Saturday, February 28, 2015


It's the last day of F#cking G_d D@#m  February. This motherf*cking G_d d#$m fncking month is over. Finally. This is the month that the illogic of an argument over a motherf*cking dress killed motherf*cking Mr. Spock. Actually killed him. Here's how his last few moments probably went:

"The vast technological communications network, that could be used to solve all the world's social ills, bring understanding to humanity, is being used to argue over the color of a motherf*cking dress? Humanity is moronic. This is so motherf*cking illogical, I no longer have the will to live."

And that motherf*cking killed him.

And the motherf*cking cold. How can it be so motherf*cking cold for som motherf*cking long? I ask you? How can anyone claim that we haven't broke the G_d d#$m motherf*cking atmosphere with this motherf*cking "polar vortex" bullshit lasting this long.

Motherf*cker. F#ck you February.

Thursday, February 26, 2015


There's a mission, called Mars One, by a private company, to send volunteers on a one-way mission to mars. Now I want space programs to continue, I'm a big fan of science and space exploration.

But they are talking about a one-way mission to mars. And they're finding people to do this. Hundreds of thousands of people have volunteered.

I'm a fan of science fiction (good science fiction anyway) and the idea of space travel is fascinating.

But if these people are launched into space, there is going to be a point when some of them realize:  "Oh fuck, I shouldn't have done this."

There will be panic attacks and freak-outs, and when they run out of sedatives, they're in for some seriously messed up terror.

And the first time they have to jettison an dead body into space, the rest of them are going to think, "Holy fuck, I shouldn't have done this. This was a terrible idea."

And the ones to reach Mars are going to be some fucked up individual who all wish they had stayed home.

I'm all for space travel.  This plan might work, but those poor people.

You have to have a return plan. I mean Jesus Christ. Think about it.

Wednesday, February 25, 2015


All the little kids,
Out on the playground
Are learning to play together!

Running and jumping,
Laughing and learning!
They're all getting along!

(Except for Pete K,
From Mrs. R's class,
That kid is an asshole!
He pushes and shoves!)

But everyone else,
Is getting along!
Standing in line
They file into the school!

(Except for Pete K,
He's a little bully.
Whispering horrible things
Into Jacob's L's ear!)

The kids are in class,
Learning their lessons,
Learning to read
And to write and to add!

(Except for Pete K,
This kid is obnoxious,
He's making fart noises
And kicking Anne's chair)

The kids get together,
They're making a plan,
They whisper together
And look at Pete K!

The following morning,
Pete K's not at school,
And everyone's happy
And everything's cool!

All names in this story
Are fictional names,
If they sound like someone
Well that's just a shame.

So don't be the asshole,
At work or at school,
Your colleagues might
Be forced to do things un-cool,

Like poison your coffee,
Or follow you home,
So try to be nice,
And leave each other alone!

Tuesday, February 24, 2015


"Weather Center, this is Brad, how may I help you?"

"I think your website is broken."

"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, could you tell me your name?"

"Dan. Look, I've checked the ten-day forecast for the past week, and the numbers aren't changing."

"Let me check the page.... let me see... it seems okay on this end."

"But the numbers, they're all similar, but those can't be real numbers. I cleaned out the cache. Is it pronounced 'catch,' or 'cash-ay?' anyway, I cleared out all my browser temp files, but these numbers are all negative and terrible, and they don't change."

"Sir, these are the real numbers."

"But can't you make them go up?"

"We only report the weather sir, we can't—"

"You can't do anything? For the love of God, you can't even try? You're the fucking Weather Center."

"Sir I assure you—"

"NO! No, you don't assure me. These aren't real numbers. This is insane! How long is this going to go on? What are you people doing? There's nothing you can do? Cloud seeding or whatever the hell the farmers do?"

"Sir, this is an unusually cold winter, but again, I can assure—"

(sobbing, line disconnects)

Monday, February 23, 2015


To alter foremost "yes"
On things gone by
The buried precepts lost
In wayward thoughts

Of idle hours spent by
Somewhere else
While we our dollars make
By daily toil

Bleak, bleakest winter
Bone-snap cold
(driving indoors all,
the absent sun)

Diverse slanders
Uttered out-of-doors
Let bygone lip-synched prayers
Unanswered, fade

Ignored by yawning
Channel-surfing God
Who flips through decades
Clicking one by one

Sleep the death-like sleep
On crisp white sheets
Nocturnal thoughts of
Lost car-keys and things

The lumbering wonder
Thunders, underwhelmed
Hecate's whispered
Incantations lost

The Viking's funeral pyre will blaze
Up out into the sky
Upon the waves

Three thousand years
And not a minute saved
The sands of time
Will fall for anyone

Young faces wrinkle slowly,
Week by week
And strong backs slowly
Weaken, year by year

The dreams of long-dead men
Traverse the stars
To sadly settle planets yet unmade

The testaments of unnamed
Alien gods
Writ down on stones
Decayed one billion years

And everyone the pulverizing time
It grinds down every upstart
That it finds

To alter foremost "yes"
On things gone by
To move the minute hand
There yet again

The moon will close her eyes
And look away
The sun will smile and sadly
Shake his head

The sky will weep and stretch
From here to there
The earth will spin and say
That all is well

The graves will stand forgotten
Day by day
And everything will be
As it will be

To alter foremost "yes"
On things gone by
The buried precepts
Lost on scattered thoughts


Guys in ties
Are in disguise
Because they know
You will surmise

That they are wise
And civilized
So they can tell
A thousand lies

"Deeply saddened,"
"Mistakes were made,"
"The documents were all mislaid."
"The emails somehow got deleted."
The biggest lies are most repeated.

An army of lawyers
Are all on hand
To lie in a language
We don't understand

And the guys with ties
In suits tailor-fitted
Will always manage to get acquitted
The system will maintain the status-quo
But if you are poor?
Off to jail you go.

Tuesday, February 17, 2015


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Wednesday, February 11, 2015

I'm too sexy for this post

I'm too sexy for this post, too sexy for this post
This post is the most.

I'm on Blogger, you know what I mean
And I type my little words in the textbox
Yeah in the textbox, in the textbox yeah
I type my tiny thoughts in the textbox

I'm too sexy for this update.

Friday, February 06, 2015

Cola Hubris

Those new Coca~Cola commercials are sad and incredibly stupid:

"Hey consumer! You are surrounded by an Internet filled with relentless, hate-filled trolls who will stop at nothing to make your life a living hell. Your only hope is that some reckless, clumsy network administrator who doesn't follow the rules (NO FOOD OR DRINKS IN THE SERVER ROOM, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD) spills his Coke on a MAGICAL SERVER that will allow the Internet, simply by the virtue of some freakish, impossible anomaly, to artificially cheer you up, by accident, by creating some kind of virtual AI "friend" that will boost your spirits, (which, by the way, you are unable to do yourself, as you are a complete victim of all the idiots on the Internet {stop staring into your phone!})."

Anyway, that's how I feel about Coca~Cola's new ad campaign. For the record, I like Coca~Cola. It is delicious and refreshing.  They should go back to the old, "I'd Like To Teach The World To Sing" hubris, and shitcan this "WE ARE YOUR A.I. FEEL-GOOD OVERLORDS" hubris.

Sunday, February 01, 2015

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About Me

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I am the author of 5 books: Android Down, Firewood for Cannibals, The Cubicles of Madness, Robot Stories, and most recently, Various Meats and Cheeses. I live and write in Michigan. My website is at