Nuts

If possible, the peanut would indeed have looked back at me and blinked. It had become separated from its friends, and now could so easily be singled out. It let out a sigh, i n a metaphorical sort of way. A breath that came with the knowledge of an inevitible and immediate future it faced. I reached into the bag and selected him with my thumb and first finger. The silence was just as loud as the scream that may have come if the peanut was able. From the moment he was shelled, he could feel that his life was not meant for the forest, if that is in fact where wild peanuts roam. It had been a long, ominous trip to reach this demise. The picking, the shelling, the salting. All of these spelled an untimely end. And the peanut knew this. In fact, the trials of the tumultuous trip had all but sucked this nut's will to endure. Perhaps it's why he had become separated in the first place. I guess I'll never really know why, because peanuts have never been very good at explaining things. But I like to think it was a sacrifice. An undeniable act of altruism. Perhaps that hope is a sadistic one, however, as I think about the undeniably bittersweet reunion with his friends that will occur somewhere near my own duodenum.

Forgot to Signal His Turn?

I like to link to stuff so I dont have to be creative in any way.

ShowStoppin'

Anyone who describes themselves as "the total package" clearly isn't. I choose to cite True Life: I Want the Perfect Body, where the guy who gets the calf implants describes himself as such. I concede, however, that there is an exception to every rule.

Dannity Kane.

I Think I'm Ready to Talk About This

First and foremost, see it for yourself.

Things start off and I'm a little confused. Who are these decoy Kfeds? All of a sudden, the music stops and POW! Its Kfed thats been pretending to play the piano all along! I am blown away. Immediately he strikes a pose that could only be perfected by leaning against trailers for years, and goes into a walk that reminds me of the hunched over 95 year old women I help up to the bedside commode at work. A black man is yelling things in the background. Now thats street cred, baby. He hasn't even been on the scene that long!

In all seriousness, this could be the worst live performance in history, dating back to the glory days of the Colosseum. Rivaled ONLY by one whose name has appeared on this blog before. I need your help. Which is the worst live performance ever, KFed, or this thing? Remember not to be swayed by crowd reaction. While one performance is booed and another cheered, keep in mind that getting girls to scream at the Teen Choice Awards is as easy as getting special needs children to high-five at the Special Olympics. Both are already excited, and need very little provocation to express themselves in their manner of choice.

POPOZAO!

Im so happy

I just watched Kevin Federline's world premeire on the Nickelodeon Kids Choice Awards. I'm bursting. I'm happy. I don't think I can write about this right now, its going to have to wait a day or two. Should have sent a poet.

POPOZAO!

All Lamps $20!

...Is that good?

Fanmail

Hello,

You have one of the best nonpolitical (well...it is political) websites out there. It was very interesting to read the political aspects of a young man.

"I know. I know, I know, I know. I know. Have you ever been to a school that was predominantly African American? Was it as nice as your predominantly white school? (I remain fairly certain no black people are reading this.)" I was very entertained by your disclaimers, however would have to disagree with you. Your certainty that black people don't read your disclaimer is incorrect (I have read a few).

Again, I found your site to be very entertaining. You should diffidently consider a career in politics.

Sincerely,

Site Fan

NonStop Rockin

These are the things that happen when KJD comes to town

Patting Myself on the Back...Again

I have not updated my website in about nine months now. When I get to it, I'll have to add the epilogue to The Scatting Farmer Who Loved His Country recently sent to me by PJK. Meanwhile, here is a scene from the script, which remains my favorite thing I've ever cowritten, perhaps with the exception of my poem "Food Becomes Poop" which can be found on Kess' site somewhere.

SCENE:
The Scatting Farmer enters the White House. Brad J. President is sitting at his log desk in the oval office, wearing a suit. Behind him are about 6 men wearing armor. The Scatting Farmer accuses the president of having prior knowledge of the Russian invasion, and punches him in the face. The Scatting Farmer then appeals to the armored men, while the president is shouting at them to help him up. The Scatting Farmer exits, and the armored men stare at each other, at Brad J. President, and back at each other. One by one, they leave the oval office, and arrive in the hallway, axe-chop the statue of the president, and replace it with an ice sculpture of the Scatting Farmer. The base reads, “Bee-bop a doo-bap.”

Peace Out

The problem is, I just don't know many other people who appreciate the built-in irony of the word "pedantic."

The ZenMasters of NightGolf

Fred Richards Golf Course is located in Edina, MN, practically in a friend's (whom I will refer to as 'AnonyMatt') backyard. We decided it would be a good idea to crawl under the fence at 9 pm the other night as the sun was setting and get in a round, or half-round, as the light would permit. As the lone employee looked on, we decided maybe we should give paying a whirl. Turns out the guy was fine with us walking on, and charged us one green fee, despite there being three of us (Sri attended), with one bag of clubs. He didn't seem too confident in our abilities to squeeze in a full round before it got dark. Little did he know. AnonyMatt, it should be noted, had played a round just recently at this very course. This round came complete with AnonyMatt hurling clubs clear over trees in frustration (AnonyMatt also plays tennis, but things pretty much play out the same way). As we embarked on this round, anticipating to lose every ball in the one bag, we began losing light quickly. By the third hole (I was one over par at this point), it came to be that whomever was not shooting would have to stand directly behing the hitter so attempt to track the ball. By hole 5 all we could do was determine if the ball went straight, left, or right. By hole 6, nothing. But something much stranger was happening this night than some idiots playing golf in the dark. Every time we went fanning out for our balls, we ended up finding them next to the hole. AnonyMatt and I shot the rounds of our lives. By the ninth hole, our self-congratulatory expressions were peaking. For example, "There is absolutely no chance that this ball is not going in the hole right now." After striking said ball, "Holy shit I was right." Again, ball lands on green. Time and time again we shot, losing the tiny ball into the darkness at the moment of contact, and somehow we kept finding the tiny little suckers. After the fourth hole, not one ball was lost. Sri seemed far less amused than either myself or AnonyMatt, but we cared not. The problem now becomes trying to recreate this round during my second golf outing of the year, whenever that may come. Do I close my eyes and swing? Am I just supposed to imagine that there are dozens of frogs on the green as I try to putt? There were, by the way. AnonyMatt stepped on one. He wasnt wearing shoes, either. Anyway, whenever I play golf from now on, I am going to have to transcend to light into darkness. Shouldn't really be a problem for one of the three ZenMasters of NightGolf.