The Genius . . .

 . . . at the Genesis of his craft.

It's amazing. You don't see that childish gap-toothed grin here when he realizes he's just been photographed. You just see the true portrait of a craftsman.

The Uselessness of Nothingness

Consider Nothingness. No, really. The "there" before you were born.

Got it, Amateur Einshteen? NOTHINGNESS. The Absence of Something. I bet that in the entirety of your poor, sorry, hungry life, you have NEVER EXPERIENCED NOTHINGNESS.

So leave it to your Dear Leader to explain it to you:

NOTHINGNESS is someone who thinks they can cook, but in a perverse paradox, cannot. They, by all the powers available to them, which we all share in abundance, lest I appear above The Flock, are CONVINCED that THEIR WAY to cook something is THE ONLY WAY to cook something (Sorry to repeat myself, but I have to get through to THEM and this seems the only way).

But if all that is past; all that is present; all that IS TO BE is considered, NOTHINGNESS IS STILL NOTHINGNESS. YOU CAN

NOT

MAKE

SOMETHING

OUT

OF

NOTHINGNESS.

Yet, Flock,

Nothingness fills their brain. Nothingness delights in its freedom and flies like a million butterflies in a newly-mown hay field; NOTHINGNESS IS KING.

I, of all people, my dearest, dearest flock, in this, our Kwanzaa-enriched season, appreciate the Nothingness which is within EACH and EVERY ONE of us. NO MISTAKES FROM NOTHINGNESS.

Excpet me, of course.

'Tis the Season to Shut the Fuck Up

Every year, during that slow news period between Christmas and New Years', when the Taliban are busy roasting small animals and presidents are having lewd sex with diplomats, the news media trots out the "The Year in Review."

FUCK The Year in Review.

I know what The Year in Review was like because DUHHHH, I WAS THERE. What is this, History Blind Lemon Chitlin 101?

GET A FUCKING OTHER JOB.

Yes.

Well said, if I may say so myself.

Seeing as how this room is empty, I can SHOUT ANYTHING I WANT.

In' SHALLLLAAAAAHHHH!

See? I'm feeling better already.

Kwanzaa Testament 2010

Flock. My flock. How I have failed you! In recent days, nay, weeks, nay, months! how I have neglected my adoring flock. Nary an update, no, nary a nary. Not a hair off a horse’s hoof, not a bleat of a lamb’s breath.

No, I have said shit for about three weeks.

But I return not harmed, nor perturbed, nor even hungered.

Just fucking pissed off!

I joketh, of course, my adoring pilgrims of The PoxLips. Thy Father never sayeth a word in verity, be it under thine bovine oath.

(Aaaaaah, KEE-RIST. What a goddamn last few weeks. Let Me Not Get Into Grand Detail. LET ME NOT UTTER PROFANITIES AGAINST THE LORDS OF GI JOE).

Uhh . . how to summarise. Trip to Japan: uhh, how to summarise. Uhh, trip to Japan: Uhh, how to summarise. Uhh . . .

Words. Planes. Nice people. Okay people. Late planes. run. Run. Run. Bag slamming against calf. Run. Gate 34 C. Gate 123B, Terminal B. Run. Run, bag slapping against thigh. Pain. Run. Hunger. Gate A9, Terminal H, West wing, Run. Seat 34B, annoying seatmate. Sleeping pill, double bloody mary. Wake up. WAKE UP! Run. RUN! Gate 54H, seat 46C. Where sunglasses? WHERE $200 sunglasses? Call home. Wait hotel! Destination. Shuttle! Can chu-hai. Hot bath! HOT BATH! HOOOOTTTT BATH!

Wake up. Unhappy. UN. HAPPY.

Sleep again.

DO ALL OVER AGAIN AT 6 O’CLOCK IN REVERSE.

D O  I T  A L L  O V E R  A G A I N 

AGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINA

Home.

Merry Anything!

Major Konig says "Gott fürgives alles!" (The lying bastard, I will burn him first)

Sorry, no quote due to Stolichnitis

He grows an angel every single moment I see him

Off to the Wild Blue Yonder

It's another wild trek to Japan starting at 5:30 a.m. on Friday, flock. Wish me luck. Wish that I don't lose my latest $200 pair of glasses, misplace my credit card or have to land the plane when the pilot eats some poisoned chickenorbeef. (I've been busy on my flight simulator, taking off from Dorval airport and aiming the plane into St. Joseph's Oratory, then buzzing downtown and clipping the Big O before turning around and landing on Runway 24L, in 747s, 707s, 737s, Phantom F4s, A380s and my favorite, the Concorde).

All you have to do is follow my progress. 5:30 a.m. at Dorval on Comair to Detroit. Detroit to Seattle. Seattle to Osaka (11 hours and 45 minutes!)

Two nights at the airport hotel. Back on Monday via Seattle and Minneapolis with the Tiny Tornado in tow.

We are going to rock the world of aviation (Tai-chan's almost as good as me on the flight simulator, and he's only nine!) and I can pretend to be an Air Marshall the whole way, staring down all swarthy-looking types in First Class who are nervously fingering their prayer beads while pretending to read "Oregon Fishing Almanac."

So keep checking in with Breaking News and follow my trail of mayhem and derring-do and I'll be sure to give you a full report, with pics, on my return.

Uh, on my projected return.

Here's one of our adventures from about 2005.

Tai-chan Malmsteen

Found this snippet of Tai-chan playing the electric guitar I bought for him this summer. Whaddya think? He'll be shredding in no time.

The Boxes

I hijacked this old post to post these photos of my boxes.

The Jude Law figure