. they swing big hammers and after 30 minutes they always leave the women satisfied.

did any other perverts out there notice some interesting commonalities between lilo and stitch and the work of r crumb?

i am working with an ex-military guy, project manager.

every small event on the project reminds him of a story. "hmm, this project time line reminds me of the time my men stormed the beaches of..."

meeting are scheduled and meeting agendas are in 24 hour military time.

i am quite sure in his mind i am the mamby pamby, tree hugging, bleeding heart libral, creative director, maggot faggot.

seems many talk about heaven, but no one really knows how it all works. I am curious about the house rules and if there are vacations to other destinations.

i plan on having many wives here on earth. which one spends eternity with me? i hope it's my future ex, the stripper, from vegas. probably not.

some times i have an incredible urge to rock out with AC/DC. now surely bon scott and the boys will not be there, but will their music? i just can't rock out to dc talk or jars of clay, it's not the same.

what about pets. i have had many cats, i wouldn't mind seeing chubby again, but fellini was kind of a pain in the ass.

some say gays would not be allowed, rats, that means no decent interior decorators, live theatre, or attentive flight attendants.

i enjoy baseball. i really like the designated hitter rule, but it seems kind of like cheating. i bet they play national league rules. booooooaring!

will i be the skinny me or the fat me? hmmm, that reminds me, some one told me all fast food companies are evil except for chick-fil-a. chick-fil-a sucks. must fill pockets with mcdonald's fries before i go.

what about all the people that want me in their heaven, but i don't want them in mine.

i doubt the premium cable package is an option, hbo can't exist without the f word.

x box or playstation?

eternal bliss would start to wear on me after a few weeks. can you imagine never feeling sad? can you imagine all the cheese sandwich blog entries?

i probably should be more concerned with the amenities and conditions of hell.

what follows happened a few years ago. it took place at the same animal hospital mentioned in yesterdays post. yesterday was the first time i had returned to that hospital.

he gave me the leash and the dog didn't even notice the hand off. i opened the tailgate and encouraged him to jump in but severe arthritis made the leap impossible. i interlocked my fingers under his rib cage and lifted him into the vehicle. his weight surprised me. the dog seemed a little confused but trusted me as the neighbor guy.

the short ride to the vet's office was long enough for me to realize my neighbor was an asshole. his dog, his problem, my day ruined. why did i agree to such an undertaking? how could i have denied his request?

at the vet's office, they asked me if i wanted to say goodbye to the dog. i didn't know what to say or feel. i had no attachment to the animal, but felt crappy that i was the last person he would recognize. i silently scratched his head and nodded to the nurse. she led him to the kennel.

the nurse returned to the desk and gave me the leash. when i got home i didn't give the leash back to the neighbor, i just hung it on the garage wall. I should have discarded it, but that didn't seem right.

every day i pull in the garage, the leash greets me with the memory of my evil deed.

the raging debate that threatened to tear apart the ultramicroscopic household ended this morning with a trip to the vets office.

one of our furry children is shredding both the furniture and our marital relationship. i accept this behavior as the way of the feline. wife claimed that de-clawing was an option. I have been meticulously super gluing tiny rubber tips (soft claws) on her claws as a last ditch effort to avoid de-clawing.

wife scheduled the drop off appointment with the vet for this morning. due to other family commitments and such, the undertaking of this evil task feel upon me. execution of a plan with which i am not fully onboard. i am consumed with guilt. driving to the vet's office, i remembered the soon to be broken promise made to the adoption agency that we would not de-claw her.

at the office, other pet owners held leashes and travel boxes. i sat down on a bench with my travel box. a woman with a similar box sat down next to me. she peered through the silver dollar size holes at my cat.

cat lady: "is that a himalayan?"
animal cruelty guy (me): "yes"
cat lady: "hmmmm, did you adopt her recently?"
animal cruelty guy: "yes, a month or so ago."
cat lady: "was her name layla when you adopted her?"
animal cruelty guy: "yea,...how did..."
cat lady: "oh! i was her foster mom! is she sick?!"
animal cruelty, liar guy: "oh no, just bringing her in for healthy stuff"
cat lady: "oh..."

the nurse called my name, rescuing me from the awkward conversation.

loud nurse: "let's see, de-clawing today, right?"
mumbling animal cruelty guy (me): "um, yeah."

glancing back at her notes, loud nurse notices the request for all four paws to be de-clawed and asks again to make sure her notes are correct. she asks a third time, seemingly louder, reminding me the procedure is not reversible.

i stare straight ahead. i can feel cat lady behind my back making the international hand gesture for "shame on you". waves of shame flow from her pointer finger and crash into my back.

i fully expect the cat lady to storm my home backed by cps (cat protective services) officers demanding custody of my clawless cat.

stop. my pop culture inbox is overflowing, and my outbox is collecting dust. so just stop.

shelve the latest 17 year old singing belly button diva, hold back the next half baked snl character stretched into 90 minutes of movie watching hell, tell danielle steele, michael chrichton, and dean koontz to step away from the typewriter (thank you, stephen king!).

in this ever growing mound of consumable literature, music, art, video games, web sites, etc. are some real gems i have not yet discovered. enough gems to last the rest of my existence.

i am embarrassed to admit how far behind i am...
i have not read kurt vonnegut's slaughterhouse five yet,
i have not heard captain beefheart and the magic band's trout mask replica yet,
i have not seen willem de kooning's series of paintings, Women yet,
i have not played ubi soft's riven yet,
i have not watched akira kurosawa's shichinin no samurai (the magnificent seven) yet,
i have not surfed lileks.com yet,

and you,...stop reading this ultramicroscopic drivel and rediscover the works of marcel duchamp.

in other "what the hell is happening to my body" news, 2 weeks ago i spotted 7 pure white whiskers in my beard. not grey, but snow white. not to worry, i just figured my powers for good had increased.

today i noticed another in my eyebrow. what is causing this. am i morphing into edgar winter (note to self, must learn guitar riff for Frankenstein very soon)? is it true every 5th generation male in my family becomes an albino yeti?

i am watching my pubic hair very suspiciously and carefully.

acne is not an adolescent problem, rather a cyclicle event peaking every 18 years. at 36 i am peaking again with my 2nd cycle. this explains the topographically correct map of the tanggula mountain range on my back.

similarly the male libido is also on an 18 year cylce. this explains why i have renewed interest in my wife's goodies, and why i am chasing her around the house playing grab-ass.

the sychronization of both cycles is not a coincidence, the acne cycle keeps the libido cycle in check, ensuring the male is unattractive, foiling his chances.

more research on this theory is needed, if you are a 72 year old (4th cycle) horny, pizza face, i would like to hear from you.

some mcdonald drive throughs have eliminated the speaker box in favor of face to face embarrassment opportunities. recently, i seized that opportunity.

buger jockey "what would you like to drink with that"

me: "dr. pecker"

i wanted to retract my stupidity before i even finished the r in pecker. a very unfortunate slip of the tongue.

burger jockey"we are all out of dr. pecker, but we do have dr. pepper if you would like"

smart ass.

the wife sat in the passenger seat giggling maniacally.

bitch.

without gravity, your turds would be floating all over the place.

get it right,

it's not a mute point, it's a moot point
it's not a funeral fire, it's a funeral pyre
it's not a death nail, it's a death knell
it's not a lost leader, it's a loss leader

and if i have to tell you again that it is not bob wire it is barbed wire, i am going to rip your tongue out.

he told me i might feel a tingle in my finger tips, that was how i would know the nitrous oxide was working. ten minutes had passed, no tingle, not working.

it was intended to relax me, instead i grew more tense fearing he would begin working on my teeth under the assumption that the laughing gas had dulled my senses. i feared he was a hack and would begin drilling the wrong tooth.

he returned to the room, "are we ready to begin?" the dentist asked.

"um, i don't think the gas is working"

"sure it is, you just don't know it" he replied confidently."i'll check the tanks if it will make you feel better...oh my gosh your right, the tank is empty." he replaced it, and told me he would return in 10 minutes to begin.

five minutes later i concluded this guy was the worst dentist in the world. new tank and still no tingle in my fingers. i decided to and leave, my nimble brain dispatched a message to the fingers of my right hand to remove the gas mask. the message left my brain at light speed but slowed to nearly a stop as it slogged through dense, heavy, meat. when the fingers finally got the message, they fought an invisible weight just to lift them from the arm rest. the tingle was incredible. i started giggling uncontrollably and could not stop.

the sober part of my brain was telling the drunk brain to stop laughing, the dentist would think I was a retard for sure. drunk brain just laughed at sober brain. i think the nitrous oxide was working.