CHA CHA CHA CHANGES!

Hey people who read this blog. You might have noticed I shut this darn thing down recently. That's because I have a new blog. So please go visit that blog. It's about writing.

Writing From Both Sides Of The Brain

Things Change

I haven't written on this blog in a long time. I thought it was time to provide an update.

I've begun settling into my new apartment. This week I'm buying living room furniture, at least that's the plan. I did, however, just sink a significant amount of money into a new computer, thanks to my destructive cat Sadie. So the furniture might have to wait.

My business is going well. It could be going better, but I'm thankful to at least be able to pay my bills in the midst of this economical insanity. I do take comfort in the fact that if I end up in the poor house, I'll have a lot of company. Also, I'm predicting that people will soon start resorting to cannibalism, which I find exciting. I've always wanted to see what people taste like! Yay depression!

Comedy has been going great, although it keeps my schedule super busy. Crank and I are in the middle of filming our second short. We're planning on shopping this one around to some film festivals. I'm not going to go into describing it. You'll just have to see it when it's done. One spoiler, I drank multiple bottles of whiskey during the shooting.

In addition to the video (which is more work than you could imagine), I'm still rehearsing for the improv show I was cast in. We premier in several weeks. I'm super excited!

The sketch group now has five members. We're going to start working on blocking soon, and I'm currently trying to track down a venue and dates for our run.

My improv group is considering getting a coach and thinking about where we might do our first performance.

The one downside has been my suspension of iO classes. I had to drop out of my current class due to everything that has been going on in my life. The break up, the move, my job all contributed to me just not having the focus, energy and time to continue. I hope to get back into it come January.

Oh, and I'm coming to Columbia at the end of the month. So if you're reading this, and you're still in CoMO, hit me up.

My Brush with Messing

I had an amazing encounter, as all encounters with her are, with Susan herself. I was standing outside the Annoyance when she walked out and obviously recognized me (which made me glow all over my insides).

Susan: What are you doing here?

Me: I'm rehearsing with my sketch group.

Susan: Horny! Who are they?

Me: The Homo-Breeder Alliance.

Susan: Horny gay! Are you seeing anyone right now?

Me: I just got out of a relationship.

Susan: How long were you two together?

Me: 4.5 years.

Susan: I'm sorry. Why'd you all break up?

Me: Comedy. He said it was taking up too much of my time.

Susan: So he didn't like you because you were funny? What the fuck does he want? People will love you for your sense of humor.

Me: Thanks Susan.

Susan: What's your type? Twinks, hunks?

Me: Anything I find attractive.

Susan: Well I'll keep my eyes open for you.

That's right. Susan remembered me, cared about me, comforted me and then said she'd look for guys for me. I can't stress this enough: Susan is the most awesome person ever to walk the planet. Hands down. Better than Jesus.

Finally, A True America!

The video is finally finished. It took me about 15 hours of editing and 5 hours of shooting, all for a clip that is almost 6 minutes long. I think it turned out pretty well, though I'm sure I could continue perfecting it for hours. You be the judge though.

Tension

I got a massage this morning. It was my second one ever, so don't think I typically pamper myself. I couldn't afford it. But I felt I needed to treat myself to something that would relieve some stress.

You see, I've been freaking out because it is now literally one week away from my move, and it feels like I've done nothing to pack, despite the fact that I'm almost completely packed. The issue is I have no stuff, so I keep looking at my pile of belongings and wondering what the hell I've been doing with my life. Literally all that I own could fit into a closet. It's kind of sad. Do I just throw things away or do I just not buy anything? And if I haven't bought anything, how in the hell have I been surviving?

But back to the massage...it was at Sir Spa, the mens-only spa up in A-ville. It's not a bathhouse, so there are no happy endings (pervs!). It's just a really nice, upscale spa, complete with a steamroom, amazing waterfall showers and a relaxation room full of magazines like Men's Journal and Men's Health and whatever else us gay men read. I highly recommend it to everyone (excpet for girls). I feel absolutely amazing and crappy right now. Amazing because my muscles are actually relaxed. Crappy because all the toxins my body had been storing were released, and it feels like I was on an all-night bender. Oh wait...

I was basically on a late-night bender last night. My life as of late has been weird. Very weird. I'm considering making a new blog to describe the weirdness in full since my mom knows about this one. That or I'm going to make a video blog that depicts me with a series of sock puppets to represent the various characters that have been floating in and out of my life as of late.

And all this is adding to the stress. My lack of routine, the move, my work...it's driving me crazy. And I feel like I continue to have less time for friends, and lately I've had little motivation for comedy (although that could be due to the fact that I just finished editing a movie I co-wrote and directed, a process which took well over 15 hours). But I skipped my first improv class of the new session yesterday, something I would never do. I woke up and wanted to go on a bike ride. And I didn't want anything to interfere with that. So I told myself that if I made it back in time I'd go to class. I ended up riding for about 40 miles, a total of about 2.5-3 hours of riding. Suffice it to say, I missed class. But the strangest thing is I don't care. And that kind of scares me.

I don't think that I'm losing interest in comedy. I think I'm just beginning to realize what it is with comedy that I want to do. I love making movies, I love my sketch group, I'm very excited about the show I got cast in. I think it's the combination of stress and ennui for the current improv program I'm in that is causing me to flake. At least that's what I hope.

God, I need another massage.

ELO

I have been on a huge ELO kick lately.

For years I've always wanted to own an ELO album. My first real exposure to them was in Richardson when I was in High School. My hometown has an annual music festival and for some inexplicable reason (I'm assuming they were outright lied to) ELO played there. I didn't know much about them at the time, so I wasn't expecting much. But when I heard them play, I instantly fell in love with them.

The rich melodies, the layered harmonics, the string - oh the strings! - I just wanted to implant their albums in my head.

In college, when I was a radio DJ for the university's radio station, I played ELO every other show. Despite being focused on indie music, the station had a lot of classic records, including a double album of ELO's greatest hits. Telephone Line and Turn to Stone were my favorites. So in between the usual esoteric albums like Chainsaw Kittens and Brian Eno, I'd play ELO.

For six years I wanted to buy an ELO album. For some reason I never let myself do it. Until the other day when I was realized it would cost me about $10 to buy their greatest hits off of iTunes. And in a moment of self-indulgence, I bought it. And I've been listening to it non-stop ever since.

Below is my song-by-song write-up of some of ELO's best music.

1. Shine a Little Love - The galloping drums move this song right along. The rockin' bass gives it a disco tinge. The chorus is BeeGee's-esq, the intermittent strings color the song with that ELO feel and the hand clap is just plain silly and cute. I could definitely see myself doing coke at a roller rink to this song.

2. Don't Bring Me Down - The whole song is basically sung with a big echo filter, giving the vocals a much more powerful feel. Combined with the crunchy guitars, this song is actually reminicent of Roxy Music. However, it's also the kind of song you only listen to in your car with the windows rolled up for fear of embarassment.

3. Evil Woman - Although I can't relate to this song, (Evil Ma-an) doesn't have the same ring. But the piano riff and the bluesy melody gives the song a dark and bitter feel. But it never verges on sad thanks to the chorus which swells into falsetto. It's not my favorite song because of its overly simplistic instrumentation, but if I had a girlfriend that broke my heart, I'd listen to this while burning all my photos of her.

4. Can't Get It Out Of My Head - So sad, so lovely, so ga ga ga ga gorgeous. The swelling strings, the French Horn, the choral background. It's a masterpiece. I want to fall in love listening to this song. Or if that's not going to happen, I want to personify this song and make sweet, tender love to it. Sweet, sweet audio love.

5. Mr. Blue Sky - This song makes me have orgasms in my ears (are headphones my condoms?). The punchy melody, the cowbell, the strangely sung vocals, the chorus (which progresses from deep, to mid, to falsetto vocals) is so aesthetically amazing. I could do without the robot voice, but it was the 1970s so they were just showing off that they had a robot (Styx had one too). I listen to this song when I'm sad, it's raining, my bike is broken or because I still have a pulse and no carbon-based creature could resist this.

6. Strange Magic - I wish I could go into a time machine and go to a prom in the 1970s just so I could slow dance to this song. There's not much to it. And it's kind of reptitive, but that makes it the perfect prom song. You don't have to think about what dance move you're going to do next. You just hold on and waddle back and forth together, maybe the occasional twirl. Perfect!

7. Turn To Stone - One of the best songs ever made. You get gallopping drums and a running bass; solo vocals with call-and-response lush harmonies. If I was the Flash from DC Comic book fame, this is the song I would play on my iPod as I ran around saving the world.

8. Sweet Talkin' Woman - This song isn't one of my favorites. I do like the renaissance-sounding intro, the head bouncing tempo, the call-and-response vocals (which ELO loves). I listen to this when I burn out on my favorites.

9. Telephone Line - We've all been there. Calling someone we love who used to love us only to get no answer. "Pick up! Pick up!" You say. But what good does it do. You're just yelling at a telephone. This song is the perfect song to play in the background while making a drunk dial. Because then the next morning you can just say, "Oh that! I was joking. It was a joke. Obviously. Ha. A joke...Why won't you love me!"

10. Livin' Thing - Bouncy and happy as usual, this song is ELO's "I Will Survive," at least that's how I like to think of it. Happiness and saddness, they're livin' things. Such wisdom ELO. Such wisdom.

11. Do Ya - Not one of my favorites. A little to stadium rock for me. And the chorus is gayer than all get out, which says a lot coming from me. But it's got its time and place.

12. Showdown - Funky intro with some great strings. It's got a "Heard It Through the Grapevine" vibe to it. Still not one of my favorites, but it is a nice break from the usual string-laced melodies that can get a little reptitive after a while.

13. and 14. Rock and Roll is King & Hold on Tight - Everyone makes a clunker or two. These are two.

It's Complicated

Love is complicated. Sex is complicated. Gay love and gay sex are very complicated. Especially when you try to explain them to straight people.

I don't like sounding elitist, and I hate the notion that somehow gay people are different than straight people. But I'm beginning to realize that gay love and gay sex are pretty different than the hetero versions.

I'm not talking about the obvious elements (two people of the same gender, we use our butts a lot more, etc.). I'm talking about rules, boundaries and dynamics.

But before I launch into my observations, let me preface the rest of this post with something. I think everyone knows Matt and I are broken up. And it isn't like all the other times we've broken up. This one is for real. I'm moving out, I'm getting the cat and we're free to do what we want with other people. I've totally been taking advantage of this last point, and I have to say I feel freer than I have in years. Like some kind of coming-of-age mid 90s gay drama, my independence, sense of self and sexuality are blossoming. And it's totally awesome. You have to remember, Matt and I were together for 4.5 years. I was with him since I was 22. Before that, I had only been out for about three years and dated sparingly since I was living in mid-Missouri, not really the hotbed for hot guys to get into bed with. Now I'm fully realizing the potential that being single and in my 20s has, and it doesn't hurt that I'm quite possibly in the best physical shape of my life.

So anyway, gay love/sex is different. With Matt, we were always trying to wedge our relationship into some sort of heteronormative model that really just doesn't work. We tried to be monogamous (and when we weren't, it was always during a rough patch between us rather than a time when things were really solid. Big mistake). We tried to be domesticated, loving and caring in all the ways we thought we were supposed to because that's what movies, television and our parents had told us for years. But we weren't Ozzy and Harriett, and we never were going to be.

I need fluidity, and I think a lot of gay men do as well. At Market Days this year, I hung out with a couple. They're married...like legally married (they're from Boston). But they openly show affection for other people and bring guys into the bedroom occasionally. But they're completely in love with one another. Another guy I know (I'll call him Shiv), is polyamorous, meaning he has loving relationships with multiple guys. I don't think either scenario is right for everybody, but I think both are reflective of how gay men find ways of making relationships work for them.

I think a lot of straight people would probably benefit from these models. However, the added threat of pregnancy makes things a little trickier (you have a kid with someone else and then there's legal trouble there for ya). Still, I don't think gay men should be judged for their openness to show affection for one another. We can love, still. We just choose to do it in a different way.

Life Overload

This post is purely for my own sanity. I need some place where I can write down all the things I'm involved in right now just so I can try to make sense of my life. You see, I've set a lot of balls in motion over the past couple months, and now they're all kind of gaining speed. So without further ado, here's the list of crap I've got on the brain:

1. Poop Monsters from Castle Poopskull - my new, experimental two-person improv team that I formed with my friend Nellie. We're having our first show August 25th. We're getting t-shirts made and everything. So far we haven't even had one actual rehearsal together. But we're planning on having weekly rehearsals leading up to the show. If all goes well, we'll start looking for more opportunities in the future.

2. Bastion Videos - I've been interviewing a number of local comics about themselves and their perspectives on comedy. The interviews are one part real journalism and one part sketch (at least that's the way we're evolving them). I've got quite a backlog of video that I need to edit, so that's on the agenda.

3. Spec Script - I've done a pretty significant edit on my first draft of my 30 Rock spec script. It still needs some more tweaking, but I'm nearing the end. Sometime in September I will likely stage a reading, along with my friends Maureen and Jack (yet another thing that will take planning and coordinating). It's pretty exciting though.

4. The Homo-Breeder Alliance - This is my sketch group that has kind of been on hiatus for a while. Supposedly we may be getting a director, which will jumpstart things again for us. I sure hope we do. They're a really smart group of people, and the opportunity to write and act in smart queer-oriented sketches that appeal to a wide audience is hard to pass up.

5. An unnamed improv group - The former members of Armchair Showcase that aren't moving (i.e. me, Qian, Maureen and maybe Jack) are trying to create a new, much more informal improv group, along with some newbies. As of now, the group will probably be comprised of all girls, except for two gay guys, me and coincidentally someone I know from college. We'd only perform about once a month, so the commitment is doable. I really hope this gets off the ground.

6. Audition this Saturday for Theater Momentum - Theater Momentum is gaining a name for itself for producing improv shows that are praised as both comedic and dramatic at once. They are holding unified auditions this Saturday, and I just made makeshift headshots for it today (thanks Nellie and Daniel for the help). You can see a sample of the headshot at the bottom of this post. I'm a little nervous about the audition, especially if I get a callback and then get a part. It's going to be a huge commitment. But it sounds like a great opportunity.

7. Improv for Kids Program - I'm going to start teaching kids how to improvise in a couple weeks. The program at Matt's workplace (despite our separation) is moving forward. I'm really excited about this since it's a whole new facet of improv for me...teaching! Plus working with kids will likely be a welcomed change of pace from working with adults. Bring on the fun!

8. Videos - I just bought a camera so I can make funny videos. It's mainly just a digital camera, but it can take about an hour of high-quality footage with the right memory card. I'm planning on making some sketches in my new apartment once I move as well as a few before I do.

9. Non-comedy stuff - This includes moving to a new apartment, breaking up with my boyfriend and running my own business. I think I'm a little ADHD.

Oh, here's that headshot I promised. Can you believe this was taken outside behind an elementary school? That background is really just a metal door.

Sorry For The Delay

Hello readers,

I'm sorry for the delay in creating a new post. My world has been in a state of flux for a bit. But I have some inexplicable downtime right now, so I thought I'd make a little post.

First, I've been drinking a lot lately. It's weird. I'm not much of a drinker. Don't get me wrong. I like alcohol alright and everything. It's just I typically reserve my libations for the weekend. Well, without a weekend anymore (remember that whole throwing off the shackles of the 9-5 world thing?) I kind of have freedom to drink whenever the damn hell I want. And lately I've wanted it to be everyday.

This really sucked yesterday for Chicago's Pizza. After a night of comedy and celebrating my friend Crank's b-day at Hopleaf, I came home around 12:30 am hungry as a drunk wolf. Not really realizing my quickly fading consciousness, I dialed Chicago's pizza and ordered some grub. "45 minutes to an hour" they said. Well they were sorely disappointed when they finally arrived as nearly two hours later I woke up on the futon, the television still glowing and my cell phone recording three missed calls from Chicago's Pizza. Lesson learned?

I think the underlying reason for all this drinking is probably because of the aforementioned dynamics of my life as it stands right now. I'm in the middle of a separation, maybe a break-up, I guess its TBD. In any case, Matt and I are going our separate ways after spending 4.5 years together. I'm not going to go into all the various reasons why things haven't been working out for us. What's the point? Just get me drunk and ask me in person. Loose lips sink ships and all that jazz.

In any case, I'm moving out of the apartment a month early, which means as of Sept. 1 I will have a new place to live. I've been apartment shopping the past week. At first I was dead set on a studio. Then I looked at two studios yesterday. They're awful. They truly are glorified closets with mini ovens and fridges inside. For a few hundred dollars more I can get a really kick ass one bedroom. So that's what I'm doing. There's a place I'm looking at today that has an extra long lease attached, but it has all utilities (including cable t.v. include) and a 4x4 shower...oh and it's right by the gay beach.

Another reason why I've probably been drinking more is that Sadie ran away on Monday. I'll preface this part of my blog with WE FOUND HER! as not to worry any readers. But she got out thanks to Matt's absent-minded, drunk friends. I spent the entire morning cancelling interviews for work, crying and shaking a bag of cat food outside. Finally our upstairs neighbors spotted a cat that wasn't theirs in their closet. It tried to claw them. Of course it was Sadie. I sang to her the rest of the day. She likes it when I replace words in oldies songs with her name, e.g. Baby Come Back = Sadie Come Back.

Finally, I bought a bike helmet. Thank you. Thank you. I realized I was just waiting until my head got crushed to get one, so for once I used my noggin and bought me one. (However, I did ride home from the store with the helmet still in the box. Old habits die hard.)

Fuzzy Memories - Part 1

Here's a new installment of my blog. It's called "Fuzzy Memories," and it's basically stories from my past that I vaguely remember. Everything that I write is true to the best of my memory, which Lord knows is about as solid as Jell-O.

This first installment was inspired by the wonderful, family-oriented show The Moment of Truth. For those not familiar, TMoT is a FOX game show where contestants must reveal their most terrible, dark secrets to win money. If they tell the truth, they win money. If they lie, they lose. Questions tend to deal with relationships and family, which is convenient because they always have the contestant's significant other and family in the studio, so they can watch in horror as it is revealed that the their loved one has been cheating/lying/plotting their deaths for quite some time.

The other day one of the questions posed on TMoT was "Have you ever been involved in a car accident and fled the scene?" Of course the woman had done this, and when she responded truthfully, the audience booed and hissed (and then immediately cheered and applauded after she was awarded money; go figure).

This crappy, sleazebag gameshow triggered a memory, a memory I'm not too proud of but every time I think about it, I laugh. I had fled the scene of a traffic accident once.

I was in college, probably a junior. Many of my friends and I were journalists. I was kind of a crappy journalist. I slacked off a lot and spent a lot of time inebriated on a variety of substances. But I was always there to lend a friend a hand. And my friend Patrick needed one.

Patrick was a neurotic, studious student with high hopes for his future (he currently works for a newspaper in Florida). He was always very polite and obeyed all laws (note: he was a fairly straight edge kind of guy). One day he asked if I could drive him to the local movie theater so that he could conduct an interview. I think Michael Moore's Farenheit 9/11 was coming out, and he was doing a piece on the fervor. I could be wrong. This is called Fuzzy Memories.

Anyway, I took him to the theater in my beat up '89 Oldsmobile. I didn't want to go inside so I sat in the car in the parking lot waiting for Pat to come out. About 10 minutes later he did. He hopped into the car, I put it into reverse and I pushed the accelerator.

SLAM!!!!

We turned around and saw I had rammed a giant, parked pick-up truck. I'm completely calm. Meanwhile, Pat is freaking out. Here we are in a parking lot in the middle of the day, Pat just was in the theater spending much face-to-face time with the theater manager, who obviously knew Pat's name at this point. It was understandable that he'd be a little worried.

So I got out of the car and did a quick inspection. My car had a little bit of a scratch on it. Nothing major. And considering my car was basically a hunk of junk, I could have cared less. The truck too was fairly unharmed. The only damage whatsoever was a cracked taillight.

No owner was in sight. I had nothing to write a note with. The damage was minimal. Pat was freaking out. So I put the car in drive and drove off. All of this lasted about 30 seconds.

So there. I got it off my chest. And I was able to recount a memory that I haven't recalled in probably about 5 years. If any other random memories ever occur to me, I'll write those down too as my next installments in Fuzzy Memories.

Asshole - Texas Style

Meet Joe Horn. He's 61 years old and resides in a nice neighborhood in Pasadena, Texas. He's a grandfather, a gun owner and a real fucking asshole.

Asshole isn't the right word for Mr. Horn. Murderer? Killer? Psychopath? Not one of these encapsulates the brutal insanity that this man wields inside his fleshy dome. I'd call him a douchebag, but that's offensive to douchebags everywhere.

You see, Mr. Horn took the law into his own hands. One day he was looking out his window and saw two men robbing his neighbors home. Like a good concerned citizen, Horn called 911. The dispatcher assured him that the police were on their way. But that wasn't good enough for Mr. Horn. He had to make sure these robbers would be caught and punished. Ignoring the pleadings of the 911 dispatcher, Mr. Horn grabbed a shotgun and shot the two thieves in their backs. In their backs! Even in Texas, a state known for its libertarian, no-nonsense ways, this was an act of cowardice.

When the decision came down in Mr. Horn's murder case, the jury decided to let him off the hook. There's a law in Texas called the "Castle Law," which basically states a person's home is their castle and they are legally allowed to use deadly force to protect it. But Mr. Horn wasn't protecting his own home. He was protecting his neighbor's. And the burglars weren't committing acts of violence. They were merely robbing the house of money and jewelry, items that could be insured and restored. However their lives, sadly, cannot be.

Many are calling Mr. Horn a hero. He saw a crime being committed and did what he could to stop it. I think Mr. Horn is a symbol of the state of the nation. Here is a man that is so crippled with fear that he would take a shotgun to the backs of two burglars. Here is a man who values money over human lives. Here is a man who probably thinks the terrorists are out to get us, that illegal immigrants are taking our jobs, that hate, violence and inhumanity lurk around every corner waiting to destroy everything we hold sacred.

The truth is the world is a peaceful place. It is the fear that Mr. Horn fosters that turns it into the violent, ugly world he perceives. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy.

"I'd say I'm about this much of an asshole."
- Joe Horn

Google All Over My Face!

The Costa Rica recap will have to come in spurts. I just don't have the endurance to keep grabbing pictures off my harddrive and throwing them online and then sorting through them to find post-worthy pics.

So instead I'm going to talk about a higher power...Google.

Google's great, right? I mean I can search for anything on Google. And Google will find it. It's like a dog playing fetch, except it doesn't shit all over my God damn carpet! Stupid dogs!

And if you misspell something, Google knows exactly what you meant. There's rarely a misunderstanding. I could say, "Hey Google, find me stuff about pinapples." And Google won't take offense. Google won't turn around and call me stupid. Google kindly says, "Hey. Did you mean pineapples?" Yes, Google, yes! A thousand times yes! I wonder if Google is single.

And Google knows all about me. If I tell Google to look me up, Google comes back with every little thing on Earth that mentions my name. Google's like God. A kind and benevolent God who watches over all the mortal Web surfers. Google should write a book. Because then I would have a holy text that I could put under my pillow and read to my cat. My cat has no morals. She could learn a thing or two from Google.

And when I die, Google will be there, waiting for me. Google will beckon me toward the white light of its homepage:

"Come, Keith. Enter a world of infinite knowledge. See sites you have never seen before. Look! There is a rabbit with a pancake on its head! Such oddities can only be created by me, the Google!

Thanks Google!

Costa Rica Part 1 - Ziplining!

I finally have some of the pictures from my Costa Rica trip on my computer. So I can now show you what it was that I did.

For one, Matt and I went ziplining. This is when you fly through trees that are a good hundred feet off the ground on a tiny wire. I'm not an adventurous person by nature. The craziest thing I ever did was invest more than 10 percent of my savings in a small-cap growth fund. I know! What a rush! But ziplining is so safe that a little boy or an elderly woman can do it. How do I know? Because there was a little boy and an elderly woman on the same tour as us.

We didn't get pics of us ziplining because the people that run the tour take pictures of you and don't let you bring your camera. It's part of their business plan. Get tourists to the top of a really high tree, strap them to a wire and then demand that they buy photographs of the whole ordeal. They even try to get you to smile as you're practically shitting yourself hundreds of feet above the rain forest. That's why Matt and I only got the following shots.

This is a picture of the first zipline on the course. It's really just a test run to make sure you have the hang of it. The rest were all from giant, prehistoric looking trees. You could feel the trees shaking back and forth with the wind as you stood on this tiny, rickety wooden platform that someone built around the tree's trunk a billion years ago.
This is a picture of a hot guy that worked for the zipline tour company. There weren't a lot of hot guys in Costa Rica, which was surprising. I thought Latin America was the birthplace of hotness in the same way Africa is the birthplace of humankind. In any case, I had to be inconspicuous when taking this shot because the dude was sitting by himself. So I pretended I was taking pictures of some trees. As if there aren't enough trees to photograph.


To get a better shot, I asked Matt to pose for a picture. That way it would look like I was merely taking a shot of my travel companion in front of a bunch of trees. I think the guy was beginning to catch on to my game. You can see him in this shot kind of looking up as if to say, "Not this shit again." I can't blame him. Costa Rica is a big gay travel destination, and I'm sure we weren't the only fags ogling this overworked and underpaid stud.

Land of Confusion - A Facebook Story

Yesterday marked a monumental moment in my life. I joined Facebook.

For years I've been a MySpace man. It wasn't because of anything in particular. MySpace wasn't any more appealing than the other social networking sites on the Web. It just so happened that's the one that everyone I knew was on.

But the times, they are a-changin'. And everyone seems to have a Facebook account. So in order to stay with the times, I too have joined your ranks.

The site is extremely confusing. The moment I signed on I was bombarded by a crapload of information:

What networks do you want to sign up for?

Here are some people that might be your friends.

Do you want to write a wall message?

These were all foreign to me, as MySpace kind of took the laissez fair approach. Sign up and here's your page. Go. Not Facebook. Facebook wants you to work at making friends and maintaining your page. Hell, it tells you what everybody is doing, just so you can keep up with the Jones'.

So as if my life wasn't busy and convoluted enough, I now have yet another thing to make it even moreso. If you're already on Facebook, and we're not friends, befriend me. And then tell me how to work this crazy site.

Give Me My Money Back, You Bitch

It's only been about two weeks that I waved goodbye to the 9-5 world. So it's no surprise that I would still have a few unresolved issues that need some resolving. That's what I've been working on in my spare time in between attracting clients like ants to a sugar party.

One of the biggest issues is reclaiming all the money sitting in my flex transportation account. This is an account I set up through my old employer that would withhold money per pay period for transportation purposes. After each pay period, I would fill out a form and request they give me this money back. They would then promptly write a check, and all would be right in this world. The purpose of an account like this is to shrink your taxable income by removing your transporation expenses from your paycheck per month. You could just claim all this in one lump sum during tax time, but most people are too busy forgetting to do their taxes for this to be a realistic option.

When I left my last job, I had forgotten to claim several months worth of transportation withholdings. This was awesome for me because it was like winning the midget lottery, assuming midgets need only a fraction of the money that big, normal people like myself require. So I called up the company that handles these accounts, spoke with a rep, and was instructed to file a claim for the full amount. So I did.

Weeks go by and I receive a check for not even 50% of the total amount owed to me. Why? Because I can only claim so much per pay period. I explained I am no longer an employee of the company and that I was clearing out my account in full and that I was instructed to do so. The woman on the phone (who works in Kentucky or Ohio or some bumble-fuck state that is full of bumble-fucks) didn't quite grasp my logic, which is the logic of the universe. Her logic was obviously rooted in some parallel dimension where insanity = sanity, up = down and people drink horse milk and ride cows. After a futile battle with this customer service sphinx, I was told to speak to another woman.

After making multiple calls to this other over the last several days, I am still waiting to speak to her. It's like Waiting for Godot, I guess. I'm waiting for a nice-sized check that will never come due to a customer service rep that will never call. God is dead, people. God is dead.

Day Time Drama

So many things go on during the day that you, people of the 9-5 world, are not privy to that it would blow your mind.

For one, as it turns out, many people work on their cars during the day. I know this because I went on a bike ride yesterday and saw at least two different people tooling with their cars. It wasn't in the best part of town. And I got the suspicion that they weren't their cars. And I'm pretty sure they were removing crucial parts to sell on the black market. But that's the way things are out in the real world during the day.

Also, people that don't work 9-5 are all friends. You heard me right. Every time I pass someone on the street or in a store, there's a definitive unspoken bond between us that we are major bad asses living on the fringes of society. I'm sure there's a secret handshake that I haven't learned about yet, but with due time I'm sure everyone will let me in on all their secrets, including where that big pile of money is that everyone else must be dipping into.

And finally, my cat leads a very exciting life during the day. Who knew she used my t-shirts as pillows?
Yes. She is that big. But her head is soooo tiny. Like a squirrel.

Drip Drip = Bling Bling

Whenever I have downtime from freelancing, which is often, I like to think of more ways to earn money or things. I have quite a few quirky ideas I've been brewing up, which I will share later (possibly in video form). But for now, I'm just sticking with the basics, like market research studies.

I also, just for the hell of it, decided to look into making some cheese off of crap my body produces naturally, namely plasma. It's not something I'm planning on doing (this line was written to rest my mother's worries in case she's reading this), but you never know. In my opinion, this is a supply and demand economy we live in, and I guess there's a large demand for my supply of plasma.

Speaking of which, check out this Web site and tell me it doesn't slightly creep you out. There's something unsettling about the three images strung together. A stack of $100 bills, a guy getting blood withdrawn and a butterfly. This is basically telling me that Access Biologicals will pay you for your blood to create an army of mutant, city-destroying butterflies. I mean, the name of the company sounds just vague yet sinister enough to be something truly maniacal.

Accounting You Can Count On

Last Friday I had a meeting with my new accountant. It went well. They gave me free coffee. That was the best part. Free coffee is something you don't pass up as a freelancer. We're all addicted to caffeine, and most of us are pinching pennies to make ends meet. If someone offered you a free bowl of rocks, you'd probably take it...if only for the bowl.

But anyway, I found out some interesting things about what I'm allowed to deduct as a writer and comedian. And basically what it comes down to is everything. If I go see a movie, it counts as research. A percentage of my cable bill counts as research. One-fifth of my rent is a business expense because I use it as my home office. Overall, it's pretty sweet.

Hi! I'm John Stewart. And I'm a tax write off.

Picture This

It has been brought to my attention that the pictures on my blog are not working. I will take swift action to fix this ASAP.

In other news, I just got work from a new client! Boo-yah!

The Good Life

I've begun my self-employment journey, and already I feel as if I've made the right decision. True, I don't have as much work pouring in as I thought I would yet, but I have enough to keep me busy for the rest of the month. On top of that, I get to do pretty awesome things during the daytime that I wasn't able to do while working full-time. This includes looking at this:

Let's hope, as I continue on this path, my skies remain so blue.

The End Of The Road

Look at the below picture. See something missing?

The answer is me. That was my office. Yes, I had my own office. That's my laptop, which I'm currently writing this post on. There's my little orange water cup, and that's my chair. All those things on the right are various production calendars for the magazine, Web site and newsletters. That view is of the river, looking northward toward the Chicago Sun-Times Building.

It's all very nice. It's all very special. I'm sure a lot of people would love to have their own little space tucked away in a big building in downtown Chicago. It makes you feel important. But for some reason, it just makes me feel kind of like a prisoner.

Despite my steady hours, despite my very reasonable pay and regular checks, I just couldn't go on living this life. I don't know what it is about me. There's just something in me that demands more, something that makes complacency and comfort feel, well, uncomfortable. I like flying by the seat of my pants and living a life that I make, not the life corporate America has made for me and for many others. It's not that I'm a unique little snowflake that must be recognized for my individual efforts. It's that I'm a human being, and I desire to live as freely as I wish.

So that picture you see up there, that's been my cage for the past several years. And I finally broke out that window, leaving behind my laptop, my little orange cup, my chair and those various documents, and flew over the river, past the Sun-Time Building and onward toward home.

Oh, and if you or anyone you know needs a solid writer or editor (editorial, marketing, PR), I'm your man. Just drop me a line.

Avenue Q

Costa Rica tales will come. I just have to upload all the images on Matt's camera to my laptop so that I can share all the interesting sights and sounds of that land of the lost. Trust me. It looks like a place that time forgot. It feels as if at any moment a brontosaurus will come stomping out of the brush.

So in lieu of this hiatus, I'll tell you about what I did last night. Prior to our vacation, I bought tickets for Matt and me to go see Avenue Q, the delightful little musical about puppets behaving in unmuppet-like ways.

It's not as in-your-face offensive as Team America, but it's definitely no Sesame Street. There's puppet sex, puppet gayness and puppet masterbation is alluded to. At intermission a couple of old ladies piled into a cab, presumably because all that puppet nastiness made them feel faint.

Overall I thought it was a decent play. The music is fairly simplistic and the singing is decent (actors must sing in the characters' voices which tend to be somewhat nasally, so most of the vocals sound somewhat strained). The acting is as good as it can get with puppets, and the puppetry is pretty outstanding. Because this was Broadway in my Asshole (okay, it's actually Broadway in Chicago, but I can't really respect an institution which seems to continue to spell death for storefront theaters), the production value was huge, huge, huge. I don't think Straw Dog or Stage Left could ever afford to have pyrotechnics or two-story tall sets.

The first act was good and well-paced. The characters are quirky and likeable. Songs are catchy, but easily forgettable (I had heard most of the songs before, but the only one I seem to get stuck in my head is "It Sucks to be Me," probably because they reprise it like twice throughout the show). The second act is a little more flawed. The resolutions to the problems created in the first act are fairly deus ex machina, as if the writer got to page 100 of his script and realized he better end this thing quick.

Overall I can't complain. Tickets were pricey, but such is big box theater. The rest of this week I'm slated to go see shows for the Chicago Improv Festival. Be on the look out for my reviews of several shows on the best Web site ever, The Bastion.

Guatemala Guatemala

Back in high school Spanish, we had to sing a really inane song to help us memorize the capitals of all Latin American countries. I don't really know the importance of knowing all the capitals to all Latin American countries, nor do I quite understand how this was supposed to help me grasp the Spanish language. I mean, how often will I find myself in Mexico pleading to passersby to point me in the direction of Lima, Peru.

But my favorite part of the song was Guatemala. That's because the capital of Guatemala is Guatemala City. So that part of the song went like so:

Guatemala Guatemala Guatemala Guatemala

And after you say that word four times in a row, your mouth feels like a rubber band. It's fun...like hoola hoops. Have I mentioned I had few friends?

Anywho, I actually went to Guatemala City. We had a six-hour layover on my way to Costa Rica. We left the airport and explore the downtown area. There was a beautiful boulevard full of statutes and monuments commemorating Guatemala things...like this guy:

This dude, who looks like he's having an orgasm in a public square, is Guatemala's first resident to claim the Nobel Prize in literature. Good for him. Other statutes (not pictured) depicted various other important people, whom I would know if I wasn't such an ignorant and self-absorbed American.

It was so early when we were walking around the city that nothing was open, save for those beautiful golden arches that shine like God's glorious thrown. USA USA USA!

You'll notice that their little cups you put ketchup in are significantly smaller than those we have here in the states. That's because Guatemalans don't like ketchup as much as we do. That or maybe Guatemalans don't eat as much food, meaning less ketchup. If you know me and know my love of ketchup, you'll understand why this was a low point in my trip.

More to come on my adventures in far off lands! Here's a taste of the future...MONKEYS!

Biscuit

I'm back from Costa Rica, but I'm going to postpone writing about my trip to share some sad news. I just found out that while I was gone, my beloved dog Biscuit passed away. She was 16-years-old. I grew up with Biscuit. When we brought her home from the pound when I was 10, she was diagnosed with Parvo, a nasty disease that typically ensures death. Although all of her siblings were put down due to the disease and the veterinarian assumed Biscuit would be a causality as well, my family decided to treat her, regardless of the cost. She pulled through and lived a long and happy life.

In her youth, Biscuit was prone to perform daredevil-like tricks with tennis balls, leaping into the air sometimes three times her height to catch a ball in her mouth. She was extraordinarily active and fast, but also could be an excellent lap dog, which earned her the nickname "The Sleep Machine" because she could instantly lull anyone sitting with her to sleep.

I didn't get to see Biscuit much in her later years. During college, my visits home became more sporadic, and after graduation, my treks to Texas became annual. I last saw her in late November during Thanksgiving. The pep and energy she once radiated had passed and been replaced with the fatigue of old age. She still had a lot of love to give and continued to give it up to her death. She died in my mom's arms on Sunday. The rest of the family coincidentally happened to be in town to at least see the body. My only regret is that I wish I could have been there to say goodbye.

Rest in peace Biscuit. You led a good life. You were a very good dog, a member of my family, and you will be loved always.

Biscuit Anna Marie Ecker

1991-2008

Leaving On A Jet Plane

Hey everybody! I'm going to be blogless for a little while cause I'm traveling to Costa Rica!

In the meantime, enjoy this video:

CelebriME

Today on CIN there was a post about what celebrity would play you in a movie (presumably based on looks). I was pondering this question and trying to figure out who would play me. I don't really look like anyone famous that I know of, but then again I don't really keep tabs on celebrities, so some look-alikes may have slipped under my radar.

I've used MyHeritage to see what it's spotty software said I looked like. The closest match was Scarlett Johansen. I can't complain.

But after much thinking, I would say I look most like the below celebrity. What do you think?

ME:



Jeff Goldblum:

I Got Some Leads

I don't like conferences. I'm socially anxious to begin with. So why would I want to surround myself with stuffy people in suits talking about business and the weather. In fact, why would anyone want to surround themselves with stuffy people in suits talking about business and the weather.

The more I think about the above paragraph, the more I wonder why conferences exist at all. Or better yet, why can't conferences be what people want them to be. Why can't for once people convene to talk about business dressed in leotards, and instead of sitting and watching a PowerPoint presentation, some dude breaks out a Slip-n-Side and everyone has at it. That's a conference I'd attend. Especially if the Slip-n-Side was covered in chocolate!

The one good thing about the conference today was that it allowed me to get several freelance leads. When I decided to take the leap of faith into the great void that is the real world, a world free of 9-to-5 boundaries and long commutes, I was worried that paying rent every month was going to be a nearly impossible chore. But thankfully it turns out that working hard and gaining experience, especially experience on a topic that is so niche only a handful of people know how to write about it, is extraordinarily valuable. So it turns out I probably won't be too hard up for work when I exit my current position. Go me!

Anyway, I'm meaning to write more about how to establish one's own freelance business. I'll have to get around to that. If anyone has any questions out there about how to become a successful freelance writer, how to become a journalist, how to write an article, etc., let me know. I like to think I have quite a bit of good insight, and I'm always looking to help others regain their freedom.

Just don't ask me to attend a conference...unless you're bringing your leotard.

Shiny Things

According to the medical community, I have ADHD. It's weird because I never was diagnosed with ADHD as a child, nor did I really exhibit any of the stereotypical symptoms, such as running around in circles screaming or swinging off of chandeliers and ceiling fans.

Turns out though there are two types of ADHD, according to my therapist. One is the kind you're born with (see above), while the other is the kind you acquire (see me).

In all honesty, those that acquire ADHD are kind of posers. Whereas someone who is diagnosed with it as a child was likely born with some chemical imbalance, those who become ADHD as adults kind of just picked it up as a bad habit. Acquired ADHD comes from anxiety and stress. Those with anxiety disorders are especially prone to this and tend to get fidgety, hyper and unable to concentrate because of all the crazy thoughts inside their brain competing for attention.

It is my fear that someone who is a born ADHDer will discover that I have merely acquired ADHD and will then recruit a number of other genetic ADHD people to beat me up, all the while being occassionally distracted by a passing car or bird chirping. It's like the nightmares I used to have where I would accidentally stumble upon a gang of monsters in some sort of monster clubhouse cave. And when the monsters spotted me, I pretended I was a monster too by scowling and gnashing my teeth and making animal noises. And the ruse would work, at first. The monsters would all agree that I, my 8-year-old self, was indeed a monster and would invite me to be a monster with them. But then something would happen, like the monsters would break out their dinner of rotting human flesh, I'd scream, and my cover would be blown.

Also, ADHD shows itself differently in differenet people. It's a spectrum kind of disease so whereas some people bounce around uncontrollably, others are reserved and merely fidget occasionally. I'm the type that always has to fidget. My legs shake, I crack my knuckles constantly, I rock from side to side. I also can't concentrate on a single thing without getting distracted about every two minutes (I blame MTV with their fast edits).

As I learn to calm myself down through breathing exercises and self medication, I find my ability to stay attentive to increase. So I suppose there is hope for me to one day shed my ADHD label and become a normal human being again. I just hope those hyperactive, attention deficit monsters don't find out first.

My Kittie!

I'm still learning how to use this blog thing. So bare with me as the color scheme of this page continues to change. It is the "Technicolor Brain Spillage" blog after all.

Oh, and here's my kittie:


Yay for uploading things!

I Bought Me!

I'm not so sick anymore. Thanks pills!

And to celebrate my renewed health, I went shopping.

Did I buy a pair of Gucci, all-leather shiny shoes?

No!

Did I buy a new bike helmet to protect my brain?

No! (But I know I should.)

Did I buy the rights to keithecker.com?

You bet your bee-hind!

So coming soon to an Internet near you is keithecker.com. I don't know how to make Web pages, but I've got some open-source software that promises to make the process fairly easy. My goal with the site is to showcase my comedy and my freelance writing. If I get a grasp on this Webmastering stuff, expect more sites in the future. They're cheaper than a deep dish pizza.

Sicko

Hey people in Internet land! I'm sick!

Yesterday my throat was itchy and sore. So I went home from work early and popped a whole bunch of pills, little candy-like pills. Oh the colors! The beautiful colors!

Now I'm completely loopy and at my desk at work! It's wonderful. Everywhere I look there is a rainbow being raped by a unicorn riding a unicycle. My vision is a non-stop electric cabaret!

I'd write more, but my mind is all over the place. Back to watching that unicorn get some sweet, sweet rainbow ass.

Fuck Me Harder - An Insurance Tale

A tall, shadowed figure approached.

"Who are you?" I, donning a French maid costume, asked.

"I'm your worst nightmare," said the outlined being, the stench of sweat and trouble dripping from his pours.

"You're bad. And you know it," I growled.

"Don't I?" he retorted, the smug bastard. "I'm an insurance carrier, baby. I'm as bad as they come."

He lunged for me. I scurried away, but in my haste I broke off the end of my high heel and fell face first onto my chaise lounge.

"Oh, please, no, please," I pleaded, in part hoping he'd turn around and harass the next self-employed soul that crossed his path, but also secretly wanting him to grab me and have his way with my supple self.

"I thought you liked the group thing. Decided you'd pay the price to have some one-on-one time?" he joked as he ripped my fishnet stockings, clawing at my thighs.

"I don't want you," I yelled. Feeling defeated, I added, "I need you."

"And so you shall have me," he said as he flung off his pants and...

Keith here. I'm going to stop this romance novel rape fantasy from unfolding anymore. There may be children reading this blog...or kittens even! The tale that unfolded before you may seem like some sort of lustful nightmare dreamed up by an oversexed homosexual with a proclivity for Fabio and cleaning ladies. But I assure you, it is only a simple parable (and if Aesop had included a little more steaminess into his fables, he probably would have sold more of them. Did he even sell them? Or did he just walk around telling people how to act. What an ass!)

Insurance is a bitch. And individual healthcare is the head hound of the bitch pack. At least if you huddle up in a group you can negotiate lower rates and more comprehensive coverage. But when you're a lone lad like myself, you may as well be swimming in a pool of sharks after taking a dip in a bloodbath.

I spent literally all day calling various brokers trying to find adequate coverage. And if I'm approved (IF) on the one plan that I thought was reasonable, I guess this post will be moot. But when is life ever that storybook? And if fairy tales of yesterday were rooted in reality, Cinderella probably would have asked her fairy godmother for a good PPO with a low premium and deductible, especially if she's walking around in glass slippers.

So odds are I'm going to have a tough time finding reasonably priced healthcare. It's the price you pay for freedom.

The Wacky World of Job Ads - Part 1

Here's the first installment in what I hope to be a series. I'll occasionally detail the wacky world of job ads, which tend to be really wacky in the freelance biz.

This is one I'm applying to, despite the strange specification (which I've highlighted).

We are an award-winning children’s magazine and book publisher looking to expand our framework of work-for-hire writers and illustrators for possible future projects. Our publications are all animal/nature/environment based, and include Zoobooks (for ages 6-12), Zootles (for ages 4-7), Zoozoo (for ages 6 months to 3 years), as well as e-newsletter and web content writing.

As needed, we assign non-fiction articles of varying lengths, fictional stories of up to 350 words, and illustration. All assignments will have specific individualized criteria as to subject and aim, but we are looking for child-friendly copy and artwork that both educate and entertain. Factual accuracy is crucial, and anthropomorphism is not accepted.

I love this. Why do they have to come out and say it so blatantly? Were they getting too many furry porn illustrations? Do they think the a dog wearing clothing is against God's will? Even if the clothes are tasteful, like a bee suit on a pug? Somebody better not tell them about Disney. They might just keel over and die.

Make It Personal

I have spent hundreds of dollars to learn that at the core of comedy is truth. No matter how funny it might seem to have a fat bald man run around with a salmon sticking out of hit pants (even funnier if the salmon is alive and flopping around while the man emits a high-pitched squeal), it cannot compare to a comedic scene rooted in the reality of the characters and their relationships.*

This is why relationships tend to be great fodder for comedic scenes. And what better relationship to lampoon than your own! (Just make sure your significant other doesn't find out. That's why I keep this blog a secret from him.)

Writing about your own relationship can breath life into two-dimensional characters. Of course this point is moot if you and/or your partner is boring. Most people when it comes down to it are boring. That's why you have to jazz things up with a twist. Like instead of writing a scene about a guy and a girl arguing in an Applebee's why not have them fight on the moon. Could it get any funnier?

Actually, Applebee's lends itself to more comedy because now you can bring in the dopey Applebee's waiter to interject occasionally with some sort of heightening mechanism.

Example:

Girl: I can't believe you said I'm fat.

Guy: You asked me how those jeans look on you, and I said they looked a little tight.

Applebee's Waiter: Could I get you two anything else? Maybe some chocolate cake for the lady?

End

See, great use of heightening. The girlfriend is sensitive about her weight. The boyfriend fucked up. The waiter, oblivious to this or not, just threw jet fuel on the fire. And everyone is happy because this fat, bitchy cow is miserable. Except for the Applebee's waiter because he works at Applebee's and has to serve up the most inanely named appetizers on earth, including (and I'm guessing here, but I bet I'm right), jalapeno poppers.

Of course you don't need to write a literal interpretation of your relationship. That'd be boring. But pulling upon all the countless times you've had your heart broken is a good way to cure the pain of being a loser.

Take me for example. After a rousing argument with my boyfriend, the next day I took to writing a one act about our relationship. I basically documented humorlessly what had transpired. After a couple minutes of writing, I got bored and sad. So I made a scantily clad, muscle-bound angel appear in my characters' living room. Escapism is the best way to deal with your problems!

So as you can see, if this post has taught you anything, it has taught you that your relationship life better be massively peppered with tragedy or else you're probably not pretty interesting, funny or relateable. With that, go out and break some hearts...most likely your own!

*To note, if the fat, bald man and a salmon are dating, I suppose there could be potential for truth in comedy.

Man: Good, heavens! How did you get in my pants?

Salmon: I swam...upseam!**

**Worst example ever!

The Voice

Everyone hates the sound of their own voice. Well, not everyone. Some people don't. But those people are conceited jack offs. I bet they think their poop smells like roses. But most people are taken aback by hearing themselves outside of the comfort of their own heads.

In the same way that we find our audible voices foreign, we tend to have an unclear concept of what our writing voice is.

For those that don't know, a writer's voice is his or her bread and butter. What separates Ernest Hemingway from Charles Dickens, aside from the obvious difference in time periods? Answer: Their voices (and the fact that Dickens sucks balls way more than Hemingway, even though Hemingway kind of sucks balls too, unless you like fishing and six-toed cats, but I digress).

The writer's voice is the unique way in which he expresses himself. Long sentences or short sentences. Adorned or unadorned diction. Comical or dreadfully serious.

Taking my two volunteers, Mr. Hemingway and Mr. Dickens, I shall show you the differences in the author's voices by letting them speak for themselves. Mr. Dickens? I'd like you to go first, if that's fine with you.

Dickens: No not at all my dear foppish lad. Why tis only fair ain't it that I should speaketh first for I, my dapper self, twas bourne ages before sir Hemingway, that gruff and masculine symbol of brazen, bare-chested machismo.

Hemingway: Where's my wine? Get me a boat!

Dickens: Sir Hemingway, please. Do not disrupt a gentleman before he takes the lectern for if there is much delay I shall quickly forget what I wish to say. Why the thoughts will very well evaporate like a sow's milk left out before the orb of Helios.

Hemingway: Where's my gun? I want to hunt! God I hate myself!

Me: Now, boys. Please. We're supposed to be providing examples to the readers about what voice is, and frankly you two fistacuffing isn't really moving things along.

Dickens: I mean no disrespect when I say that is pure hogwash. I think your fair readers can see that my language is ornate, descriptive and unnecessarily long-winded. After all, my payments were based on a pay-per-word scale, as I was a serial writer, mirroring what you contemporary peoples would call a soap opera. Although my tales of love lost and regained and the wicked and the wronged are far superior to anything you bumbleminded heathens can imagine. Why my pieces have more twists and turns than a three-wheeled trolley cart being pushed by a...

BANG BANG BANG

Hemingway: I shot him good.

Me: Well I think that wraps things up. I'm going to go drag Dickens' lifeless reanimated corpse into the closest MickeyDs Dumpster while I keep Hemingway busy here with a snowglobe of Santa's Village.

Hemingway: Pretty!