Ill-Conceived

2 years at Shasta College and 15 Units short of an AA, my Grandpa asked if I would like to move back to L.A. to finish up and then move on to a Bachelors degree, Master's and Graduate work at Occidental College in Eagle Rock, 6 blocks from my childhood home. It only took about 3 months to flush my Charlatan ass out as the no-good, free-loading, pothead I really was. Looking back I have no real regrets. After all, that's where I was first able to get some really good, pure LSD and move on to my real life's work as a weather maker.

Mastodon - "Sleeping Giant" (Official Video)

This one goes out my friend SanFranCup!

Hobro Not Hobo

Happy Holidays 2010

Warmest wishes for a happy and healthy holiday season to you and your’n! Please allow me to quickly brief y’alls as to the nature of this year’s Christmas letter. As many of you know, I have been trying (for years now) to construct a mighty literary edifice, one that will finally announce to the world the undeniable genius and skill, the ultimate embodiment of the craft, the pure unadulterated horse-sense of... me! Unfortunately, this year’s attempt contains no perceptible improvement over my previous years’ offerings. In fact, it might be even worse. I am sorry to say that, at only two stories off the ground, it was red-flagged and shut down by the journalism foremen, citing a lack of structural integrity at even the most fundamental levels. A review of the blueprints resulted in much eye-rolling, shaking of heads and general moaning and groaning. The consensus is this: my designs are so ill-conceived that it is almost as if I have no formal literary foundation whatsoever from which to draw upon and that even at only two stories high, my eloquent vision is naught but a house of cards. Now, with time running out, the thought of a complete re-build is out of the question. And so it is with darting eyes and a weaselly little half-smile that I give you perhaps one of the most ludicrous stories ever written. I apologize for ruining many a family’s cherished fireside tradition--the reading aloud of my Christmas Chronicle. It is, alas, impossible.
At this time, I am also sorry to announce that since I simply cannot foresee any way that these shoddy, jerry-built offerings will make any marked improvement in the future, I am considering an early retirement from all written story-telling. Instead, I hope to pursue my lifelong dream of ventriloquism. That way, at least, the lunacy of my dialogues can be blamed on the freakin’ puppet. I also hope to grow some organic oats someday.

Big Numbers

Think of it this way. Forty thousand years is nine hundred and sixty thousand years short of one million. The Royal Order of Orange Toad is  going on a pilgrimage to "the East" in search of the "ultimate Truth"