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I'm insane busy with editing right now. So instead of a witty essay on how Christmas with my step father went... I give you:

The shrink and Roy sit across from one another staring. Roy is covered in blood.

Roy: (guiltily) I haven’t had a chance to do the relaxation exercises we went through-

Shrink: Is there something that you’ve done this weekend, uhh that you’d like to discuss?

Roy: I’m going to make you a deal. This is the last time I try and pull one over on you...

Shrink: The issue here is really about honesty. I don’t believe you spent the weekend like that and then came into my office-

Shrink: Roy you can’t manipulate these sessions by fabricating some story and splattering fake blood on yourself.

Shrink: I’ve seen this a thousand times. And I want you to say, “Doctor Sanders I’m ready to work hard in therapy”

Roy: Well, I didn’t kill a jogger with a branch, that much is for sure. And it didn’t slip my mind to get changed before I went to see my therapist.

I love you all. Have a great time New Years. If you don't have anybody - get fucked up. that's what I used to do.

"I'd love to see a whole town painted in those bumperstickers...his little
miscarriage one-act was inspiring." - some guy that actually exists!

"Nice, the site looks better... Now, its a wonderland of color and smell!... Ive been up for about 38 hours at this point... got to get a pic of me riding a dinosaur at animal kindgdom before security..."

Building a fake God in the middle of a real church...

You stand with torch raised high. Your eyes are wide. A mass of frightened worshipers huddle in the corner.

An older lady, obviously suffering from dementia has taken up your cause. You bark orders at her. Sometimes she follows them. Sometimes she comes back with hilarious results. Will your relationship develope past friendship? Never. She's too old.

She brings in the dream toast beaming with pride.

You turn your back in quiet contemplation. You woke up this morning and the depression was gone. It was the first time in months you really felt like doing something. But once again: It's tougher to actually do something than just to dream it up.

(Last Friday) As of writing this I haven't eaten in two days. I'm sipping Pedialite for breakfast. I'm normally 150 lbs. This morning I'm almost at 140. One more day of the stomach flu and I'll be in the hospital.

But I'm looking at a website that's brightening my day. Look at Tigers 2. Second one down. The big smile version is EXACTLY what I had in mind for my movie.

The whole site is good. There main office is in a castle! How perfect is that?

I was actually going to go into marketing in college. I don't know. I'm almost ready to give up.

M: Which would explain the deafening roar of gun fire. Heard by everyone in the building.

You know... when ever one of my updates isn't going so hot - I've got a wacky link towards the end. AND a link to my friend David's site. Maybe you'll have better luck over there.

"Holtek's site is on par with mainlining herion and using puppies to skeet shoot" - Dan Rather (Of ABC News)

Wow. There's a chance that the Dan Rather who said that works at a gas station. It could be the Dan Rather... that I always talk to... that works the register - NIGHTS... He let me have a pop for free.

"All right man just this once. But no free pop this time. What is this? Girls Gone Wild? Which volume?"

"When I showed up at the bar... well she didn't look anything like her pics... AND she was a REGULAR deer. What a nightmare."

"sit down. get your chair.. spread your legs.wider..(high voice) mommy.. MOMMY!. Baby wants to fuck.GET READY TO FUCK! Baby wants blue velvet. Don't look at me! Don't look at me!!!
(heavy breathing) Daddy's home" - David Lynch's Blue Velvet

Congratulations Jesus you've finally pushed me into doing the right thing. All the nightmares and guilt... All the apologies for constantly pissing away valuable time and money... I've seen the light of setting up a work schedule. If I live to be one hundred I've got sixty nine years left. Time enough for absolution.

People don't have to know what you really mean by that. Should this one go on the maybe pile?

I don't know. This is tougher than it looks. I'm missing the mark entirely now. It... It doesn't even really make sense for what the site's about. The Nascar fans would... But the... rap community...

This one's confusing even to me. But I'm pretty sure I'm talking about... you know... sex with the morbidly old.

Fuck it. Nobody said makin' bumper stickers was easy. But I'll keep at it. I'm coming up with new ideas every day. Sooner or later I'll come up witih something that everybody likes. It's just a matter of time until I get the hang of it.

"I need a man, a man, a man, a man, a man, a man, a man, a man, uh BLUES explosion man." - jOn sPEncer.

This week's quote is in response to walking into the living room when my friend's were watching TV. They had the show on with Donald Trump were he's yelling at everyone and firing people. I've actually talked to a personal trainer who said she respected him. Probably because of watching that program.

Some crack head smashed the window out of my girl friend's car. She came home in tears because they snatched her purse and all her cds. So even though my Honda still smelled like rotten pumpkin I stepped up to the plate to drive her to work. She begged to waitress over the holidays because she's one step away from giving old men hand jobs in the park for nickels.

Oddly enough that has more to do with me driving her up the wall than with her financial situation...

Whatever. If I write a play staring all cats it's gonna get talked about. Especially if it takes place around the turn of the century.

Court Jester cat: "If the writer of this play doesn't get it together he's gonna need to take a job in a nursing home."

Court Jester cat: "You've got a point. And his drinking is way down from last year."

And if we haven't had a chance to see each other all day, yes it's gonna come up during sex.

ME: "Fuck, I got it. That white barn cat! At your house!? ! Do you think it's up at this hour?"

Sitting at the bar of the steak house I'm underlining things out of a book. called "It's okay to be nuerotic." My father and his friends show up. Between drinks of congiac, irish coffee and coffee with scotch in it a plate stacked high with vegetables is placed in front of me. RoboChrist is drinking beer. It's only a matter of time before my cousin starts talking about his midget porn collection. It ignites an enthusiam in the family and friends sitting around the table.

Maybe we spoke too loud for the family with the sitting beside us. But it was our Thanksgiving to.

My father and I sat across from each other. Drunk. The place was fucking abandoned. A giant waving santa was still in the box sitting against the wall. The pumpkin pie was close to inedible. A man sat alone enjoying a cigarette, drinking coffee/ looking at the snow blowing against the windows. Waves of arguments, child support and a straight job he hated washed out from him. Again and again my mind goes back to the time in my life were I thought about commiting suicide. Distant memories of isolation. Crying and hating myself. Hating myself for thinking it. Hating myself for not having the courage to do it.

My father began to speak. But my focus was still trained on the man in the booth.

Poor newly weds slid into a booth next to our table. They were blessed with an infant. Even though none of us made eye contact I felt as though we were family in that smoker's section. The wait staff laughed and joked out in front of the kitchen.

If I was a diety I would have closed my eyes and my hands would have begun to radiate white light.

Me/Jesus: I've been drinking since noon and I've come to judge the living and the dead -

My father was going to be a proffesional trumpeter. When he had my brother he worked a construction job to provide for his family. A song came on overhead. He noted that in his day he was better than the musician playing. The man in the booth exhaled smoke and sipped some more coffee. I knew it was the truth.

I listened to some tapes on buddism a few summers ago. The man said we continue to grow even as we age. It's like Peter Pan. The people in the restraunt just forgot there happy thoughts.

The mini update... "What one man can do another can do." - From the movie The Edge

I'm working like a man possessed to come up with some saleable bumper sticker ideas. So here goes a couple more....

Again same problem as last week, I feel this one's another miss. The demographic for this one is too small. It's aimed at people dealing with.... Well you know.

GEM: My mother said you were insane when you showed up in camoflague to ThanksGiving.

GD: Oh? What's that? I think I hear the sound of one pink hand breaking through the earth...

I really didn't realize I had all ready written drugs. This one was made while drinking at the steakhouse ThanksGiving.

To those in the know, my friend David's art is the best kept secret in Michigan.

Three guesses as to what I'm eating tomorrow... I don't know if I should admit this or not. But I'm excited about the footage so ummm let's just say... Uuuuh... friend - climbed in the window of an abandoned house in his neighborhood. And as luck would have it he too liked to carry his video camera around with him. And oddly enough his footage is going in my movie.

I came up with a bumper sticker idea. I don't know. Maybe it's not gonna work. It's just the first of many ideas. It's probably too wordy. I'll keep tryin'. If I come across something that you guys think will sell by all means drop me a line. Something's gotta hit eventually. With this one I was trying to jump onto the whole "My boss is a Jewish carpenter" band wagon. You know what I mean:

I guess I'm coming off as a Johnny come lately with all that though. If I would have come up with the:

one I'd be typing to you in a gold plated Rolls Royce. But as fate would have it I came up with, you know:

"I'm NOT out to avenge my dead brother. I'm just a guy... trying to live his life. Day by day. Let byegones be byegones."

Which again, is too wordy. And ummm it's too small of a market. Really. There's one maybe two guys in the state of ohio even in that situation.

Still got time to kill? Well go visit my friend David. He and I are in an electronic band together I think.

I'm excited about the footage I've got so far. It's gonna be a different kind of movie than Shed I or II obviously... In the down time between sites I've busied myself with soundtracking and filming. I've got a lot of anger. Hopefully the brutality is close to unwatchable when it hits the screen. But ultimately I'd like to think of the script I've written as an uplifting buddy movie. Well, no rest for the wicked. Thanks for your patience on the site.

Okay so I'm putting up some old issues from a publication I made years ago called "The Weekly Fister". It'll be in the more archives section. More of that to come. I'm putting up plenty of content to (hopefully) keep everybody entertained. It's my idea to make this site more interactive with the readers. I'd love to get something going like reader mail, online polling... Who knows. So by all means drop me a line. But in the mean time -

I think I even threw up in front of a cop... What happens when you feed a guy the size of an eight year old virgin a bunch of shots? He makes like chernoble and coats the landscape with filth. Before the meltdown I was the happiest man at the Goth club. I wore a sheet with two eye holes cut in it. I was a dance machine in that get up!! And everything was great. People were super positive about my disguise... My girl friend was makin' out with other chicks... They were playing night of the living dead on the video screens... I couldn't have told you what my middle name was or were I lived but no one gave a shit, it was a time of celebration.

There was a point in my girl friends car were I was like "OH DEAR GOD!! I CAN'T WAKE UP!! I CAN'T WAAAAAAKKKKEEE UUUUPPPPP!!!!" Everybody's been there. It was just my turn the other night. That simple horrible moment where you realize: I've drank myself into a place were I'm going to be VIOLENTLY ill for the rest of my life. I was in a vehicle full of people. Some bitch was crying into her cell phone. In my mind the car had turned into a rusted out bus with chickens in the back.

In the restaurant I was a fountain of puke. The evening drew to a close with my girl friend carrying me out to the parking lot. To her credit she refused to run over my head with her car tire. She knows how to keep cool in a time of crisis.

For my 31st birthday I received two pet costumes, an emergency kimono and a tent for my room.

My friend James: ::smoking morning cigarette:: (yelling up the stairs in panic) Your mom is at the door!!

Your mother still talks to you?! you say. Well check it out: anyone who knows me will tell you it's common knowledge that I only have three pairs of pants. Two pairs: flat front slacks, one pair: Ripped denim to fit in with the kids. And the third pair happened to have rotten pumpkin on the cuff. WTF? right? Well maybe this phone text I sent to my friend Robo Christ will shed some light:

"Sixty pounds of rotten pumpkin in the back of my car! !! it was more hell on earth than solid when i drug it out this morning. forty lbs of it made it to the neighbors yard. fuck me daddy.. oh god damn it... On my honor i didnt puke during the commute to work. SHit ! oh dear god have mercy on me. let this feeling pass...

i just want to die and be reborn without ever knowing what this smells like. The over night woman couldnt believe what i was battling with cleaning products. shes about forty and said it smelled bad as shit. &!"

Think it would be fun to be my friend? Think again. Robo Christ gets about three of those a day. Long story short, if you're gonna buy the most giant pumpkin you can find - Don't drive around with it in the back seat of your car for a month. Sure it inspires admiration from the people. But that glory soon fades when you're coated and screaming with an orange miscarraige.

Okay so back to the dawn of the first day, of the rest of your humble narrator's life.... I'm in the living room with my mother. And let's fast forward through the part were I'm blankly staring, drool spilling in a line from my lip.

Now my mother and I are speeding down the street in her very nice car. It's time for brand spanking new birthday pants. She knows I'm picky. That it must be precisely the right pair before I'll even think about committing to them. Sometimes we find the pants. Most times we don't. It's been like this since time out of mind. She's committing the day. My hands smell like sweat socks but I haven't put that together yet.

Me: I don't know... I don't know anything. I've lost the will to live... Coffee and gummy bears.

Me: The fireplace and old timey farm equipment on the walls... It might be my only chance.

I defecated in the bathroom next to the Christmas gift shop. After five cups of coffee I told my mother I could feel a tiny ember of hope spring forth in my chest. That the gift of life would be granted to me a new.