Tonight in my improv class, one of the other leaders of my professional
improv group, Chameleon Comedy came in and after quickly rushing with
her outside, I asked if we could go see our producer contact after the
class about a “production meeting” we’re suppose to go to this Saturday.

She agreed, even though we’d be arriving on our producer’s porch after
10pm. So with anticipation for the class to be over, we finally headed
off to get an answer we’ve been wanting for a while.

Our producer contact went off to South Africa for two weeks after telling
us we had to be at the meeting, and when we found out she arrived back
in town this weekend several phone calls helped us reach the
realization that some phone bills had needed to be paid. Then again,
I’m pretty sure the bill came as she was in South Africa, so it’s no
biggie.

On our way down to her place, the fog began to roll in
thick. While fog isn’t exactly something new to our area of LA in
March, pea soup is something that is quite unusual. It should have been
our first sign that the night was not going to end well.

Upon arriving within our producer’s neighborhood, we were both greeted with too many police cars to count setting up a perimeter. After talking
with an officer as his remark of “If you live here you’d best lock your
doors…the situation is fluid,” we both decided that there was only one
thing to do.

Get the hell outta’ there.

So tonight was a small waste, but tomorrow is another perfect day to go to our producer.

Everyone, this is just exactly how lucky I am.

“Reality manipulation?”
    “Yes, reality manipulation Alem. It’s two words, so it shouldn’t be that hard a concept to grasp. It’s not helium being made into uranium via nucleosynthesis.”
    “Well,” he scratched his head, “Care to give me a demonstration?”
    “Sure,” the dragon complied, closing his eyes tightly. With a look of deep effort scowling across his face, Lazarus’s eyes reopened looking as if he had just finished an ultramarathon.
    “So, what’d you do?” an unimpressed Alem asked.
    “Know how to stand on a ceiling?”
    “Why?”
    In an instant, Alem felt himself falling up to the ceiling along with every object of furniture in the room. A loud thud was echoed by the couch that promptly pinned him.
    “Laz, this is officially the freakiest shit I have ever seen,” he said up to Lazarus, now on the floor…ceiling.
    Almost as if to taunt Alem, Lazarus’s modification of gravity occurred once again. Feeling the need to be a bit of a smartass, the next modification was one that had gained him his reputation as a fiercem opponent.
    The couch lifted off of Alem much to his relief. Yet much to his dismay, gravity simply began to shift around the room. Suddenly, it was spin-cycle.
    “On second thought!” he rolled to dodge a futon, “This tops that.”


----


Cmdr. Lawn had made a major underestimation of the firepower of Alem’s guns as a 1cal round from the weapon tore through the SUV. Everything behind his seat, the front passengers, had been blown away (including the man who had been firing at Alem). The driver fell out as the concussive blast of the explosion tore his seat off of its bolts. Lawn pulled out his last cigarette as sparks flew from the jarring impact of the back half of the SUV. Slowly sliding to a stop, the Furai in all its rotary-powered glory continued down the road. He pulled out his standard issue lighter, looked at his reflection and covered the tip from any wind. Once lit, he puffed heavily.
    “Man,” he sighed.


-----


I've also come up with the idea for a character and the only thing I have on it right now is the word "landshark". So I'm not sure whether the character will be a creature, be a figure or speech, or maybe be both.

Being an author is confusing as hell.

Gotta' love that Carlin won Best Comedy Album. You dirty ole' bastard!

Daft Punk swept all categories in the Dance genre, thing is the Grammys seems to only know of two categories for dance music. Course, I didn't know Daft Punk was house.

As I predicted to friends, Lil' Wayne won just about everything he was nominated for. As I said to everyone I knew "He'll be an example of quantity over quality winning."

Sometimes I wish I could do like Lil' Wayne does and shit out a mix-tape every time I take a dump.

Coldplay won a few too.

Just wondering, have you caught on to my tone that represents a lot of people's attitudes towards the Grammys. Yeah.

Who gives a flying fuck who wins what. I just like good music.

Occasionally I feel like putting my work up on the firing range, and
today I'm feeling good about what is the final product of something I
came up with nearly 2 years ago. It's a story that started because of
my frustration at mathematics and how I noticed a relationship between
zero and infinity in algebra:



There
By Jared Head


+1
“You Are There”
Note: This book should be read loud!
Recommended Selection: “Dayvan Cowboy” by Boards of Canada

“I think I’m dead,” he whispered looking up. The sky above him was darker than any night he had ever witnessed but there was enough light to cast a light shadow.
    Stars, planets, comets, meteors leaving their burning streaks of light as they died, a ring system towering overhead, galaxies zipping by. He looked around and surveyed his surroundings before going back to looking. He was standing in a plateau; it could have easily been an expansive salt flat, the darkness keeping it away from him.
    As he looked back up at the gleaming sky, a small pain shot down his shoulder and muscles shuddered. Instinctively, he swung his arm around. When his hand went above the horizon, a soothing tone came to his ears. Everything his hand swept past seemed to react. Stars flew in swirls. Galaxies blew apart. Comet’s tails.
    “I am dead,” he smirked. Turning around didn’t change the perspective. The flat plane continued, with hills hinting in the distance…at least he thought they were hills. It was just dark enough to prevent him from having the visual evidence he needed to convict the masses. The need to go beyond them burned in him.
    His focus shifted to a clean white shape hanging in the air. He couldn’t gauge its distance but decided to set off anyhow to see if it could be the Rosetta Stone. As he moved in closer, there was a pattern on it, but he was still too far away from it to conclude what it was. He picked up his pace to a jog and it began moving away. He had to catch up. As the pace picked up, the figure moved faster. He stopped. So did the formation.
    “What the…” He stopped himself from going any further, courtesy of the wheels in his head beginning to turn with a thought. Now it wasn’t a thought anymore; he had an idea. Figuring that every time he moved forward this body moved farther away from him. Maybe, just maybe, if he moved backwards it would have a reverse effect.
    He took a deep breath, released it and began his backwards journey.
    Sure enough, the form began to move towards him. He did his best jog backwards and the reverse effect continued as the structure accelerated. He began to thank himself for coming up with such a brilliant idea, but his rejoicing soon ended. His left foot came back hitting his right shin, breaking the rhythm he had created. With nothing to stop him, gravity brought him and his ego down with his back taking the fall. He slid on the ground slightly. His upper-body stopped and his legs continued, making him somersault.
    He sprawled out on the ground and didn’t move for a few seconds. Slowly, he got to his feet and dusted himself off, knocking the white ground off of his jeans. It was just like the ground at a salt flat, but he wasn’t eager to do the taste test to confirm it. Who knew what might happen then.
    He turned to resume his backwards jog and met face to face with the contours of the shape. It was floating a few feet off the ground. Looking up, there was a photo: him on a white background. There was a phrase inside of an arrow pointing to him:

You Are There

    “Shouldn’t it be ‘here?’” he asked. Without warning his head quickly turned to the left.
“No, just There,” he replied to himself, getting control of his body back.
    “What?” he asked, looking around. His eyebrows rose with confusion, as he was astonished he had just answered himself, let alone felt control of himself slip away. He knew he was losing it, but this early on in life? He again looked to his left, “Who said that!”
    “You’re not losing it. This is how things work in There,” he answered sternly. As he finished, he regained control of his body unexpectedly and fell forward.
    “There?” he rubbed his paining elbow.
    “Yes, There,” he stood up, now aware that someone else was controlling his body, “You are, quite literally, There.”
    “What’s There?” he asked, “Actually, who are you?”
    “Call me…” he paused for a second and smirked, “Tyrant.”
    “Tyrant? Interesting name, I’m Alem.”
    “Alem? Sounds farfetched compared to my simple alias. I picked Tyrant because I’m technically not supposed to be here, let alone take control of your body. But I saw just how confused you were and thought I’d check in and see what the problem was.”
    “So you’re helping me?” he asked.
    “Yup,” Tyrant shot off while looking to the left. “I can tell you like this place.”
    “It’s better than where I am now,” he said to his right.
    “Trust me, I know,” Tyrant finished with a smile. He was slowly feeding and the information about Alem he could to his own self, cataloging it for when it needed to be accessed again.
    Alem slowly looked back up to the sky. That lightshow was back to normal, but he could see the hints of a mass moving across the sky. It was black, and it wasn’t one object. It was like a swarm. All he could make out was the movements. Some moved in a straight line, others seemed to wiggle across the sky. He couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was made this place he had learned was called “There” that much more desirable.
    “Listen to the noise and…,” Tyrant said quietly to him. Alem waited for his new found friend to take control again and continue. But it wasn’t to be, as he could feel himself fading away. His last glimpse was a panorama of the horizon. Beautiful is too weak a word.

---

    His eyes slowly opened. Much to his dismay, he was back in his room wrapped in his bed sheets. How he ever wrapped himself up in his bed sheets was a mystery. His memory came to life and the visions of There came to him again. They were hardly the original glory he had seen and that soothing peace of discovery was gone. How would he get back? Listen to what noise?
    His right arm jutted out and the first annoying scream shattered through the air. He hit snooze, and the alarm clock was quickly silenced. He brought both his arms behind his head, relaxing.
    “I’m getting good.”
    He relaxed only for a second. He unwrapped himself from the sheets and sat up in the bed.
    “Hi, my name is Alem.” He stood, walking to the bathroom. “Now, before I get on with this, I need to do something real quick,” he smirked, shutting the bathroom door after him. He lifted the lid on the toilet and began.
    “It’ll just be a second!” he called out. It took him a minute, and he came out of the bathroom when he was finished. “As you can tell, my room is messy and that should give off a few hints about me.”
    He walked around and picked a few things up, smiling slightly. “College is a real swift kick to the face for me. It’s hard, but I work at it, you know?” He walked back to the bathroom. “I’m studying to be… well, something. I’m not sure what yet, but I’ll find out. My guidance counselor in high school told me I should study within the realms of nuclear physics, as I’ve got the brains. Problem is, I lack the motivation to even try.”
    He turned the shower on and began to undress. “I’m not exactly from here. Same state, just a different part of it, although I do still live along the coast back home,” he explained as he stepped into the shower and turned it on. Steam began to fill the room.
    “I do enjoy college though. It’s building my future, whatever that may be,” he said, peeking over the frosted glass of the shower. “Plus, these dorms are pretty damn nice, eh?”
    When he finished up in the shower he quickly dried off and began to dress. “I’m very outgoing, and sometimes girls can confuse simple conversation from me for entry-level flirting. I’m very well-liked and have a plethora of friends all over this little sleepy college town. But then again, you’re getting this straight from me, and I’m a fairly biased source about myself.”
    He slipped a jacket and backpack on. Alem slowly walked out the door, putting the finishing touches on his hair as he looked in a mirror. “I have to go to class right now as it’s the last day before finals week, and I do enjoy it quite a bit. It’s a philosophy class, and yes, a few of you are rolling your eyes. I understand.”
    Walking down the hall, he caught the elevator just in time. “Ground please,” he said to the woman standing next to him. “I’m actually just starting this second semester, so it’s the first day of a new beginning. Or the first day of a new ending for some.”
    “Who are you talking to?” the woman standing next to him asked.
    “Don’t worry about it.”
“Right,” she said slowly, taking a few steps away from Alem.
Alem had his infamous look on his face of raised eyebrows. “See?”
    Ding!!! went the elevator, and out went Alem. He turned slowly back to the elevator’s closing doors. “Call me!” he teased smartly, making a phone with his hand. He turned around, an accomplished smile on his face turning to a blank expression.
    The clouds outside were unloading a deluge onto the sleepy college-town. Alem would now have to go all the way back. He felt like he should have seen the rain coming.
    “Figures I’d forget to check the weather. No, not online or by TV. Just by opening a window. How much of a genius am I?”
    The elevator’s doors opened once again and the same woman was in it. Alem casually stepped in whistling. “You again? You must be some kind of elevator operator,” he said, leaning over to push the button. “Wouldn’t want you learning what floor I’m on. It’s high enough for any accidental fall to be fatal.”
    He stepped back and began to whistle again. The woman didn’t make eye contact. The doors began to close and he broke the silence. “Awkward maybe, but it’s how I have my fun in this sleepy little town.”
    The doors closed with a clink.

    After I was done vomiting a combination of screwdrivers (the drink), waffles, high fructose corn syrup and screwdrivers (the tool), I began to realize that Ibogaine withdrawals are not my thing. A knock on the door signaled me to it, and I stumbled slowly, fumbling for any kind of gun I could get my hands on and settled for my Glock 10A. Last time I answered the door it was none other than the police, and the last thing I wanted to do was be caught without a proper negotiation-expeditor verbal and visual clause that a loaded weapon offers.

    Anyone not holding a gun is out-right and forthrightly fucked out of his or her brain if I’m in possession of one while in this state of mind. I open the door and it’s a close friend, one I’ve managed to retain in my mangled states since elementary school. Seeing the need to invite him in, I knock the grip of the gun on his forehead and drag his unconsciously cured self in. I realize I might be slightly moody.

    Have you ever been to hell? I have! It’s exactly like The Block in Orange, complete with a 10pm curfew. It also sounds like a wet turd impacting at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, which is somewhat better than a Jonas Brothers concert. Of course, all I heard there was the piercing shrill of Disney-coked up b-tards. That’s when I started hitting the Ibogaine hard. Fun fact: Alcoholism will cure Disney in one dose.

    These kids are the same suckerfucks who ate the yellow cake Nigeria sold Iraq apparently. Fuck us if we can’t find evidence, and guess what? I’m about ready to get down to fucking us long and hard for once. I am rough, I am tiring and I don’t care whether America consents or not: Rape me, and I rape you.

    The very moment in which my rage became all too familiar is when I felt my head split open. It wasn’t Athena that fell out, but a baseball plundered to the hardwood floor. I pick it up and with my best Bob Feller impression: swinging arms and high left knee letting the ball roll along my fingers, the claws scratching across its leather skin. So much for my closet door.

    What’s the whole point of this? Go back and re-read it if you can’t understand it. For all of those who are confused out of their minds, I’d suggest you take the easy route and read the last line in this sad state of linguistic affairs you dirty rotten cheaters. For the rest of you: MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE: SEX!

    In case you didn’t know it, SEX sells. If I had a pair of tits…wait a second…my nuts dude…they itch…my mind tells me that the only logical solution to this dire situation is that I scratch my nuts. You see, the problem is that this’ll require more than two passes, and any more than two is playing with yourself.

    “Take your time,” my friend has finally come back to consciousness, “No one gives a flying fuck. Hell, they don’t even give a walking one. Just play bro. Put on some soft-core and just play.”

    I kicked him in the head like Pele.

    I prefer him quiet.

Just finished watching "Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride: Hunter S. Thompson on Film"

I feel rejuvenated.

...the car rollouts begin tomorrow with Ferrari's F2009.

The cars are going to have completely different aerodynamic set-ups, so they'll look drastically different from last year's uber-aero efficient cars.

Yeah, I know, I'm the only American who cars about Formula 1...

...shut up!

This is the sketch the improv group I belong to, Chameleon Comedy, will be performing at the pilot for "Soul Island". I'm putting it up here to gauge reactions from people and see what we can improve upon, so here goes:

Copyright Chameleon Comedy 2008

Mighty Morphin' Power Racists


Narrator: 10 million bajillion years ago, a great battle between good and evil where all nationalities joined together to fight the great evil, but before its defeat the evil created racism and separated the nationalities. But now to stop this evil again the nationalities must be reunited to form POWER RANGERS: JINSYU SABATSU (jean-shoe sabat-sue)

(All the rangers come in and do their move)

VD: Alpha…Alpha…get yo' bitchass in here.

Alpha: (robot dance) VD! VD! Aaaaaaaah! What is it?

VD: The evil we fought 10 million bajillion years ago is returning.

Alpha: Your case of the clap?

VD: No, I got that under control. I meant the other evil we fought.

Alpha: Oh! That one! So what should we do?

VD: Call the Power Rangers!

Alpha: But they faded away with early-90's pop culture.

VD: I'm aware of that, I mean get new ones!

Alpha: Really? That seems like a ploy.

VD: No! Deploy the new rangers with stereotude!

(Rangers appear on stage)

All Rangers: What the hell!

VD: Where's the black guy?

Alpha: AH! He's on CP time, here he comes.

Black Ranger: Hey sorry, I just—

(Interrupted by "Crusin' in my '64" by Easy-E)

Red Ranger: What the fuck is this shit? This is that hip hoppin', be boppin' drum smashing, tape mixing, 9mm shootin', low ridin', chickenn eatin' watermelon lovin', Kool-Aidin', drive-byin', welfare line standinin', ghetoin', Comptonin', Al sharptonin', cryin ass, 10 baby havin', crack pipin', tiger woodsin', welsley snipin', buckwheatin', breakdancin', Dave Chappelin' before he went nuts, chrome spinning rimin', cadallacin', un-american frech lovin', white woman stealin', big cockin', Bush doesn't like black peoplein', Nike Hyperduckin', amzing athletic abilityin'….aw shit it's just ni…black people music.

Black Ranger: (smoking a cigarette) Ain't I prettiest?

Blue & Pink: No.

Black Ranger: Ain't I the smartest?

Blue & Pink: No.

Black ranger: Ain't I the blackest mofo in this place?

All: Shonuff!

Black Ranger: Ain't I got the biggest penis in this room?

Pink: Yes!

Blue Ranger: Well, maybe I can find out later tonight.

Black Ranger: See! That's why I voted Yes on 8!

Red Ranger: Yes on 8? Shonuff for Jesus!

VD: Forget all this nonsense, everyone look at my balls.

(Everyone slowly turns while the Blue Ranger punches the air in victory)

VD: This is your new enemy! Alan Keyes. He's annoying. He's also black and a Republican, which makes him double annoying!

Green Ranger: What, is it just 'cuz he's black?

Yellow Ranger: Wha'? Iz it jus' because he Republican.

Red Ranger: I don't know why he's evil, I like this one.

VD: I don't have time to tell you why he's evil, this sketch intro is taking to long!

All rangers: Shonuff! It's morphing time!

Narrator: The Black Ranger! With the power of Kanye West's Ego!

The Black Ranger: Roscoe's! Activate!

Narrator: The Pink Ranger! With the power of daddy's platinum card!
The Pink Ranger: Just charge it!

Narrator: The Blue Ranger! With the power of Broadway!
The Blue Ranger: Andrew Lloyd Webber GO!

Narrator: The Yellow Ranger! With the power of Godzilla!
The Yellow Ranger: BANZAI!!!

Narrator: The Green Ranger! With the power of Siestas.
The Green Ranger: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL! GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—

(Green Ranger is slapped by Black Ranger)

The Pink Ranger: Wait, where's he going?

Narrator: The Red Ranger! With the power of roadkill and the KKK.
The Red Ranger: Man, I love my hoods.

(Start DJ Kahalid "I'm So Hood")

The Red Ranger: What the fuck is this shit? This is that rip-rappin', booty bumpin, nut bustin', deep southin', boot-leggin', bitches shakin', midget attractin', BET watchin', Boondocks Show lovin', pimp chronicale watchin', crunk dacin', big bruce brucin', afro wearin', bean-pie sellin', holy guest dancin', speaking in the tougnanuminin's, Goddamn Americanin', roots watchin', Levar Burton lovin', Doorag wearin', FUBU wearin'…matter of fact what the hell is FUBU suppose to mean? Gary Colemanin' "What you talkin' bout Willis", Jamie Foxin'in', Ray Charlesin', Stevie Wonderin'…why all these black musicians from the 60's blind?... Eddie Murphy…he not that funny anymore, Michael Jacksonin'…you people can have him back, hell take Emineminin', OJ…well nevermind we got him, but in return we get Colin Powell and Condieliza Rice and that only black dude on White Pride News, I mean FOX News. Barack Obamanin'…actually I like him…he's got a purdy mouth.

VD: Alan Keyes had his services hired by Madame Palin. He's been sent to our planet to take over the world!

(Alarms go off and Alan Keyes enters onto the stage)

Keyes: I am Alan Keyes! Hear my rhetoric! Arrarrrararararaaartarrrararaqux! I'm here to paint the White House even whiter!

Yellow Ranger: (to VD) We need powah now! Prease! Prease! Pwetty prease!

VD: You just got your powers right now you dumbasses! Besides, it's Alan Keyes!

Everyone: Oh yeah…

(Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers Theme plays in background as they proceed to have their assess handed to them by Alan Keyes. Everyone is completely obliterated and they improv something to say in defeat at the hand of Keyes. VD comes out to confront Keyes)

Keyes: Hahaha! Bigotry rules the day!

VD: Enough of this!

(VD then secretes a white mystery substance onto Alan Keyes. Alan Keyes falls to the ground in defeat)

Madame Palin: you might have won this time Rangers! But my Mavericks will beat you in our next battle!

(Everyone stops and takes their Racist Rangers pose)

End

(Obama enters and stops center stage)

Obama: I'm Barack Obama, and I approve of this racism.

Excerpt from "There":

"What you are about to go through is going to be a very complex series of unexpected universal experiences. The first being disbelief, the second curious amazement, and the third and final being total consciousness disconnection from the Essential Grid of the Universe and its corresponding self-generated tangents. What you are about to go through will top any quarter, mid and latter life crisis you could ever want. Nervous breakdowns and mental shakedowns will no longer seem like anything to you except petty excuses. You will not just feel like you have a hole in your head, as for a short amount of time, you will have a hole in your head.

"It will be the loudest gunshot you will ever hear in your life and the most improbable of results will occur…if everything goes correctly."

"If everything goes correctly?" he paused.

"Yes," the dragon said, tossing a metallic object to Alem. The human caught it and nearly dropped it due to its unexpected weight.

"But this is a gun. What am I suppose to do with it?"

"Again," Lazarus walked over and placed the gun in his hand, "It will be the loudest gunshot," he continued moving the firearm's barrel to the human's temple, "you will ever hear in your life."

"What? Shoot myself in the head? I'll kill myself!" he dropped the gun in disgust.

Orange and black chuckled, "Well, that…or you'll survive. It all depends on you. If you survive, then you've completed the ultimate test anyone could ever run on you. Nice to, as the DSG just sent in these guns as your standard issue. Much more powerful than human's projectile based weaponry could ever get."

"Laz, I'm not going to survive a gunshot to the head."

"I did," he turned and pointed to a small scar on the back of his head. It was a small "X", smaller than a quarter and would've gone unnoticed.

"I decided to do the rear where my head meets my neck. Brain stem is there and if you destroy that, it's guaranteed to kill you. I wouldn't do the temple, as the bullet might actually skim your skull, which'd mean you'd have to take another shot. Or you could Budd Dwyer it and put the gun in your mouth. If you do, you'd be wiser to aim it upwards so it travels through the rather important brain matter as opposed to holding it normally and tearing out the 90 percent you humans don't use. Or you can place the gun just above your nose for a sure fire sinus unclogger."

"So how the hell are you still here?"

"Because, a There user never has to die unnecessarily. The whole point is that everything is changeable. You have to figure out what you need to do to prevent an untimely death. If you do, then you really are a There user. You either get it right on the first try or die in your feeble attempt."

"Have you ever seen anyone kill themselves?" he nervously asked.

"The survival rate is less than 5 percent (5%)."

"Shit…I have to do it?"

"Yes. Standard procedure really."

"Gosh, what kind of a group would make shooting yourself in the head standard procedure?"

"Work Unions, College Acceptance Committees, Various Forms of Law Enforcement, Being a CEO of a Major American Company, Suicide Hotline Training, Scientology...anything you really don't need a brain for."

"Look, doesn't this seem a bit extreme to you?"

"Your asking this to someone who has already gone through and survived the process."

"5 percent (5%)?"

"Well, in the early days we didn't exactly have the proper ways to determine if you really were a There user which is why the survival rate is so low. Then again methods of determination weren't exactly as clean a killer as a gun is. After the introduction of the gun you could pinpoint where to maximize the damage in this test."

"So what'd the rate jump up to?"

"Oh, it jumped significantly up to about 8 percent (8%)."

"Well, if this was government, that's a rather successful increase."

"Alright Alem, time to stop talking and start doing."

"What if I don't make it through this?"

"We'll, I'll obviously be executed for wasting a very important group's time and resources. So look at it this way: if you die, I die along with you…you dick."

"Man," he said, picking up the gun, "This can not turn out well."

"Hopefully it will."

"Alright," Alem put the gun to his head, "I'll do it."

"Godspeed to wherever you'll wake up."

"Oh," he stalled slightly, "I'm pretty sure I'll wake up here."

A slight hesitation in pulling the trigger was only natural. Once he did, it really was the loudest gunshot he had ever heard.

The hammer came down on the firing cap of the bullet. The powder within burnt up instantaneously and the pressure built, sending the slug off down the barrel. As it did the rifling that began within the chamber itself began to spin the projectile into gyroscopic based stabilization. As it left the barrel, a bright muzzle flash followed by the expulsion of highly pressurized super heated gases greeted the skin on Alem's head just in front of his ear with their singeing tendencies. The recoil from the shot helped to push back the slide, ejecting the spent cartridge. The ammunition was now in it's primary flight phase, which lasted for a total distance of 1 inch.

The skin was easy to pierce through; the skull even more so. It traveled through the brain matter with the greatest of ease. Exiting on the other side of the head, slicing through the right optic nerve as it did, the small capsule of highly fortified carbon carbon sent blood and brain matter spouting out like a high velocity fountain on the other side of his head. As it now tumbled harmless out of control into the wall, a small puff of dirt came and went.

His body went limp and any brain function had most certainly ceased to exist.

PROTIP: Never shoot yourself in the head unless you are a registered There user. Trust me on this one, as I have FIRST HAND EXPERIENCE.

It's so thick outside right now I can't see the houses across the street.

I hope it stays that way through tomorrow morning.

Fog makes everything like a dream.

I like to dream.

I like fog.

It was cool. Interviewed people for the radio show.

I specifically asked the reps. from the Big Three whether they would answer the question "Why should your company be bailed out?" during my pre-interview brief with the reps. so they know which questions I'm asking. Here's their responses:


GM: "Uh...no comment."

Dodge: Stopped me mid-sentence and told me that they no longer were going to allow me to interview their rep.

Ford: Went back to their supervisor and came back very promptly saying "We are no longer interested in doing an interview."


It could've been a time for them to say something to the public in order for them to convince us as to why they shouldn't be allowed to slide into bankruptcy, but they decided to use the time to either brush it off or decide to completely call the interview off.

Videos will be coming soon!

Yes, I do.

www.jaredhead.net

I'll be posting anything I put on there simultaneously here. So yeah.

For me aging has been an process that has followed it's natural path. Maturity on the other hand has not kept up, and every once in a while it goes completely south for several months. Those months are typically fun as hell.

Well, now is that time. I guess you could say it's a sudden recognition and rejection of normality. That my subversiveness no longer stays in the subtly I try and contain it to. Instead, I become society's worst nightmare for several months: someone having a fuck load of fun doing stupid shit.

And for the first time since high school, I am completely at ease with it.

Here's to you immaturity, you little rascal you!

He is, I swear.