Michael Kindt's Blog, page 426
January 3, 2012
Hey I want a copy of your book, but I'm broke. So I thought I'd siphon some gas out of my neighbors car (he's a prick, called the police on me for having band practice at 1:30 in the afternoon) and steal a copy of Early Onset of Night. Do you know if any m
Well, it's available through any major chain, but EXTREMELY unlikely that they would have it on the shelves for the immediate stealing. Small press, no clout. Alas! Thanks, though. I'll keep writing words :)
Hey I want a copy of your book, but I'm broke. So I thought I'd siphon some gas out of my neighbors car (he's a prick, called the police on me for having band practice at 1:30 in the afternoon) and steal a copy of Early Onset of Night. Do you know if any m
Well, it's available through any major chain, but EXTREMELY unlikely that they would have it on the shelves for the immediate stealing. Small press, no clout. Alas! Thanks, though. I'll keep writing words :)
Hey I want a copy of your book, but I'm broke. So I thought I'd siphon some gas out of my neighbors car (he's a prick, called the police on me for having band practice at 1:30 in the afternoon) and steal a copy of Early Onset of Night. Do you know if any m
Well, it's available through any major chain, but EXTREMELY unlikely that they would have it on the shelves for the immediate stealing. Small press, no clout. Alas! Thanks, though. I'll keep writing words :)
Hey I want a copy of your book, but I'm broke. So I thought I'd siphon some gas out of my neighbors car (he's a prick, called the police on me for having band practice at 1:30 in the afternoon) and steal a copy of Early Onset of Night. Do you know if any m
Well, it's available through any major chain, but EXTREMELY unlikely that they would have it on the shelves for the immediate stealing. Small press, no clout. Alas! Thanks, though. I'll keep writing words :)
Hey I want a copy of your book, but I'm broke. So I thought I'd siphon some gas out of my neighbors car (he's a prick, called the police on me for having band practice at 1:30 in the afternoon) and steal a copy of Early Onset of Night. Do you know if any m
Well, it's available through any major chain, but EXTREMELY unlikely that they would have it on the shelves for the immediate stealing. Small press, no clout. Alas! Thanks, though. I'll keep writing words :)
Even though I often mock things here
not much on Tumblr really bothers me. Those "liberals" who are wandering lost in the intellectual desert of political correctness and trying to control the speech of others while Western Civilization crumbles down around them, they do bother me. A lot.
Fuck you people, by the way.
But the hipster kids don't. The fan girls (male or female) don't. The 1.8 billion photographers don't. Not really. They may bore me a bit, but that's only because I am almost a hundred years old and am still adjusting to a universe without rotary phones. The porn blogs don't. Well, not that much. Admittedly, it's a bit disconcerting to log onto Tumblr at 7 am with a cup of tea and be immediately greeted with an enormous cock, but I am adaptable and also a very fast scroller. The big Tumblrs don't bug me all that much. Mostly I'm confused, as in, why do so many people follow this shit? Blogs like the Daily What, where, about once a month, I will see something I posted about rehashed and gutted a week after the fact. Even FOLLOW THIS BLOG! YOU WILL LOVE IT ON YOUR DASH! doesn't bug me all that much.
Something new has really started to annoy me, though, and only in the last few days: the deep, thoughtful quotes from Charles Manson. What the fuck is that all about? I understand the dark interest some of us have in serial killers. I, also, have an interest in dark things, in the macabre. Hell, practically the only thing I watch are horror movies. But why quote this little douche-bag like he's some great philosopher?
Actions always speak louder than words. Remember that, kids.
NO ONE CAN TAKE THIS MOMENT AWAY FROM ME GODDAMMIT
I am so excited because I won all my bets.
"I won all my bets!" I keep shouting. "I won all my bets!" I'm walking to Hambone's house, actually skipping, and the sun is barely up.
Hambone, that fucker. Screw him. He showed me how to set up a sportsbetting account, how to transfer money into it, the works. And the whole time he was making fun of me, calling me an idiot, saying how betting was a man's game. What a fucker.
I always wanted to be a big shit pro gambler like they got in Vegas, with, like, really cool shades, and a bitch on each arm. I'd have a really shiny car, too, and money out the ass. And those bitches on each arm would fight over who was going to go down on me first and I would say "Now, girls," and make them do it at the same time because I saw that in a porno once and, man, wouldn't that just be the bomb?
I'm tired of being such a fucking loser, living in mom's basement, getting fired from all my convenience store jobs for drinking beer out of the cooler. Fuck that life, man. It's time for me to grow up.
Hambone, yeah, I guess he's my friend even though he's a douche-nozzle. We've been hanging out since we were kids. I've always had a crush on his hot sister Emma, too, but she won't touch me because I'm Asian and says I got a small wang, which is NOT TRUE.
Hambone always bets the games. He's always talking about spreads and overs and unders and total points—mysterious, complex shit like that. "Lemme try!" I'd say to him and he'd tell me to fuck off, to get out of the fridge, to go home and eat my own damn food. "Oh, come on," I'd say. "Lemme try. Pretty please?"
Yesterday he finally helped me get set up, thinking it was SO FUNNY, and going on and on about how I'm going to lose all my money and whatever.
Then I went home and got on the ESPN stats page and did my research and placed my bets. Four of them. Pro hoops. And you know what, Hambone, you pasty white butt sniffer? I WON THEM ALL.
Ha, ha. Take that.
No one's up yet at Hambone's house because it's, like, 6 o'clock in the morning. So I beat on the door. "I won all my bets, Hambone, you bitch!" I shout. "Get up, fucker!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! I go on the door, but no one answers. "Chickenshit!" I shout.
Above me, the upstairs window opens and his dad pokes his head out. "What the hell do you want?"
"Tell Hambone to get his lazy ass up!"
"You get the hell out of here," he says and throws a shoe at me. I dodge it easily because I'm part ninja, then run and hide in the bushes.
About 10 am, I go back up to the door slowly, sore from squatting for so long and covered in ticks. I bang on it again. "Oh, Hambone," I sing. "Time to get your what for, buddy."
But his hot sister Emma answers the door instead and I instantly get a really hard boner. Like I said, I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember.
"Hey, baby," I say, all cool-like. "I won all my bets."
"You freak" she says, playing hard to get like all girls. "Were you the one pounding on the door at, like, 3 o'clock in the morning?"
"No, it was 6. Where's Hambone?"
"He's not even here. He stayed at his girlfriend's house last night."
"Well, I won all my bets, baby. You wanna go get a Coke or something?"
"Get lost, freak," she says and slams the door in my face.
Whatever. She totally wants me.
I head home smiling, still really happy because I won all my bets.
January 2, 2012
I would just like to let you know that I read your book in 3 hours, and I only yelled "Fuck!" and threw it twice. :)
For my next book, I will be including a voucher for some free therapy.
gentsense replied to your post: gentsense replied to your post: Hey, Michael. Blog…
"He (…was...
"He (…was talking politics)" being Clint Eastwood or your dentist?!
Clint! I only use female dentists.
:)
