IMMORTALIZED STILLICIDE or the frozen spit whose shape induced an epiphany like Kekulé’s.

As one of the most social orthodontists in Valencia, I can say with acuity that this voluble blog, whose dilating domain of discourse reflects the author's uncanny cultivation, will warm--like the vortex of a Brazilian whore against my pulsing member--the hearts of all who shall espy it. My vocation, lest you forget, is to perfect the human smile.

Saturday, July 23, 2005


And now, I present to my readers the first excerpt from "The Awkward Years"!!!!!!!


James Ozerlin, a Munz historian, cites one triggering event as the key to understanding Munz's life: "[much like a man who does drugs might say that his] shrooms are good[, so will I, a Munz historian, tell you about the following story which I think is good. When Daniel was 5, he once felt bile ascending his throat. His Bubby Laura commented that he probably felt sick because ‘you just ate that entire plate of latkes, Danny. That was for the whole family. Come here, baby. Come here. Oh God, Emily, there's shit all over the couch. You say you can manage the single motherhood. Smell your living room. This is the good job you do, huh? Your baby boy has defecated all the latkes onto this couch.’ Coincidentally, Daniel was watching the Bush-Dukakis debates while sitting in this pile of feces. While Emily cleaned up both the couch and Daniel, Bubby Laura pointed to Bush and said, ‘Evil. Evil. Evil.’ Daniel then rolled off the couch and ran to the kitchen where he procured half a dozen cherry flavored ring pops. Coming back into the T.V. room, Daniel caught a glimpse of a close-up of Dukakis, and cooed, "Daddy." Sure, Daniel's cerebral cortex has developed since then. He was able to put his nose to the grindstone enough during his somewhat horrendously painful high school years to get into Yale. He's also taller. He even got an unlubed handjob two years ago from an unstable Serbian woman whose community college essays he frequently slaved over. But, in a sense, utterly nothing has changed since that night. Both his enjoyment of things that can be put into his stomach to make it feel fuller and his approach to politics remain quite unaltered.]"


Ghostwriting was hard, because Daniel wouldn't agree to an interview. Actually, we never asked him. We did, however, frequently interview James Ozerlin, a fount of information and my weed dealer from Valencia. James first began to study Munz's life when his M.S.-inflicted little sister, Elizabeth, once randomly looked up after I pulled her out of her wheelchair, placed her limp hand against my scrotum (this detail isn't particularly relevant, but it brings my story somewhat more to life) and plopped her down in front of a computer, telling her, "Randomly look up"

Based on Elizabeth's research, James Ozerlin, in the following interview, concluded (in my opinion) that a certain formative event may have occurred in the mid 1980s that might explain how Munz became the man he is today:


James: These shrooms are good.

Lester. Yeah.

James: I'm starved.

Lester: So, to the best of your knowledge, is there a formative event, apocryphal or not, that perfectly explains how Munz became the man he is today?

James: I don't know, man. I'm meeting Molly at Magic Mountain. She's got more shrooms. You wanna come?

Lester: I can't, dude.


I apologize for the absence. I was selected as the ghostwriter for Daniel Munz's unauthorized biography a fortnight ago, and lately I've been delving rather insatiably into the history of Daniel's life. I'm a straight shooter, so I'll come out and say it. I'm a little worried. I feel like Munz's life has been both not very long and, in a sense, the polar opposite of extremely interesting.

But the head writer, an East Coast-based restaurant-industry entrepreneur, says this thing will sell like crazy, so I'm not about to be the black dude who avoids a business opportunity just because he doesn't quite get the quirky intricacies of white folks' taste in non-fiction.

The structure is beginning to materialize. The head writer's decided to employ only one 39-page chapter entitled "The Awkward Years." The chapter will be divided into two wide-ranging sub-chapters, the first of which covers situations in which Daniel ate too much and felt like shit because he had an intense stomach ache, but also felt elated because, God, he fucking loves the sensation of food being in his body, just feeling beyond content and having his taste buds just constantly stimulated forever without end. The second sub-chapter's on politics.

Friday, July 08, 2005

You all might not know that before I moved to Southern CA and dedicated my life to purple plant and white pussy, I worked as a marketing manager at Lego Educational Division in Enfield, CT. I'll never forget my most "special" employee, a junior marketer fresh out of college with a unique vision about where Lego Inc. should go. I did have to fire him, notwithstanding. I just happened to find his final performance evaluation. Here it is:

Division: Lego Educational Marketing
Name: Jason Edward Congdon
Position: Junior Marketer
Date: May 1, 1988

Work Ethic: Far exceeds expectations.

Jason was always the first to arrive and last to leave work. However, sometimes his efforts were grossly misplaced. During the legendary Christmas rush of 87, when corporate was on our ass about marketing the new North Pole juniors set, Jason dedicated the bulk of his energy toward bribing the cafeteria's food distributor to serve only very mediocre fresh-mex at lunch. Sick of the usual turkey sandwiches and pasta primavera, everyone loved this at first. But then Jason deemed that the food was in fact well above average, so he ceased marketing altogether, spending all his time sneaking around in the cafeteria kitchen where he added traces of gristle and bone fragment to the meat.

Marketing Creativity: Does not meet expectations.

Last year, corporate gave us a lot of leeway in our designs. After we marketed the required updates of the fireman, doctor, basketball, and dinosaur lego sets, we were free to come up with new themes. "Soccer" and "race car" were early favorites. Jason, however, designed plans for, in his words, a "mediocre fresh-mex fast food restaurant with an unsustainable business model and companion chink noodle house" set. When we explained that his idea was too eccentric for our consumer, he became inflamed. In fact, Jason responded by sabotaging our venerable "presidents" line. Sneakily breaking into the factory one weekend, he defaced thousands of small Abe Lincoln LegoMan figures, reconfiguring them to look like mousy middle aged women. Crossing out "Abe Lincoln, The Great Emancipator" on all the packaging materials, he rewrote "Marge Herman, The Acne-Scarred Dumpy Cunt At Fleet Bank Who Doesn't Give People Loans Even If They Show Her Amazing Plans For A Brilliant Mexican Food Franchise."

Overall: Does not meet expectations

Despite Mr. Congdon's plucky drive, I believe he is not suited to work at a family-centered toy company. I hereby recommend his current work on project x912876 aka "miniature futuristic (circa 2005) Ill-wired TV From Costco That's Always Left Mute On CNN Headline News" cease at once.

Friday, July 01, 2005

Dr. Kinbote is busy at an orthodontist's convention, so the ball is in my court. I am currently writing from a desktop in Dr. Kinbote's guestroom. I'm living here until my wife--his eldest daughter--can get a more lucrative job. I am, as you may already know, a proud black male, but also a very complicated, multi-faceted, raceless-in-my-worldview human being. My first post concerns basketball, notwithstanding.

Red Auerbach gave an interview a few weeks ago in which he implied ABC's flashy presentaion of the NBA FINALS was an affront to the purity of the game. I usually dismiss Red's words as the calumny of a decaying Phil-Jackson bashing cocksucker. But this time, I saw the wisdom to Red's words. Sports converage, like most media, is a meta-industry dedicated to propogating its own form and, in the process, trivializing its orginal function. A show like SportsCenter is as much a vehicle for its anchors to engage in a certian ceremonialized smug lexicon as it is a window into the day's athletic events.

Confession: This idea wasn't wholly my own. It's closely paraphrased from a rant delivered by Abe Goldman, a former middle school buddy of mine who's starting to freak me out with his tacitly homosexual propensities. Abe is, might I add, a corpulent, lazy, acne-scarred, self-conscious, bitter man.
At any rate, Abe and I were blazing at a lookout point on Mulholland last weekend when he told me about one of his (non-sexual) fantasies. He envisioned a world in which being a fucking incompetent loser became a major sport. He then wrote onto a beige envelope potruding from his pocket the following skit: (Note that the Abe in his skit is markedly heterosexual)



While team personnel officially say Goldman is out at least
four games with this rare virus, some sources within the
league have indicated it could be longer.
We go to our Stephen A. Smith in Los Angeles for a further
breakdown of Abe’s season.

---Stephen A. Smith speaks as the following edited video appears on screen----

(A raucous crowd cheers as a near-tears Abe Goldman eats Taco Bell, smokes weed out of an apple, and looks at pictures from his old high school yearbook. A statistical overlay reads “Abe Goldman, 5’7”. 190. Tacos: 6/8. .750. Bowls Packed: 5. Hot Sauce: Mild." Abe watches porn on his laptop and opens a bottle of lotion while an announcer shouts “Oh my, an incredible shot!” A huge banner of Abe procuring his prescription acne medication drapes the side of Staples Center.)


Abe’s a gamer and I think he’ll be okay for the next series.
What’s impressing me about his overall game this year is the
versatility. I mean, he’s lonely, smoking weed out of fruit,
overeating, and perusing his old yearbooks almost every
night now; he’s developed a great eye for creative cumshots,
and he’s a straight up recorder playing, girl-avoiding,
cookie-baking introvert. Sure, some guys can ball in one
of these categories, but Abe is a smooth operator in em all.
Don’t believe me? Believe his coach.

---One Coach Hendricks appears on screen in a locker room interview---


Yeah, he’s a pleasure to coach. What’s been big for
us this year is how long he’s been alone. A lot of
guys just seem to fall into that trap of relating with
women in sort of a dynamic, satisfying way. Not Abe.
I’d say he’s becoming one of the more awkward guys I know.
I think if he can alienate himself a little more come playoffs,
and really cultivate his alcoholism, the sky’s the limit.

I hear my wife Jenny returning home from work in her pearl white Mercedes. I must go.